Freedom.

So I'm reading Jonathan Franzen's new novel, "Freedom" and it is pretty much amazing.  Not a huge surprise, there, but I've sort of been pontificating on the subject of freedom today.  What with the word staring out in bold slanting white letters every time I look at the cover of this book, I guess it was inevitable that I would give it some thought.

I used to think of my life as a junky as being a sterling example of what it meant to be free--free from society's constraints, free from unwanted responsibility, outside of the mainstream and free to be an outlaw.  Well, as it turns out (and this will surprise, probably, no one) being a drug addict was in no way freeing or liberating or admirable or worthwhile.  I lived in a state of self-imposed imprisonment for years.  When you're addicted to heroin, you wake up every day wishing you were dead.  Merely getting out of bed and facing the world, doing things that for most people are not a huge chore, all that day-to-day bullshit becomes utterly impossible.

The days of my addiction which are most vivid in my memory are the days when I would wake up beside Danielle, both of us soaked in sweat, pupils dilated, the sharp smell of two kicking junkies (sour, metallic, sweaty) thick in the air.  There were so many times when we would decide that it was time to kick, and we would make it (at most) two days before that waking horror would drive us to get right back into the swing of things.

And that's one of the hardest parts of my past for me to let go of--the swing of things, the daily grind; it kept me busy, if nothing else.  These days, I can't really allow myself to get bored.  It's essential to stay as busy as possible--at least for now.  Otherwise, well, I might have to think even more than I already do--oh, this racing mind--and the inside of one's head is a dangerous place for an addict in early recovery.

Freedom.  Freedom.  Freedom.

By allowing myself to become "a part of" instead of "apart from" in AA, I have come to a place of accepting what I have to do in order to stay sober.  I used to think that giving in and accepting the herd instinct prevalent in 12-step programs would equal a sort of intellectual death.  At this point, I don't really give a damn.  Better to be a joiner than to die a junky death.

More later--

Love,
Rosswell