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Prologue
A wise woman once said, " It will all be ok in the end. If it's not ok, then it's not the end."
A sound piece of advice, that somehow seems to make more sense when someone is at 'rock bottom'. This, 'rock bottom', is where I coincidentally found myself. Once more. Again.
It wasn't always like this. Once upon a time I had a life, goals, values. But, here I was, at 'rock bottom'. Again.
I repeated those words of advice over and over again. I said them to myself, burning them into my brain. Lest I forget.
I had been here before. The familiar stench of "yesterdays news" still lingered. It was as if an "I told you so"was written on the skyline. It was like someone had taken an imaginary pen and placed it there, so as to say, "look at today's newest headline", referring to myself and my current situation. Or, lack thereof.
I'd visited here before. Been around the block. A time or two. Went to the concert. Bought the T-shirt. I knew the lay of the land. This time, though, it was as if I'd packed my bags and planned on living here.
They say we all live by a code. A certain Set of guidelines or standardized rules that we've chosen to follow. This code helps keep us in line, and brings order to the chaos we call life.
For some, the code is written"by the book". Police officers choosing to serve and protect, or doctors promising to do no harm. Others choose to pledge their allegiance to the flag and our country. Or, their heads to clearer thinking. And of course, most of us are familiar with the Golden Rule. Do unto others.
I never meant to become a follower. I wasn't really the type to fit in or follow suit. I wasn't a rule breaker, "per se". I just always seemed to find my own way of doing things. It made life easier for me. And aren't we all just looking for easy street around here? If nothing else, I was. Why make things harder for ourselves. As they say " work smarter, not harder".
They call us Tweakers. Junkies. Addicts. But none of these labels do us any justice. These labels don't even begin to scratch the surface of who we are, in this world we live in.
There's a kind of unspoke understanding among us. A set of rules that governs our existence. Some would say even more strictly than any law ever could.
This unspoken understanding, or "code", isn't written anywhere. No books or manuals. No tweaker bible. Although, there should be.
Every last single one of us knows it. We live it.We breathe it.
The short stories written in this work will tell of this code and how we got to where we are. I call it, The Tweaker Code.
Number One
"Hello my name is, and I think I'm an alcoholic."
It's amazing how one simple word can make such a difference.
The room got quiet. Almost silenced. Barring the one gentleman next to me, who had just taken a sip of his coffee.
Out it came. Almost as fast as it had gone in.
As he choked out what had meant to be swallowed, a young mousy looking girl with straw colored hair, a button nose, and knobbd for knees suddenly stood.
She reached across the table for a set of napkins that were just barely out of reach. Accomplishing nothing, and barely missing a styrofoam cup full of what was probably more of the black, stout, caffeinated liquid most of them had become accustomed to. I think they referred to it as coffee. If one could call it that.
A whispering murmur could be heard amongst a group of young women, three of them to be exact. All around the same age, and funny enough, all bearing the same name.
What these women were saying couldn't quite be heard from across the room. Which is where I stood. Awaiting my reckoning.I just didn't know it yet.
The damn near deafaning silence, or so it felt, was enough to instantly sicken me. They, however, kept their voices to a mere mumble. Inaudible at best. The faces they were making, however, made it very clear that whatever it was they were saying, it was definitely about me. These girls were almost certainly putting in their "two cents" worth on the current calamity.
A few other people sitting near them began to chime in. Still keeping it at a low rumble, so as to wait and see what elder members might say or how the might react. Or so it seemed.
An older gentleman, not quite elderly, but at least that of my father's age, began to clear his throat. As if he were planning to speak. He did this twice. Very concisely. As if to endure the attention be redirected and focused in his general direction.
The attention however, was not focused on him. While he sat at the head of the table in a comfortable, worn in office rocker, awaiting a calm, the attention he meant to grab by clearing his throat had yet to come towards him. The focus instead was still upon me.
I could feel the heat radiating from my face. I began to get nervous, almost jittery. A touch of light headedness came across me. The donut I had just stuffed down my throat moments before was ready to vacate.
Poor old me. I was doing everything I could to keep down that donut, whilst repressing the urge to take off and run. Most of the audience was now staring me down and it was becoming too much to bear.
A normal me would have gone into " fight or flight" mode and run from the room.
Hell. A normal me would would have never gained the courage to stand up and speak to a room full of my peers.
A normal me would have chosen to hide in the crowd. Immersing myself in the faces and spaces behind the head table. Probably taking a chair near the back. Where I could could hide myself and be comfortable in my own skin.
But, then, today I was not a normal me.
Today I had gained some liquid courage. In the form of roasted coffee beans blacker than midnight in the country.
There was something about that super dark roast that gave me the sense of self assuredness. A characteristic that was far from my normal self.
I'm not exactly shy. I just have trouble with large crowds of people. It gets to be too much for me, and I just panic. Leaving all sense of reality behind.
Today was my " first time". I was new to this. Although I'd gone to a fewertomgs before. This would be my very first attempt at speaking to the group.
After what seemed an eternity, or at least an entire length of one of my lifetimes had passed, a young man near my age spoke. His voice was heavy, and he spoke in a tone of voice that reminded me of being lectured after misbehaving in school. If you can imagine.
"Hello." he said.
It was then that I knew I was in for it. But I couldn't quite understand why. I was about to learn what I'd done so wrong as to cause such raucous.
" In A.A or N.A, what have you, we do not simply 'think' we are. We know we are."
He put a heavy emphasis on the word 'know' as if to tell me exactly what I'd done wrong, in case I missed it. Which, I obviously had. And, not because I wasnt the sharpest tool in my shed either. Only because I had never done it before.
I took my seat. It would take me some time before I went to another meeting. I did though. Later on. After getting over my very public humiliation.
Had I been more sure of myself, I'd have "defended my honor" At the time, though, it seemed better to take the loss.
Just goes to show what I get for thinking.And how one word can mean all the difference.
Next time,I would most definitely "know".
I already did.
- Writer
