The Ultimate Level
A Memoir of One Man’s
Quest for Happiness
David Eugene
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 David Eugene
As I was putting the finishing touches on this book my 7 year old son Nathan asked me, “Dad, are you almost done writing that book?” I answered, “Yep, I’m almost done.” He then asked me, “Are you going to write another one?” I responded, “Probably not for a while.” Nathan shouted, “GOOD!” I want to thank my wife Kristin and my two kids, Ashlynn and Nathan, for giving me time to lock myself in my office and hide out while I completed this project. THANK YOU! I love you guys!
Ashlynn and Nathan, this book is dedicated to you. I love you both from the bottom of my heart more than you guys will ever know. Both of you will take your own separate paths. I hope this book will assist you in some way while you’re on your paths. You will hit some bumps in the road along the way. When you hit these bumps my hope is that some of the material in this book will assist you when you need it.
Table of Contents
Chapter 2: The Quest for Pleasure
Chapter 4: The Treatment Center
Chapter 6: Still Searching for Something
Chapter 7: Who is this Bald Goon?
Chapter 10: The Ultimate Level
Chapter 11: The Quest for The Ultimate Level
Chapter 12: “You Can Lead a Horse to Water…”
Introduction
When I was a young boy it’s fair to say that I could have been labeled a strange kid. I was somewhat of a loner. My family moved around quite a bit while I was growing up. I attended eleven different schools in approximately thirteen years. Everywhere I went to school and everywhere I lived, I always had a feeling of not quite fitting in or not quite belonging.
I was, however, a thinking kid. I spent much time trying to figure out why kids acted a certain way, why some kids had friends, why some didn’t, why some people lived in nice houses and had nice things and why some didn’t. Why did some people go to church and some did not? Why were some kids popular and cool, while some kids were labeled “nerds” or “dorks”? Why was it that girls seemed to like other boys but not me? Why did kids fight each other? Why did kids want to fight me when I had done nothing to them? Why was it that some people appeared to always be happy and content while others appeared agitated and grumpy? Why do people have to be such assholes? Why did some kids seem to have a certain identity and reputation while I saw myself as a “nobody”? I was constantly contemplating questions such as these throughout my childhood into my adult years in an attempt to figure out who I really was and where I really fit in.
As I got older the questions I had about life became more complex. For example: What am I working toward? How much money does one really need to make in order to be happy? As long as I accepted Jesus as my personal savior can I act the way I want to, do the things I desire, and still be able to make it to heaven? Do all of the people across the globe whose religion is different from mine go to hell when they die? What if my personal beliefs were wrong? Is misery a result of God’s punishment or a circumstance I have brought upon myself? Why is it that I am so discontent? Who really am I? What do I really need to accomplish in my life before I die?
When I was nineteen years old I remember sitting at a stoplight in my 1988 Toyota pickup truck and asking myself, “What is the ultimate level?” Many thoughts raced through my mind as I pondered this question. Is it to marry the prettiest girl on the planet? Is it to make more money than I could ever spend? Is it to work my way to the top of a major corporation so that I could become a man with an abundance of power? Is the ultimate level simply to obtain “The American Dream” where I own my own home, start a family, and have a good paying job? I clearly remember as if it were yesterday sitting at that stoplight in Anaheim, California in 1989 contemplating these thoughts. What exactly am I working toward? What do I want to become? What IS the ultimate level?
Back in the 1980’s, there was a popular bumper sticker and license plate frame which read, “HE WHO DIES WITH THE MOST TOYS WINS.” Ok, that sounds pretty good. We’re getting on track here. Once you experience a certain level of fun, have unique experiences, have an overabundance of wild sex along with fame, power, and fortune, this criteria must automatically take you to “the ultimate level”. What else is there?
One thing that wasn’t hard for me to figure out was that the more money you make will allow you to buy nicer things, travel more places, and have an overall sense of more freedom. I never had really nice stuff but was life really about obtaining nice stuff? Is life about social status? I had heard the clichés “money doesn’t buy happiness” and “money can’t buy you love.” Ok, now I’m a bit confused. If money can’t buy you love or happiness, does money itself have anything to do with reaching “the ultimate level’? At age nineteen, I knew there were different stages of life and different social classes but I struggled to figure out where I was going to fit in. I continued to contemplate these thoughts very often for years thereafter.
125 years ago the world’s population was approximately 1.2 BILLION people. Try to visualize 1.2 billion people. No, stop. REALLY TRY TO VISUALIZE 1.2 BILLION PEOPLE. That’s a lot of people. Now understand that 125 years ago really wasn’t that long ago. Now, understand that NOT ONE of those 1.2 BILLION people is alive today. Not one. They have all died.
Ok, so what’s the point? The point is that death is in our future, and it’s really not that far off (even under best case circumstances). We all learn at a very young age that death is part of the cycle of life, but very few of us come to terms with this concept while we’re young and in good health. When we’re young, strong, beautiful, and full of life, the concept of death just isn’t something we respect. I don’t want to sound morbid or depressing but contemplating your own death from time to time is an excellent exercise for several reasons. Death contemplation humbles us to not sweat the small stuff, gives us an enhanced appreciation of all things that are good, tames the ego, and nudges us to express our love to others more frequently. Also, this exercise of contemplating or imagining our death has a tendency to get us motivated to do some of the things that the little inner voice of ours has been pushing us to do for some time. This book is a result of that nagging inner voice.
We are all born into the world, become conditioned by our parenting (or lack thereof) and the society in which we live, spend a lifetime striving to improve our circumstances making moral decisions along the way, and then when our time is up…we die. So, what “level” can we achieve while we’re here that will provide us the most peace and a general sense of self-fulfillment? That is what this book is about. I believe that I have a pretty good understanding of this today. As a matter of fact, I’d have to say that I have a very clear “knowing” of this (there’s a big difference between a “belief” and “knowing”).
You might ask, “How do you know you know”? I would ask you, “Do you believe in the Internet?” You would say, “What kind of a stupid question is that? There’s no belief about it, it just IS. I use it and experience it every day.” I would respond to your question in a similar fashion.
The purpose of this book is not to prove anybody wrong or to push my views on others. The sole purpose of this book is to share my story with others, and to tell how I ended my personal suffering and have come to an understanding of what this life is all about (at least an understanding for my own peace of mind).
About 10 years ago, I wrote a tiny little book called “20 Good Reasons to Stay Sober (even if you don’t have a drinking problem)”. It’s a book that most likely won’t ever be on the New York Times Best Seller List and hasn’t sold many copies to date. The important thing about that little book is that I get e-mail from time to time from people saying things like, “Man, that was a lot of common sense stuff, but while I was reading it a light went on inside me.” or “You pointed out a lot of things that I knew deep down inside but your book brought these concepts to the surface.” This is really my hope for this book.
As in “20 Good Reasons to Stay Sober”, not everyone will be open, ready, or willing to accept some of the concepts in this book…or even care. That’s ok. I’m absolutely sure there are people out there who will be able to identify or relate to my story. My hope is that this book will lead a few people to answers they may have been seeking in their own lives or provide a different perspective on specific issues.
This book contains many references to commonly known concepts and teachings that people in the “spiritual community” will certainly be familiar with. This book may or may not be for them. Everyone is on their own path. This book is about my path…my story. My hope is that by reading about my path that it may assist you on your path.
This book isn't for everybody at this particular time in their lives. I will continue to state throughout this book "Everyone is on their own path". Everyone is learning and growing on their own personal schedule. Some people will identify with my story immediately, some at a later time, and some will never identify with what is contained in this book…or even care. I get it. That's 100% okay with me. My hope is to encourage or inspire people who are seeking deeper meaning in their lives and who may be able to identify with some aspects of my story or by some of the things I have to share.
This book is written in a fashion that may be familiar to those who have successfully participated in any sort of recovery program:
1. What it was like
2. What happened
3. What it is like now
This book is divided into two parts. The first is a memoir of my life experiences (my path). The second consists of specific conclusions I have arrived at as a result of those experiences including The 7 Principles of The Ultimate Level. Everyone has their own story to tell…the path they have taken and are currently on. You will see that I refer to this idea often throughout this book.
We’re all very different, yet all very much the same. We all have different feelings, attitudes, desires, circumstances, and experiences. At the same time, are all of our feelings, attitudes, desires, circumstances, and experiences really that much different from everyone else’s? Even though I went through many dark times in my life, I don’t believe my story is all together unique. I have just chosen to talk about it.
Whether or not you agree with some of the material or ideas stated in this book, at the very least, I hope it makes you think. This is my story…
Part I – My Path
Early Conditioning
I spent a few years going to a Baptist Church as a young boy. The church was very traditional in that it had stained glass windows, a piano and an organ, a choir, a cross on top of the building, and a pastor who preached very loud and passionately at times. “YOUR SINS HAVE BEEN WASHED IN THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB!” “PRAISE THE LORD!” “AMEN, BROTHER!”
I went to a Christian School in the 4th and 5th grade which was actually located at the church itself. The school was very small consisting of about 20 students. There were only about 10 kids in my class. I felt very secure there. I had the same teacher both years. His name was Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown was a tall, slender, handsome fella with dark brown hair parted to one side. He always wore slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie. I would guess Mr. Brown to be in his late 20’s to early 30’s at the time. I always liked Mr. Brown and had much respect for him.
During the two years I was Mr. Brown’s student I heard him speak on many topics and tell countless entertaining stories. We also covered an hour of Bible study every day for these two years. From what I can recall, I really enjoyed Bible study but I distinctly remember some specific concepts and conversations that didn’t jive with me even as a gullible nine and ten year old boy. For example, Mr. Brown said, “It’s a sin to go see Bambi in the movie theatre.” I remember raising my hand and asking, “Mr. Brown, why is it a sin to go see Bambi? It’s a Rated G movie.” His reply was, “The profits which are generated from Bambi at the movie theater go to bring in a dirty R Rated movie. So, it’s a sin to go see Bambi.” I didn’t argue with Mr. Brown but this made no sense to me. I started thinking, “If I go to the store and buy a gallon of milk wouldn’t those profits go to buy beer and cigarettes?” (We were also taught it was a sin to drink and smoke.) If this is the case, then it must be a sin to buy milk…or anything else.
During this time we were also taught that it was a sin to dance. I never asked why it was a sin to dance but I could never figure out why it could possibly be a sin to dance. I saw nothing wrong with dancing but kept these thoughts to myself.
Here’s another one. We were taught that it was a sin for girls or adult women to wear pants. I never understood this one either but I didn’t care at the time. I was a 10 year old boy. Why would I care? I do remember thinking, “Does God really care if a girl wears a dress or wears pants? Hmmm.” Years later, I came to find out the specific reason these people believed this was a sin. The reasoning was that when women walk away from a man its man’s natural instinct to look at the woman’s ass. By wearing a dress it makes a man “less tempted” than if the woman was wearing a tight pair of jeans.
These are just a few examples of some concepts that made no sense to me as a ten year old boy, and I’d be surprised if they made sense to anyone reading this now. Nevertheless these were some of the principles I was being taught at the time. The fact that most religions have certain rules, guidelines and traditions that need to be upheld, or ways that one is “supposed to behave”, are concepts I gradually grew to reject over time.
On May 13th, 1981 (I was almost 11 years old at the time) Mr. Brown entered the classroom looking very sad. He then announced that Pope John Paul had been shot. Upon hearing this news I shouted out a loud “YEAH!” Mr. Brown looked at me with a puzzled expression and said, “No, David. That’s not something to be happy about.” I was confused. I asked, “Why not? He’s the leader of the Catholics.” I can’t remember exactly what Mr. Brown’s reply was but it was along the lines of “Satan is out there performing evil acts through people in an attempt to destroy the world.” Now I was really confused. I had been sitting in this class for nearly two years listening to my teacher badmouth and verbally attack the Catholics, Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and any other religion that didn’t believe what the Baptists believed, and now I’m supposed to show sympathy for the leader of the Catholic church who just got shot? I’m confident we were never taught to hate but we spent so much time talking about how these other religious groups were wrong that I perceived these other groups as “the enemy”. It always appeared to be an “us versus them” atmosphere when talking about religion. How was I supposed to know to think any differently? I was confused about much in regards to the doctrine being taught to me during these early years.
After the Fifth grade my family pretty much quit going to church. My dad’s business wasn’t doing well and my parents could no longer afford the tuition to send me and my brother to the private Christian school I had attended in fourth and fifth grade.
It was during the sixth grade when I really started having feelings that I was different from the other kids. Because I had just switched from a private school to a public school I didn’t know any of the kids, nor did I understand them. The culture was much different in the public school than it was at the private Christian school to say the least. I had a deep sense of not belonging there. I really felt as though I didn’t fit in and as a result of these feelings I had become a loner. I wasn’t a good student either. I had average to below average grades. Kids would walk up to me and ask me if I wanted to fight for no reason at all. I had done nothing to them and I could never figure out why they would want to fight me. I loved sports but I was always one of the kids on the playground who was picked last when the other kids were choosing teams. This time period saw the initial development of a severe inferiority complex.
Seventh grade was worse. This was my first year of junior high and another new school. My peers were older and more radical than they were the year before while my own social insecurities had grown deeper. I only spent half of the year at this particular junior high school as my family had to move from Colorado back to California (where we came from four years earlier). This being the case, I spent the second half of seventh grade at a new junior high school. I noticed a huge culture difference between the kids in Colorado and the kids in California. The kids in California (at least in the area where we were now living) were more rowdy and appeared to have a severe lack of respect toward the teachers. Maybe it was just the school itself that was poor. I’m not sure. It was also very obvious to me that the teachers at this particular school did not want to be there. The school was old and poorly maintained. I couldn’t care less about paying attention in class or doing well academically. I was a scared young boy who just wanted to get by and survive. I did survive this school but I lived every single day in some form of fear. I saw fights between kids take place almost every single day. My locker was broken into and all of my books were stolen several times. I always walked home constantly looking over my shoulder. The place was simply a fricken ghetto. There’s really no other way to put it.
We had moved again across town during the summer between 7th and 8th grade which meant yet another new school and another group of kids to get used to. I will say that the school I went to in 8th grade was nicer and more civilized than the school I had just come from. Everybody there seemed to know everybody else. I was still the kid who just sat there and didn’t talk much. I hated it. One of the problems I had at this time was that I had discovered girls. I had learned to appreciate pretty girls the past couple of years, but I was 13 years old now and the forces of Mother Nature really started to kick in. Obviously these types of feelings were perfectly normal for a 13 year old boy, as opposed to feeling different, not belonging, and the general sense of inferiority I had been experiencing the past several years that were not so normal. Puberty seemed to really complicate my state of being.
My freshman year of high school was a little bit better in the sense that I knew some kids who attended 8th grade with me. This was significant when you consider that I hadn’t started a year of school with the same group of kids since the 5th grade. I was still a nerdy, unpopular kid who didn’t have any sense of identity. I was very jealous and envious of the popular kids. Ever since I was a very young boy my dad always talked about what a “hot shot” he was in high school. This was tough for me because I saw myself as the exact opposite of “a hot shot”. I saw myself as a loser.
There was a real popular guy who I once heard say, “I need to get drunk or get laid on the weekends or I’m not going to have a good time.” Now, when I heard that kid make this statement it made a lasting impression on me. I wanted to have a good time but I had been taught my entire life that drugs and alcohol were bad things to mess around with, and as a 9th grader, getting laid was nothing less than an impossible fantasy.
One day, when I was 14 years old, I walked over to a friend’s house after school to hang out. When I showed up my friend said “Hey, come back here. Check this out.” We went into his bedroom and he opened up his closet door to show me approximately six bottles of various types of hard liquor. I asked “Where did you get this?” He told me that he was walking home from school and had cut through a parking lot where a truck was making a delivery of hard liquor to a bar. He said that when the driver went into the bar to make his delivery he left the back door of the truck open and he saw an opportunity. He then stuffed as many bottles as he could into his baseball bag and proceeded home.
I asked the kid, “Are you gonna drink it?” He started laughing, “Not all at once. Just a few shots will give you a good buzz. Wanna take a shot?” I can’t remember exactly how many shots we took but we both got really drunk. We cheered each other on as we took our shots. I can’t recall how long I stayed at the kid’s house but when I got home I went straight for the bathroom and puked all over my bathroom floor. I remember lying on my bathroom floor in the pool of vomit which resembled a few cans of watered down refried beans. Both of my parents were home at the time. My mom walked down the hallway to see me lying in my vomit and started asking me questions. It didn’t take her long to figure out that I had been drinking.
Although I can’t remember exactly what the consequences were, I’m sure I got quite a lecture because of this incident. It didn’t matter though. I’m not so sure my parents could have said or could have done anything at this point to prevent this type of behavior from happening again…and again…and again. I started running with kids who liked to drink and smoke pot on the weekends. I was such a strange kid with so many emotional issues that for the first time in my life I felt as though “I was fitting in.” When I was drinking I found comfort and a sense of belonging that I had never felt before. Alcohol made me feel good. I now had a sense of identity. As far as I was concerned all of the adults who had told me that alcohol was a bad thing I now had deemed “full of shit”.
Chapter 2
I had grown to become a pretty rowdy teenager. My personal religion had become “Sex, Drugs, and Rock n’ Roll”. I was doing very poorly in school (whenever I decided to go). I always seemed to be in some kind of trouble. I had no boundaries. I had no morals. I was a pleasure heat-seeking missile. As a teenager, I had no idea what I wanted out of life or what I wanted to become. I thought about these things from time to time but figuring out what I was going to do that particular evening was much more important. I was always on the prowl looking to have a better time than I did the night or weekend before. This is how I chose to focus my efforts and thinking patterns.
I quit going to High School in the middle of 11th grade to pursue a job driving a forklift in a warehouse for a chemical company. I had this job for several months and then quit to go work somewhere else. I continuously bounced around from entry level minimum wage job, to entry level minimum wage job. Even though I had a record of not lasting very long with a particular company (for one reason or another), I will say that I always had a very strong work ethic. When I was out of work I wouldn’t rest until I found another job. I eventually went back to a continuation school and received a High School Diploma (for whatever it’s worth).
When I was 18 years old, my girlfriend at the time and myself planned a trip to Las Vegas. Since neither of us was 21, we thought it would be wise to obtain fake ID’s, which we successfully accomplished. We drank and gambled to our hearts content during this trip. Several months after our Vegas trip, I was driving around aimlessly one night by myself when I came to a stop at a traffic signal where I heard some loud music coming from a corner bar. I thought to myself, “Man, I wish that I could go in there. I wonder if my fake ID could get me in.” I, being the pleasure heat-seeking missile I had become, filled with piss and vinegar, wasn’t going to go home wondering if it was going to work or not. I made a U-turn, pulled into the parking lot, and nervously walked into the bar.
I had purchased beer at various liquor stores with few problems in the past but had never thought of attempting to walk into a bar. Through trial and error, I had mastered the art of being underage and buying alcohol at liquor stores. The way I had it figured out was that I couldn’t walk into the liquor store, spend a large amount of time browsing around, nervously set some beer on the counter, and stare at the clerk to wait for him to card you. No, no, no. In order to successfully buy beer you had to deliberately, but calmly, walk in and grab the first 12-pack you saw on sale, walk it right over to the counter, reach for the cash in your pocket, and ask “What’s the total going to be?” I had practiced this routine successfully so many times that eventually I didn’t even need my fake ID anymore.
I put these same principles to work as I walked into this dimly lit, dingy dive bar for the first time. When I walked in I didn’t spend much time looking around. I went right up to an empty space at the bar and sat down as if I had been going there for years. The bartender started walking toward me and I felt my heart starting to race. The bartender asked me, “What can I get for ya?” I confidently replied, “I’ll have a Coors Light.” The bartender reached down, grabbed a Coors Light, popped the cap off, set it in front of me and said, “That will be $2.50.”
Boom! That was it! I did it! He didn’t even card me. I sat on that bar stool sipping my Coors Light thinking to myself, “How bitchen’ is this? I’m at a bar listening to a live band and drinking a beer while my friends are at home playing video games!” I was hooked on the nightlife immediately. I had so much fun that particular night that I went back the next night…and the next…and the next.
I now had a newfound passion: seeking out new bars and nightclubs and to get into as many of them as I could…as often as I could. Being 18 years old and three years away from legally going into bars and nightclubs I wasn’t successful getting in 100% of the time. My fake ID looked liked a fake ID. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. It didn’t matter though, if I got turned away at one bar I would simply find another place to go until I found one that didn’t card me. I found that the dirtier and the smokier the bar was, the better the chances were of being able to stay. This passion lasted for years.
When I was 20 years old, my dad made a deal with me. Here was the problem: I was 20 years old, living at home, working menial jobs, making close to minimum wage, unstable, and no plans to go to school. Based on these circumstances, there was no way I could afford to move out of the house anytime in the near future. The deal was that if I joined the military he would relieve me of the financial debts I had racked up (credit cards, car payment, etc.). My answer was an absolute “No”. There was no way in hell that I was going to join the military. At this point in time, I was selling water purification systems door-to-door with little or no success. Several weeks after my dad made the offer to relieve me of my debt, I was driving around very depressed because I hadn’t sold a water purification system in a few days when I noticed an “Army Careers” office located in a strip mall. I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to just go talk with them.
I walked into the recruiter’s office and a Staff Sergeant stood up from behind a desk with a smile and said, “Hi there! Can I help you with something?” I hesitatingly answered him by stating, “Well, uh, well, er, uh, I’m thinking about joining the Army.” The Staff Sergeant smiled bigger and said, “Do you have about 20 minutes to watch a couple short videos?”
Without going into any more detail, by the time I walked out of that office 2 hours later I had enlisted in the Army and was going to be shipped off to basic training in two months (pending a drug screen that the recruiter advised me on how to pass). I joined the army with the shortest possible enlistment of a two-and-a-half-year commitment. I didn’t want to commit to four years (in case I hated it) and figured if I did like the army I could always re-enlist.
Initially, I had a real tough time and even tried to get out of the Army altogether after being there only a couple weeks. I had grown to be a kid who never listened to anyone and always did what he wanted when he wanted to do it. I now found myself under “total control”…literally. After battling the initial shock of being in the military and accepting the fact that I was going to “be owned” for the next two and a half years, I settled in to becoming a pretty decent soldier. Even though I adjusted to army life I never really liked it. I hated being under total control. I hated being forced to exercise. I hated having to conform to general military standards and having to be just like everyone else. There are just some birds you cannot cage and I was one of them. I counted the days to when I was getting out. The army for me was really a form of a self-imposed jail sentence.
I’m not going to say that the army was a total waste of two and a half years, but I would have to say there wasn’t a whole lot of personal growth during that time. What I mean by this is that when you’re in the military…
* You get free room and board
* You get three free prepared meals per day (breakfast, lunch, and dinner)
* You don’t have to budget for electric, gas, and water bills, as this is all provided
* You don’t have to pay for your uniforms
* You don’t need to worry about carrying medical or dental insurance
* I had a squad leader who came to my room in the barracks everyday to make sure my room was clean, made sure that I made my bed, took out the trash, etc.
There’s not that much difference in being in the military than living at your mom’s house as far as common everyday responsibilities are concerned. I’m not knocking the military by any stretch of the imagination, but all of these aspects of military life don’t teach a person basic critical life skills which are necessary in civilian life…at least not in my case. A small portion of my check was spent on personal hygiene stuff (shampoo, toothpaste, shaving cream, deodorant, etc.) while the greater balance was spent on cigarettes and partying…just like when I was living at home.
During the short time I spent in the army I took my alcohol abuse to a new level. I could write a separate book entitled “Great Parties in the Army”. I was functional for the most part, meaning that I was young enough to stay up most of the night drinking and partying while still being able make it to work on time after getting just a few hours sleep. I didn’t see this lifestyle as dysfunctional then as it really was part of the culture. I fit right in.
May 12, 1993 was my last day in the Army. This came two weeks before my 23rd birthday. I jumped into my 1979 Ford LTD and started driving toward California from Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri with my army bag (uniforms, boots, etc), a personal duffle bag which contained my civilian clothes, a case of beer in a cooler placed in the front seat of the car, about three packs of cigarettes, approximately $900.00 in cash in my back pocket, and the uncertainty of exactly where I was going to end up or what I was going to be doing in the weeks and months ahead. Even though I had these feelings of uncertainty as to what the future held for me, the feeling of freedom far outweighed the feelings of uncertainty. I knew an adventure awaited me. I just had no idea what it was.
When I got back home it felt very different. I can’t stress this enough. Nothing seemed to be the same. I didn’t get a warm fuzzy feeling when I got back to California. The people I used to hang out with were out doing their own thing and had lives of their own. My dad had gotten remarried and moved on. My mom had moved out to a strange place about an hour from where we used to live. I didn’t feel like I knew my brother or sister anymore. The bars that I used to frequent felt different. I made a comment to a friend of mine, “Everybody and everything has changed.” His reply to me was, “No, you have changed.” Now that I think about it, I believe we were both right. It seemed as though everybody I once knew were now total strangers. I ended up staying at my Mom’s place for a couple months until I found a job, got a few paychecks under my belt, and was able to get a place of my own.
I spent the next few years trying to find myself. I bounced around from job to job, living here for a short time, living there for a while. There was absolutely no stability in my life. “Where the hell was I going in life? What was it that I really wanted? Why do I even bother to get out of bed in the morning and go to work? “ The things I used to find fun simply were not fun anymore. The quest for pleasure had become very elusive. I slowly began to feel my youth slipping away.
By the time I hit 27 years old, I was a broken person. I had become a full-blown alcoholic, using any drug I could get my hands on, living in trashy hotels and run-down apartments. I never seemed to have any money. I had legal problems resulting from multiple DUI arrests. I was morally, financially, and spiritually bankrupt. I was a very scared and lonely young person. Day-to-day life felt like a living hell. Thoughts of suicide frequently entered my mind.
Chapter 3
I was 27 years old when I was living alone in a small one-bedroom apartment in an old run-down apartment complex in Anaheim, CA. I was tired of being sick and tired. I was lonely. I was tired of being broke. I was scared. I often wondered if my life would ever amount to anything.
I did have the awareness that my alcohol and drug use had been out of control for quite some time. I made a few feeble attempts to stop drinking during that time but it never stuck for more than a week. I got to the point where I would go several days without drinking only to cut loose and go on a bender for a couple days. This pattern of behavior lasted several months.
One night I got really drunk and apparently I called my dad threatening to commit suicide. I don’t remember actually doing this. When I came to I was lying in my front room surrounded by several police officers as well as my dad. I can’t remember any part of any conversations I may have had that evening but I know that I ended up in a loony farm for a few days. I don’t think anyone knew what to do with me. I didn’t know what to do with myself. After I left the loony farm I went back to live in my apartment by myself.
After I came to the realization that there was no way in hell I was going to be able to stop drinking on my own, I came to the conclusion that I needed some help, so I tried going to a couple of Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. That didn’t work very well for me at the time...to say the least. I think I went for about a week, maybe two weeks at the most, without drinking any alcohol at all. But there were times I would go to an AA meeting and then stop off at a bar on the way home for a couple drinks.
I didn’t feel like I fit in with the AA people. I remember thinking, “What a bunch of losers.” I stopped going to AA when I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up in the middle of a meeting and announced, “YOU PEOPLE CAN SIT AROUND HERE AND TALK ABOUT YOUR PROBLEMS BUT I’M GONNA GO PARTY!” After I had made that announcement I stormed out of the meeting and quit going to AA altogether for the time being. Going to AA meetings didn’t seem to be the answer.
Shortly after my weak effort with Alcoholics Anonymous, I decided that I needed God. Isn’t that what we see so many people do? When people hit rock bottom they declare that they found the Lord and everything is cool from then on out (yeah right!) I thought, “Maybe I need to start going back to church. Get involved. Hang out with some Christians. Study the Bible and memorize verses. Start to pray on a regular basis. Maybe I’ll find a good Christian lady.” Yep. This is what I knew I needed to do to get my life on the right track.
To kick this thing off, I knew of a Christian bookstore in the local mall so I went there to poke around and maybe buy a book or two. I think I ended up buying a Bible study guide and a separate workbook to go along with it. I also bought a dry erase board to hang in my room so I could write Bible verses on it to help me memorize them.
One of the things I struggled with at this time, and would continue to struggle with for many more years to come, was trying to understand the concept of “The Will of God”. During that time I distinctly remember praying, “God, if you left me a list of instructions under my pillow each morning for me to follow, I would carry out the instructions to the absolute best of my ability. The problem I have is that I don’t know what your Will is for me or my life.” Just for the record, I never expected a list of written instructions to magically appear under my pillow each morning. I was trying to convey to God that I was absolutely 100% willing to do His Will, but I had no clue what it was or how to find out.
I started praying morning, noon, and night. I started coming home from work and doing my Bible studies. I even tried out a few local churches. I was still drinking in the evenings pretty heavily but doing my Bible studies while doing so. This act of trying to find God, praying, and doing my Bible studies lasted for about a month or two until one particular night…
I was sitting on my couch one evening doing my Bible Study from a Bible workbook. I can’t remember if I was drinking wine or a whiskey of some sort but it was more than likely one of the two. I know it wasn’t beer because it took too much beer to give me the buzz I used to desire, but I know that I had quite a bit to drink that evening. I can’t remember exactly what led to this but all of a sudden I sat up and threw my Bible and the study guide across the room like they were baseballs. Then I stood up and started shouting at God. I walked over to where I had thrown my Bible and I started tearing it up. I lived on the second story of this apartment complex where there was a swimming pool almost directly below the front door to my apartment. I opened up my front door and took what was left of the Bible I had just ripped to shreds and drop kicked it into the swimming pool. I then slammed my front door shut and continued to shout at God.
I can’t remember everything I had shouted at God that evening but it was loud and I was pissed. One thing I clearly remember shouting was, “GOD, I HAVE BEEN DOING EVERYTHING I AM SUPPOSED TO BE DOING! I READ THE STUPID BIBLE, I PRAY TO YOU, I HAVE DONE EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO FIND YOU AND DO YOUR WILL AND NOTHING HAS CHANGED! YOU KNOW WHAT? I THINK THE BIBLE IS BULLSHIT AND THE BIGGEST FRAUD EVER! YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE? I THINK YOU ARE BULLSHIT! IF YOU ARE REAL, THEN REVEAL YOURSELF TO ME BECAUSE I THINK YOU’RE TOTAL BULLSHIT!” I continued to drink until I passed out that evening.
Now, I’d really like to say that after I cussed God out that I saw a burning bush across my living room with God saying, “DAVID, THIS IS GOD. I AM REAL AND YOUR BEHAVIOR IS UNACCEPTABLE. YOU WILL BE PUNISHED FOR THIS!” but that didn’t happen. I will say that God did not need to reveal himself to me but in the few short weeks ahead, I feel he did. I would never doubt the existence of God ever again.
At this point, I was a walking time bomb. It was a Sunday afternoon approximately 2 weeks after I had cussed God out, ripped up my Bible and kicked it in the pool, when I decided to walk up to a local dive bar just up the street from my apartment. I figured I could walk up to the bar, have a few drinks, and walk home at a decent hour with plenty enough time to get a good night’s sleep. I had to go to work the next morning so getting started with the drinking early in the afternoon seemed like a good idea (opposed to starting later in the afternoon or early evening and running the risk of staying out too late and sleeping through my alarm clock the next morning which I had done many times before).
Once I got to the bar that Sunday afternoon I ordered the usual, scotch and water on the rocks. I remember ordering a few more after the initial one but that’s about all I remember. I had blacked out. The next thing I consciously realized was that I woke up in my bed and I was soaked. I had peed the bed. I then looked over at my alarm clock and it read something like 9:30AM. “HOLY SHIT! I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AT WORK AT 7:30!” I just broke down and started crying. I remember thinking, “I’ve had enough. This is it. I’m done.” I stumbled out of bed, walked over to the phone, and dialed my boss. Here’s how the conversation went down…
Dave: “Hey. It’s Dave.”
Boss: “Where are you at?”
Dave: “I’m a god damn drunk and I can’t make it to work.”
Boss: “We know you’re a god damn drunk. Sleep it off and get to work!”
Dave: “Na. You’re gonna need to get someone else to fill my spot. I’m done.”
Boss: “Huh?”
Dave: “I’m sorry. I have some serious issues I need to deal with. I need some kind of help or something. I apologize if I’ve inconvenienced you.”
And then I hung up. I started crying some more. Ok, now what was I going to do? My mind was in such a fog I can’t remember what I was thinking. By the end of that day I made the determination that suicide was clearly the only option at this point.
I believe I had about $200.00 to my name at the time. I decided to go up to the liquor store and buy all the alcohol I could with the money I had left. I bought a mix of bottles which included Johnny Walker, Jack Daniels, Southern Comfort, and possibly some other stuff. I can’t quite remember. I do remember buying a carton of cigarettes though. My game plan was to drink until all the alcohol was gone and then kill myself.
For the next week or so I would drink until I passed out. I would wake up in my vomit and urine and then go take a shower. After my shower, I would drink until I passed out again. I would wake up in vomit and urine and then crawl back in the shower. This routine lasted about a week. I ate very little if anything at all. I seem to remember opening a can of tomato soup. I think I may have also made a bowl of ramen during the week but that was it. Food wasn’t necessary for me anymore. I was just going to kill myself after the alcohol was gone anyway. The alcohol cured any hunger pangs I may have been having.
Eventually, the alcohol was gone. Now, I had a decision to make. A big decision. What method was I going to use to kill myself? I thought about slitting my wrists. Na, too bloody. I thought about buying some sleeping pills and taking the whole bottle. Wait, I don’t have any more money. Maybe I’ll just hang myself. Damn! Do I REALLY want to die? I remember thinking, “Well, you lost the respect of all your family members a long time ago, you have no job now, the rent is going to be due in a few weeks, you have no money, you can’t get a driver’s license for almost 2 more years, you have a couple of warrants for your arrest, you have no wife or girlfriend, and nobody really gives a shit about you. Yep, I’m better off dead.”
I remember sitting on my living room floor for hours and hours negotiating with myself, trying to justify living and how I was going to approach it. After much contemplation, suicide really did sound like the only rational option to me. It was way too painful to live. I didn’t know how to live. I didn’t know what to live for.
I came to the conclusion that before I killed myself, I owed it to myself to make one last effort to reach out for help. I happened to have a phonebook in the apartment. I sat and thumbed through the pages and I believe I looked up the term “alcoholism”. When I found it, it said, “See Counseling”. Ok, so I looked up “counseling” and there were numerous listings for various types of issues including alcohol related matters. I called one of the numbers and spoke to a lady who I briefly told my situation to. She basically told me, “We’re full and don’t have any more beds.” I thought this was very weird. “They don’t have any more beds?” I thought. I wasn’t exactly looking for a place to sleep. I had a place to sleep (for now anyway). I told myself, “Make another call.”
The next phone number I dialed was the number to the Oasis Treatment Center in Anaheim, CA. The lady who answered the phone transferred me to an intake counselor. I can’t remember who I talked to but it was a very cool chick. She asked me bluntly, “What’s going on?” At that point I pretty much unloaded on this poor girl telling her everything that had happened, how I was feeling, and why I was feeling that way. The conversation ended by her telling me, “Ok, we’re going to send a couple of people over to pick you up.” I shouted, “YOU’RE GONNA DO WHAT? How long am I going to be there?” She quickly responded “It’s a 30 day in-patient program. After that you find a job and move into one of our sober living houses.” I then asked the girl, “How long would I have to stay in a sober living house?” She responded with “We can talk about that when you get here.”
I then started making excuses as to why I couldn’t leave and that my place was a mess and nobody could come over. The intake girl responded to my objections by saying, “Remember, you called me. I didn’t call you. You’re looking for help, right? We’re here to help you. Plus, you were going to kill yourself, right? So what in God’s name do you have to lose?” I had to agree with her. “Ok, fine! When will you guys be coming?” She said, “They should get there in about an hour.”
After I hung up the phone with this nice girl, I sat and gathered my thoughts for a few minutes. Physically, I felt very weak. Emotionally, I was a wreck. Although somewhere, deep down inside of me, I knew I was doing the right thing. Even though I felt very uneasy about the situation at the same time it was extremely comforting to know that help was on the way…literally.
Chapter 4
When I arrived at the Oasis Treatment Center it truly seemed like it was just that…an oasis. I was greeted by one of the counselors, “Hello David, Welcome to the Oasis!” I was an emotional and physical wreck but at the same time I had a small sense of relief. The Oasis was a large, beautiful, old house which had been converted into a treatment center. The owner had purchased an adjoining property with a smaller house on it which was called “the back house”, which housed several people. The property was beautifully landscaped and well maintained with large palm trees everywhere. Between the two houses was a courtyard with a basketball hoop, ping pong table, built-in fire pit, and there was even a swimming pool. The staff was extra friendly.
On one hand I was eternally grateful to be there. On the other hand I felt very ashamed for sinking to the level where I needed this much help. Regardless, I was in a much better position at that point than I was several hours before…and I recognized this.
At the time (it may have changed since then) the Oasis was a 90 day rehabilitation program. It was broken up into three different 30-day phases…
Phase 1: People in recovery live at the center, meet with a personal counselor every day, and go to several group meetings throughout the day. It is pretty much a “total control” situation for the first 30 days.
Phase 2: People in recovery still live at the center but they get turned loose during the day to go find a job (full or part-time). Yes, finding a job was part of the program. One needed to have found a job before they could go to Phase 3. In the evening we were required to eat dinner at the center and to attend the nightly meetings and other various activities. This phase lasted another 30 days.
Phase 3: Once I found a job and was working during the day, I was to move out of the treatment center and into one of the local sober living houses. The sober living houses were local houses owned by the same man who owned the treatment center. I want to say there were about five different sober living houses in the immediate area associated with the treatment center. In sober living, we were still required to go to the center for “aftercare” meetings, pay monthly rent, as well as follow some pretty strict guidelines.
Some people moved out of the sober living houses right after the Phase 3 timeframe was up and went about their lives. Some people lived in these sober living houses for many months after the three phases were complete. Each person had an individual case which obviously was a little bit different than everyone else’s. The goal of the entire program was to take the broken people, fix the problems, and wean them back into society. This particular treatment program proved to be pretty effective. They kept us pretty busy with group meetings, sub-group meetings, and one-on-one sessions.
There was one particular meeting every morning that I hated at the time but didn’t realize how powerful the practice was until many years later. This was a meeting of “positive affirmations”. Every morning the group sat around a large table. A list of positive affirmations was then passed around the table. The list would start with one person and he would pick a positive affirmation to read aloud. The list was then passed to the next person where he would pick a positive affirmation, read it aloud, and so on. The list would go around the room numerous times with each person picking a different positive affirmation to read. The list contained numerous positive affirmation statements such as…
“I release my fear and feel secure.”
“I am beautiful inside and out.”
“I am how God has created me.”
“I am one with God and the Universe.”
“I give and receive love.”
“I do not let circumstances affect my mood. I can always choose peace.”
“I value my life because my life has value.”
You get the idea. I think it’s pretty safe to say that most of the people in this meeting felt very uncomfortable reading positive affirmations from the list as we were a group of broken people. Most of the time, it was hard for me to read one of these positive affirmations out loud with a straight face. It wasn’t until much later in life did I fully appreciate and understand the reasons behind the power of positive affirmations. I’ve come to discover in recent years that positive affirmations are powerful tools for anyone to use (broken people or not) in the sense that “you become what you think about”.
There were a lot of interesting folks at the Oasis to say the least. It was a total melting pot of people from elderly men and women to kids who were barely eighteen. It was a mix of cultures and social status. One thing that I learned early on the path to recovery is that alcohol and drugs do not discriminate. Drugs and alcohol are equal opportunity destroyers no matter who people may think they are. We all were broken people in some way or another.