Getting arrested wasn't fun, but today I think I was rescued, because I couldn't stop on my own. It started me on my path to the life I have now, which is completely unrecognizable to me and to the people who knew me. I get emotional when I talk about this, because I sometimes feel unworthy. The gift of this life and these people in recovery was given to me, and l'll be forever grateful. It's my obligation and honor and privilege to now extend the hand of recovery to others. I'm grateful to be sponsoring some great people right now—I can't even begin to count how many I've sponsored over the years. The funny thing about being a sponsor is the sponsee thinks you're helping them, but in reality, they're saving you.

It would be impossible to pinpoint exactly which Steps made me feel less hopeless and which ones allowed me to like myself. But, by the time I was through all twelve, I was able to look at myself in the mirror without hating who was looking back. When I started doing service, that self-like turned to self-love and my ego made way for selflessness. I have found everything I ever wanted in CMA: friendship, purpose, connection, and the ability to love myself. Most important, I don't want to get high anymore. I just don't think I'd enjoy it. Not when I have so many other things to look forward to.

Being in that halfway house blew my mind. We had to wake up early for morning reflection and work, and then we had to do a Twelve Step meeting at night. And again, they were big on this God thing. I laughed and thought how lame it was. That's just the answer for weak people. That won't work for me. So again, I acted like it didn't matter, played the game, and tried to follow my plan. But when my plan fell apart, I took off. I left with every intention of not getting loaded. I wasn't going to screw this up. But after a few days, I ended up in that black hole, a place filled with chaos and turmoil and feelings I knew nothing about. So I went back to my friend alcohol, who led me back to crystal meth and running and gunning.

At this point, in my loaded state, I took stock of my life. I'd been locked up three times, tried halfway houses, detox, and rehab. I thought l'd actually tried a Twelve Step program, and I thought I had tried God, because I did a lot of foxhole prayers. I thought being in prison was going to be my life plan. In that car, I had an epiphany: I did not want to get high anymore! I'm not sure if you can relate to this, but with my whole being, I did not want to get high. But my arm would not stop bringing the pipe to my lips. If you have ever cried your eyes out while getting high, you know the powerlessness I am talking about. Hope was gone. I decided right then and there to kill myself. Obviously, I failed that mission. But I remember vividly that the thought of suicide gave me hope. I made it through the night, but something had changed. My main focus was to get back into rehab and give it an honest shot.

It wasn't until then that I realized I suffer from a disease. I get this obsession, and I get this feeling that I just want more. Its like I have this little guy in my head who tells me l don't deserve this good life. "You know what you want to do, go back and do what you do, 'cause that's what you do good, and all of this is for somebody else. It looks good on them, but not on you." That's what my head tells me.