I can recall with vivid detail exiting the County Jail for the last time.  I descended the stairs, hanging my head with guilt as I inched into the downtown area, not knowing where I would lay my head that night.  The day was bright, the sun bore down on me.  I had a small bag that contained most of my possessions.  My shoes were unlaced.  I held my belt in my left hand.  My right hand was clutching papers of court documents.  I gazed up at the sky . . .   And I cried.

The inside of one of the cells of the Genessee County Jail

I cried because I knew that all of the problems I was facing, all the legal issues, family issues, financial issues, all of them . . were of my own making.  No one put a gun to my head and forced me to make bad decisions.

View of outside the jail, the stairs are on the left side of the building

When everyone else leaves, there is no one else to blame.

I continued to walk.  I thought about my life up to this point.  The good times.  The bad times.  The times when everything seemed to be ok.  The times when I was a little boy aching for attention.  The times when I was a rebellious teen searching for meaning in this world.  The times when I was a young adult, so full of life.  And my failures.  Oh, how I thought about my failures.  Step by step, I walked.  I can remember strolling past the bus terminal.  Other people were humming about, going about their daily business.  Some were going to work.  Others were coming back from work.  Mother's were picking up their kids from the station.  These were people with specific goals.  They were down here with a purpose.  And me?  I had none.  

View from inside the bus terminal

Slowly, I made it farther from the downtown area.  I was very thirsty and had nothing to quench my thirst. I continued to ponder things.  To question how this had all happened again.  Didn't I just make a declaration to myself the other day that I was finished with that way of life?  Yes I did.  I said it to myself after the last time I got out of control and the substances took over my life.  And I had meant it.  I did not want to be a whirlwind of destruction to my loved ones and the world around me anymore.  Then it hit me:

Even when I wanted to stop, I could not

No amount of my own willpower was sufficient to stop for any length of time.  All the rational analysis in the world would never give me the power to quit on my own. 

It would be like stepping into the ring with Mike Tyson over and over, getting knocked out time and time again, but continuing to get in the ring for the fight.  Wouldn't it be much easier if I quit getting into the ring?  To throw in the towel?  Hang out the white flag?  

The knock out punch comes yet again

There is courage in surrender

I collected my thoughts this time for real.  I had experienced what I now call an epiphany.  Everything I had been hearing from recovered people for the better part of a decade and a half rang loudly and true.  

"Surrender to win"

"If you keep doing the same things, you'll keep getting the same things"

"You only have to change one thing, everything"

I was fighting a war I could not win.  But I knew where to find the people who could help me.  I began to hold my head up just a tad higher.  I felt a glimmer of hope start to emerge.  The sun continued to beat down on my skin.  I felt a small surge of energy.  Just enough to get me to the nearest organization that would help me to get off the street and connect me with others who were afflicted as I was.  I stood at the threshold for a moment before I opened the door.  I knew things would get tougher for me once I went inside.  Life changing decisions are never easy.  And they aren't supposed to be.  I entered . . . and never looked back.

Sources:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5