Category Archives: addiction

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Crack

VINCE

Saturday night after leaving my A.A. meeting, I was driving down University Avenue when my brand new tooth popped out of its new home in my mouth. Only two days in, and my new smile was gone. I had waited so long to be confident with my appearance, and just like that, it was over.

I pulled up to a stop light and spat the jagged plastic remnant out of my mouth and looked it over and had the thought that just maybe, super glue might do the trick. At that moment I saw a car pull up to the light next to me. I looked over and noticed it was a St. Paul police officer and I immediately looked back in my hand and mentally said to myself, “Oh, fuck! This looks like crack!”, and quickly lowered my hand out of sight. The officer paid me no attention, and we both went on about our respective ways. It’s been a long time since I have had or done any drugs, but the paranoia still exists in me. Incidentally, all of your teeth look like crack. So, now you know that.

On another note… While I was in prison, my only goal every day was to get through the day as quickly as possible: one day closer to the door. For the first five weeks of freedom, I have carried that attitude with me until I had the realization the other day that I really want to enjoy life. I think we as Americans tend to live by this same philosophy: work, work, work, then it’s the weekend. Work, work, work, then you retire. I have wasted so much of my life doing useless things and it seems like everything I talk about now isn’t just 10 years ago anymore, it’s twenty. How do you stop the time from passing so quickly? How am I going to enjoy my life while working the American way, 40 hours a week? Well, I’m going to have as much fun as I can while I’m doing everything that I do. I have found that in sobriety, laughter has depth. Conversations have meaning. And friendships blossom quickly. I am going to enjoy every minute of every day because it’s all going to go by quickly, and I’m never going to get out alive. Twenty years from now, I’m going to be talking about things that happened twenty years ago, again.

I say all of that to remind myself that there’s no more time for me to waste. I think of all of the people I have left behind in prison, some of them never getting out. If I go back to my old ways of selling/using meth and I get caught with, for example, the same amount I had last time, I would likely get 96 months without the possibility of an early release through boot camp. I would have to sit for over five years before being eligible for parole. Then what? Move back in with Mom, again at 43? I think not.

I am restricted to three A.A. meetings per week while I am on I.S.R. If I had my way, I would have done 90 in 90 as soon as I got out. I am not planning a relapse, but these meetings give me so much more than just maintaining sobriety. It’s a place I go to get things off my chest and I don’t feel embarrassed about saying anything. Sort of what I do with this blog, but I get to hear other people and their stories that I can relate to.

So, I apologize for not writing for a few days. I needed a break. Thank you for your patience and understanding. And with that, I pass.

A Break from Breaking Free

My Day With a Dentist and Thoughts About A Lawyer (Almost)

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VINCE

I have been waiting for this day for about five years. I was working in a Mexican restaurant, eating a delicious burrito when I crunched down on something very hard. It was a fork. I felt kind of like an idiot because I’d been eating food by myself for roughly 30 years at that point and thought myself quite capable of using a wide variety of utensils without any trouble. Well at that time I felt my teeth with my tongue and discovered that my number nine top left front tooth had broken off. Shit. I was already self conscious about my smile although my teeth aren’t too terribly bad, and this just made things worse. I had no insurance and all of my money at that point went to drinking, smoking weed, and gambling, and nothing would change that for quite some time as you may have read.

Flash forward to the future! A.K.A. now. Ugh. This computer keeps freezing up. Anyhow, I took the morning train to Minneapolis to the U of M School of Dentistry where I laid back in the hydraulic chair and let my student dentist practice making a plastic tooth in my mouth for about two hours. I felt pretty cool because she let me be in control of the suction wand thing but I still ended up drooling on myself quite a bit, not uncommon to any other day, right? I asked, I believe more than once, if we could make teeth other places like on my forehead or in my armpits. We laughed at that and a few other ideas I had like sticking the suction wand in my nose. Actually, that may have been in my head. In the end, she did a great job and I give her complete credit for my new smile which I plan to show as much as possible. I love to laugh and smile but for five years, I simply wouldn’t open my mouth to do either. I was embarrassed, and I thought about my appearance constantly. I’m happy. Thank you, Lauren. Someday when you’re a REAL dentist, you can help me put gold teeth on cats. Gangster kittens!

I had discussed my blog and my history with her on previous visits and again today and I decided to let her read one of my posts, Camp Heartland. It is, in my mind, a very moving post, and I could see her reacting to it as she read. The first time I had seen that first hand. As far as reacting to me telling her about my history with drugs and alcohol, she acted as professionally as I could have hoped for. She was inquisitive and sympathetic. It was a good day at the dentist.

I also told her about Chelsie Toaster, who I will now call by her real name, Mollie. If you haven’t read the post The Toaster Situation, Mollie is the girl I met and have been doing my best under my restrictions to see as much as possible. We have been limited to seeing each other on our way to and from and at meetings because all of my visitors need to be approved and that takes some time. Well today at work my agent, whom I had asked on every visit previous about the status of her approval, walked in and said, “Mollie is approved, Dude!” I threw my arms up in victory.

Mollie is sweet. As I’ve said before, she is the first female that spoke to me at a meeting, and I hoped she would talk to me every time after, and she did. She’s smart. She’s a graduate of Wm. Mitchell School of Law and takes her Bar exam in February. We joke about me needing legal advice in the future. I hope I don’t… She’s from Tennessee, and you can tell because of her ridiculous accent. And, she is beautiful. I haven’t been in a relationship for years. Too many years. I don’t want to push things or move too quickly, but I know that I like her, and I will do what it takes to keep her in my life.

Also, she’s a ginger.

Gross

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VINCE

The following post is a recap of two of the more disgusting things I saw or dealt with while I was locked up. I lived with all men for about 460 straight days. Most of these men, including myself to some extent, were either not capable, or not willing to clean up after themselves, communicate appropriately with others, use toilets properly, or masturbate out of view (not me!).

I’ll start with my personal favorite. It happened while I was working in the garments section of MinnCorr at Moose Lake prison. I have mentioned before that I sewed men’s underpants together for a living there. On a quick side note, it was alarming to me how many grown men take off all of their clothing to make a poop (shit). It is also interesting to know that roughly 10% of men wipe from the front. And maybe 2% wipe while standing up. Keep in mind that these prison bathrooms have a privacy wall on the sides, but nothing at all on the front. So, as I entered the bathroom this particular day I rounded the corner and saw a man with no pants on taking a shit. What I found odd is that his hand was reaching into the toilet through the front side. I don’t normally watch people but that kinda drew my attention. Without hesitation, he pulled up a piece of his own feces and brought it up to his face and smelled it. A small piece fell off one end and went back in the bowl. My only thought was that I was happy he didn’t eat it. I looked away. At this point I walked all the way through the bathroom to the other door and exited, having lost my desire to urinate. I had a slow walk back to my work station, trying to process what I had seen. Nothing. I got nothing for ya.

This next incident happened while I was in St. Cloud. A rather large, very openly gay, very openly H.I.V. positive black man was moved into B house, where I was one of the swampers, otherwise known as house cleaning crew. Every day I would walk by the cells with cleaning supplies and talk with the other offenders. It was nice because almost everybody in that terrible prison is on lock-down for about 22 hours a day, so we got to chat. Well this new guy took a liking to me in a very creepy way. Every time I walked by his cell he would be very naked, and he would try to talk to me while he was cleaning, but I would walk down the aisle to avoid that. He would try to touch my hand when I grabbed the spray bottles off of his bars and smile at me in what I assume was an “I’m gonna butter your bread” sort of way. Well one day he happened to be sitting at my table during chow and he just wouldn’t stop looking at me. So finally I snapped and yelled, “what!” He smiled and said, “I would eat you alive.” Then he proceeded to eat a banana in a very inappropriate manner. That night during our flag time I walked by the shower stalls and he tried to get my attention while he was showering but I didn’t look. That night he got his red box and he was shipped out two days later. I don’t have A.I.D.S.

There aren’t enough words left for me to type another story. But in general, prison was the worst place you could ever be. There are so many things I think of on a daily basis that ARE the reminder to me–I fuck up, I go back to prison. No high or drunk can ever be worth losing my freedom. Nothing in prison will ever be like the relationships I have started anew out here with my family and friends. Nobody out here poops on the shower floor then mashes it down the grate so they don’t have to do it on a public toilet. I hope. And I have yet to see anybody out in the world eating with mouths wide open, splattering bits of food and saliva to and fro.

After a month, things aren’t so overwhelming and everything is getting easier day by day. It’s still a work in progress, but my future looks bright to me.

Another Bad Night

Scattered thoughts of a recovering addict

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VINCE

I’m staring at the screen and nothing is coming to my mind. I’ve started a few paragraphs and then erased them. It’s almost 10pm and I’m very tired. get up at 6:30 to get ready for the day by drinking coffee and making my lunch for work, then head out at 7:30 to catch the bus then the train for my ride in.

Yesterday the first thing I did at work was smash my foot under a very heavy (we guessed 3 maybe 4 hundred pounds) spring loaded loading dock ramp because the truck I was going to unload supplies from was filled to capacity and when I pulled up the ramp from the floor and it went where it was supposed to but I couldn’t move. I tried to move my other foot as it smashed down but there wasn’t room so I actually had to step on the ramp itself adding my weight to the pressure. I have not experienced that much pain for as long as I can remember. At that point I thought for sure that I had broken it. I felt the urge to throw up from the pain, something I have never experienced. I got my foot from under the foot-wrecker and took a few limps around the production floor. It was the seeing spots kind of pain. I didn’t want to look like an idiot so I went back to work trying to hide the limp as best I could. I told my friend about it and he was quite sympathetic to my injury. Fortunately for me the pain dissipated within a few hours and when I got home and pulled off my socks I still had all five little piggies. There was blood around my big toe and the one next to it (does that toe have a name?) and a little purple bruising but that was it. That’s the whole story.

Starting to build any kind of relationship while on I.S.R., especially the one I’d like to have with Ms. Toaster, is difficult. My life is so restricted right now that the times I do get to go anywhere it’s for a specific reason. I get to see her at meetings, and if I go out for shopping or during my exercise time. Tomorrow I’m going to run with her, I think that’s a very healthy way to be alone with her, but again, it’s only for an hour and she’s not yet allowed to be a visitor at home. On the flip side, I think it’s a good thing to not be together every waking moment in the beginning of a relationship. Not that I would get sick of her, but it adds the elements of anticipation and excitement in seeing each other, if only briefly, every other day or so. The other day she came to meet me after work just to walk me to the bus stop. I thought that was nice. I mean, she walked from her place and back just to see me for maybe 20 minutes. It made me feel good. Somebody desires my company, something I haven’t thought in years. Thank you, Ms. Toaster. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

Alright folks, that’s all for tonight. I’m tired and I’m going to bed. Thank you to all of my followers and readers for your feedback and comments. If I don’t reply, it’s because I don’t know how. I will figure that out someday. Goodnight everybody.

Camp Heartland

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VINCE

Three weeks before I left prison I went out on my last Restorative Justice program. R.J. is generally the only time we left the compound. Once per week, nine of the 17 in my squad got excited about going out into the community to help those in need. We’ve done everything from cleaning windows in a nursing home, to removing concrete by hand, to shoveling shit after a county fair. So naturally when It was my turn to leave, I was looking forward to a good day. Well I got what I asked for. We packed all of our gear and headed out to Camp Heartland in Willow River.

It is a very beautiful campground. I didn’t know anything about the place until I got there. We piled out of the van and lined up and stood at attention and received our orders for the day. It’s almost always some sort of cleaning detail and that is exactly what the plan was for that day. Then an employee told us who goes there, and why. Originally it was set up as a retreat for children with H.I.V. Now it’s for any child with a life threatening illness. We were given a brief tour in which he pointed out the cabins we would be cleaning. They were small but functional and full of dead and living creepy crawly insects. Nearly all of the beds had a ‘waterproof’ sheet which startled me a little because there’s really only one thing you need that for. Enough said. At that point we gathered our supplies and got to work.

After a couple cabins, the officer in charge came and got me and said there was a project inside I could do, so I followed him in and I ended up cleaning a huge sort of room with a stage, costumes everywhere, and lots of muddy footprints. To back up a little, on the way down to the basement, covering the walls from top to bottom were drawings and kids’ names and dates when they were there. There were thousands of them, and later I would find even more outside. I kept looking at the walls as I cleaned, and I started to notice other things about them. And that’s when shit got real. Next to or on the paintings themselves were little white crosses and dates. I realized what it meant, and I couldn’t believe how many there were. I decided to take a little break and wander around and I just kept seeing more names, more dates. I felt emotion for the first time in a while. I couldn’t believe that all of those kids had been here and left not knowing if they would ever make it back.

It was then that I really felt guilty about how much of my life I had wasted when these kids were dying off left and right. How could it possibly be fair that I was out dealing drugs and being completely irresponsible in every situation and never got killed along the way while these kids were literally fighting for their lives? I took some time to read a lot of the writings on the wall. Every one of them was positive about their situation; little kids who truly appreciated whatever time they were with us in this world. It is even making me a little misty-eyed as I type this. I don’t ever pray, and I don’t believe in God, but right there, right then, I said my version of a prayer in my head the words of which only myself and they will ever hear. I continued to clean.

For over five months I had been eating only prison food which sounds and tastes exactly like prison food. That day, the employees that were there (there were no kids there when we went) cooked up a feast for us. All things we hadn’t seen since our sentencing. We sat around a table and for the first time in years I sat at a table with people and ate. I ate three brownies for dessert after eating as many fresh vegetables, slices of garlic bread, and I’m drawing a blank on the rest of it but it was amazing, and we all felt like humans that day.

As we were leaving, I saw even more names. These ones engraved in the sidewalk that circled a water fountain. All of the had two dates, and I had to walk away after I saw the name of a four year old that had died the day before his birthday. I can’t waste any more of my life, it’s just not fair to them.

If you ever are looking for a good organization to donate to, I recommend Camp Heartland. Let them show these kids some fun before they leave us way too soon.

The Toaster Situation

Another First Conquered

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VINCE

As some of you have read, and are excited to read about today, I started my new job today! I haven’t said that in three years. I am sore from doing yard work yesterday at my aunt’s house. It was a great day and I had a good talk with her, something I’ve needed for a long time. But that is all I am going to share on that. Some things are just for me. and, I have so much to tell you about the job!

It’s not exactly like anything I’ve ever done before but it is in some ways similar to the work I did in the wrapper room at Kemps Ice Cream. I work at A.M.G. Laminating in St. Paul. Essentially as the rookie I will be floating from machine to machine learning the different functions, getting my hands caught in huge rolls of plastic wrap, moving palates of various sizes to and from various places, cleaning up, and generally just getting to know the processes.

Today I spent most of my time cutting the extra plastic film between segments of what will eventually be nice, shiny, laminated cardboard boxes for a well known company. I would transfer them onto a palate and when it was full I would strap them down tight and circle the palate in a dizzying dance of plastic mayhem. I was taught how to do this by a real cowboy although I suspect he was just a man wearing a cowboy hat. Either way it was his last day and I was his replacement… Awkward!! It was very clear to me that everybody thought I was great and funny and amazing at life, at least that’s what my interpretation was. My very good friend from C.I.P. [boot camp], Mr. Doty, the same man who made it possible (along with my repeated attempts via e-mail, telephone calls, and personal visits) for me to work there, was in the background doing other things but we managed to wave at each other several times. At one point I attempted to pick up the chair he was sitting in with a forklift but I failed. He was far too quick. Mr. Doty is very tall, and he likes it when I make jokes about that. His lovely girlfriend, Ms. D (Unrelated. (I will protect her anonymity)) came by to visit him for our lunch break and I tried to explain to her that even though the sun is 93 million miles away from the earth, he sunburns faster because of how tall he is. We all laughed. Hahahahaa. Well, you all know what laughter sounds like. She also brought a foam missile launcher system that she purchased from Rainbow for 50 cents which we all had fun with. It was a good day. I had a lot of fun and got a lot done. Hey, I’m a wrapper!

After work I arrived at home and my mother had made (ordered) an amazing blackened walleye dinner. It was just what I needed after a hard day’s work. Thank you.

The plumbers and electricians were here while I was at work today and now in my room I have a three by three gaping hole with exposed plumbing. I guess it’s actually better than having the washer and dryer in this tiny room which is what I thought would be the case. It’s all closing in around me here. I think it’s about time to start looking for a different place to live. The other morning I woke up to my mom yelling at the kitten. No! No! No! Over, and over, and over. She then started clapping at it. This was all at about 7am. She’s used to living alone, so I can understand not having to worry about other people. But I go out of my way to be quiet. I tiptoe down the halls, barely close the bathroom door because old houses make so much noise with so little provocation. Ugh. I don’t know. I shouldn’t have put myself into this position, I get that. And I’m grateful that I have a roof over my head, walleye in my belly, and another day sober. And with that, I pass.

The Job

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Vince

Three weeks and a day after my release from incarceration I got a job. I’ve filled out applications and applied online to a number of establishments and businesses, but today I was hired by the first place at which I inquired of employment. Actually, I had stopped in there a couple times and called a few more, and was about to give up completely when I received a message from my friend that works there saying somebody had just quit. Then he called me and said I could start tomorrow, which I couldn’t do, but I will on Thursday. Yay! Thank you Mr. D. You know who you are.

Last night my agents paid me a visit around 11pm in which they were finally giving me a little bit of a hard time about not yet finding employment. They said they weren’t really worried yet, but if I didn’t have some form of employment within two weeks, we would be having a conversation. Then they asked if I had tried a temp agency, to which I said I thought we weren’t allowed to do that, which is what I remember from orientation, or something, I don’t know. I have on more than one occasion called into the voicemail system with a relevant question and received no response. Again, I say, this is the common frustration among us newly released. It’s all very confusing and sometimes I feel as if things I hear are contradictory. That’s the way it was in boot camp but I think it was more to see if they could get a reaction out of us there. Out here it wouldn’t really make sense to tell us anything that wouldn’t put us on the right track, so I think maybe I’m imagining a few things because they don’t make sense. Does that make sense? I could also be losing my mind. I do think I should write things down more often.

I had a really bad dream again last night in which I hooked back up with my old drug dealer (who, in real life, is in a Federal prison in California for 15 years) and was holed up in a hotel room with a huge bag of meth. I don’t know what kind of hotel it was but it was odd. I remember a knock at the door, and when I opened it up there were a bunch of high school kids who looked at me as if they were very disappointed in me and then left. When I turned around I saw the huge bag of meth just sitting on the nightstand under a brightly lit lamp, but I didn’t seem to care. I noticed that in general, I don’t ever have conversations in dreams. Or, at the very least I don’t think I ever say anything. Well, that was the end of the dream, and in real life it was morning time, and I got up. I can’t wait for my meeting tonight.

Tomorrow I will be spending the day doing some manual labor and general maintenance for my dear aunt Connie. That I have scheduled from 9AM until 7PM and with a morning run and an evening meeting I wont hardly be home at all, which is something I’m looking forward to. Connie is a survivor of cancer and a hero to me since childhood. I have a lot of making up to do in our relationship since I took a vacation for so many years. She was one of those people that tried to help me out when she found out I had relapsed oh so many years ago. So, she didn’t make the friends list. I will work hard tomorrow digging out a tree stump, trimming some trees, and what-not. But what I really want is the opportunity to talk with her one-on-one, an opportunity I have not had as of yet. An opportunity for me to apologize, make amends, and move on. And if you’re reading this, Connie, pretend you haven’t when I see you please. 🙂

Coming up on the blog: First day on the job! Please share this blog with your friends. The goal as always is to help the still suffering addict, and make me a famous writer in the process!