Climbing out of the Rabbit Hole

Table of Contents

Preface

Introduction

Chapter One

Inside, Looking Out

Chapter Two

Round Two

Chapter Three

Race to Safety

Chapter Four

The Glass Visit

Chapter Five

Meds, Moods and Mania

Chapter Six

Digging Deeper

Chapter Seven

Moving In and Moving On

Chapter Eight

Up-Close and Personal

Chapter Nine

Different Spaces

Chapter Ten

Help is on the Way

Chapter Eleven

Back to Square One

Chapter Twelve

Fourth Step Work

Chapter Thirteen

Meeting the Challenges

Chapter Fourteen

Looking Back and Leaping Forward

Preface

The personal letters in this book were written during my son’s incarceration when Michael struggled to overcome his addiction to drugs. Editorial comments (in bold print) and journaling notes (in italics) were added in several chapters to bridge specific times, events, and places.

Fortunately, Bob became his sponsor when Michael was in prison. His tough-love letters and guidance were instrumental to our understanding of the AA program. We finally understood what it was like to put the not-so-easy Twelve Steps into action.

I put this book of letters together for a few reasons. I wanted to give Michael a gift that celebrated his personal recovery. I also hoped it could be a useful tool when he sponsored other addicts. If Michael couldn’t stay sober, if he lost his life, I would want this book to be his legacy.

As a co-dependent parent, I tried to save Michael from himself in his first years of drug addiction. Sadly, his need to self-destruct was stronger. I just waited, imagining over and over again, the phone call a mother gets, reporting the end of her child’s life. There was no torture worse than watching my son throw his life away. It was like trying to call his attention to oncoming danger as he walked right into it, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

The line between co-dependence and healthy assistance is thin and hard to see. At times, I couldn’t figure out exactly what I was doing that made things worse. I was caught in a strangling web of my own doing because I lived in the fear of losing him.

According to statistics, he had a small chance of making it and I wanted to know why. Like millions of people, I couldn’t understand why addicts and alcoholics didn’t stop taking something that threatened their lives. I finally found some answers after a lot of reading, listening, and watching.

Tracing Michael’s path of addiction is an on-going and enlightening process. It winds its way throughout this book. I am grateful knowing my son was ready to share his experiences with others. It was a reflection of his personal growth in working the Twelfth Step.

I share this book hoping you see yourself in my son if you have an addiction to drugs or alcohol. If you are a loved one, I hope you see the push-pull of co-dependency and find your way to peace. If you are reading this book for any other reason, I hope you value its story and feel enriched by reading it.

Michael and his mother, Terry Woods

1991 - Southern Oregon

Introduction

While Michael serves time in prison, the clock ticks away his days to an unknown future. Will he stay sober when he gets out? Will he go back to prison? Will he over-dose and die?

No one knows what the future brings. All I know about is today. I also know that I can only live one day at a time.

There were times though, when I looked back at the events that deeply affected Michael’s life. They began in 1970, when Michael was five years old. That was the year his father and I were divorced. It was also the end of my life as an upper-middle class, stay-at-home-mom living in the suburbs.

As a single mother, I still wasn’t prepared for the real world. I couldn’t get a credit card for the next three years and my bouts with PMS and depression made financial strains even more difficult. I struggled to support Michael and his brother in unskilled labor jobs until I became a manicurist and moved to Oregon.

By 1981, when Michael was sixteen years old, his father had become a real estate developer and had also remarried. During that year, Michael decided to move into his father’s house. He had been suspended from school in Oregon and thought the change would do him good. Michael’s brother was away at college and my nest was now becoming empty. That September, I moved back to California to earn more money and provide a home for Michael in case things didn’t work out for him.

He didn’t get along with his father for more than a few months. When he was told to move out, Michael also dropped out of high school just three months before graduation. He had also lost the desire to move back home with mom after tasting his new-found freedom.

He was offered a job doing tree-service work after a few weeks of sleeping on the beach in his car. He admired his new boss and was eager to know all about the business. They parted friends when Michael started his own tree service six months later. He had two trucks and three crews within a year of his nineteenth birthday.

Michael became a drug addict within the next five years. Life was a blur as he moved back and forth between Los Angeles and Las Vegas.

The bumpy road Michael traveled during the next ten years was punctuated with false beginnings and painful endings. He lost everything after three more attempts to start a tree-service business while taking hard drugs.

In 1997, Michael returned to Las Vegas after I retired there. It didn’t take long for me to become a co-dependent victim of his disease. Eventually, I took him to a psychiatrist who said he had a manic-depressive (bipolar) mental disorder. Left to his own devices, I knew it would be difficult for Michael to accept medications, let alone stay sober.

His diagnosis added to my co-dependence that year. Traffic warrants were out for his arrest and I paid them all to keep him out of jail. It took two years for me to start drawing boundaries.

In 1999, Michael finally agreed to detox from drugs so he could go to the Salvation Army’s rehabilitation program. Unfortunately, he tried to detox in my home. It ended when I rushed him to the hospital. After panicking from an uncontrollable pounding in his heart, he was given medication to calm his drug withdrawal symptoms.

It seemed like relief was on its way when I placed him in a state mental health living center to get the treatment he needed. Two weeks later, he violated the rules, took hallucinogenic drugs and had to be restrained after disturbing the peace. He was also asked to leave the next day.

After Michael called his brother about working for him, he boarded a plane with his dog and drum set. Two days later, his brother took him to the hospital to have his stomach pumped from a drug overdose. That was followed with a return flight back to Las Vegas.

I wasn’t able to find someone with a truck who could help me pick Michael up with his drums at the airport. When he saw my car instead of a truck, he went into a rage, kicking in my doors and smashing the hood with his metal-bound drum cases. He tried to smash the windshield, but his suitcase bounced off the car and blocked me from backing up. The large cases he threw at the car landed all around me. When I begged him to stop, it only got worse. Finally, I asked a group of on-lookers to call the police. By the time I escaped, the police airport security headed toward me. When they asked if I wanted to have Michael arrested, I decided against it.

He called later that day to apologize and to tell me that he was leaving again. The following week, Michael returned to California and was soon arrested for drug possession and attempted auto theft.

Chapter One

Inside, Looking Out

Dear Mom,            May 4, 1999

I finally made it to prison. There are some really crazy people here. I watched two prison guards walk a few people off after their legs and arms were fully shackled up. The guards had face masks, bullet-proof vests and billy clubs. They locked us down when they walked that guy off.

They had another guy who was naked except for his shorts. He was sitting in a wheelchair and wore a mask over his whole face. He refused to walk and the mask prevented him from spitting on the guards. That guy was on the same bus with me. He was crazy, banging his head on the bus gate and yelling crazy stuff. But I don’t think I’ll be living around people like that, thank God.

Everybody’s under fire. The guards have rifles and will shoot anybody in a fight, or if you don’t listen during a riot. When you are processed, they ask you to write down on a piece of paper, if killed, where you want your body sent.

It was a trip when I pulled up in the bus. The prison is huge but not tall. It’s wide with a lot of different yards, #1 - #5. The #1 Yards are for first-termers with non-violent crimes. Where you go is based on your points. The more points you have, the higher the yard you will go to. Since my crime wasn’t violent, I’m going to a #1 Yard. It’s pretty kick-back. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to the yard in three weeks.

It’s a lot different in prison than county jail. The air didn’t circulate like it does here, and the food and people are better. I’m in the Reception Center now, locked in a cell all day except for two hours. But I’ll make it, no problem. It will be about two months to get to the main yard.

I shaved my head in the county jail. It feels good to have hardly any hair, plus I look mean and I fit in. It feels good to finally get the pain killers out of my system. They made me weak. I’m starting to work out again.

I have a two-man cell and a cool celly. He’s from San Fernando Valley like me. He’s done a lot of time so he knows how to work things, like coffee. It takes at least a month for my money to get here from the county jail. When I was in there, I bought some stamps to trade so I could get some coffee or soups when I went to prison.

It took me seven weeks to get here after I was finished with court, and it took me five weeks to finish court. Normally it takes between seven and fourteen days to catch a chain to prison, as they call it, so I don’t know why it took me that long. If I caught a chain in ten days, I would have been done with Reception already. Oh, well, I finally made it. I’m not the only one who waited that long though, so I don’t feel that bad.

Even though it’s better than county jail, except for being locked down, it’s going to be great where I’m going next. I’ll be able to go outside in the yard or to my cell whenever I want. If I get lucky, I’ll have my own key to my cell.

Will you please send me $40 dollars? That should last me until my money gets here from the county which could take up to two months. If you send me money, I won’t have to be hungry in between meals. When I told you the food was better here, I meant that it tastes better. They give us salt and pepper and they put extra things in their hot dishes, like chunks of chicken in the macaroni, or meat in the scrambled eggs. But I still feel hungry, especially at night.

Buying things in Store is really important to everybody. If you don’t have anything, you feel left out. A lot of us like making something called a spread. You cook a top Ramen Soup and then mix in a bag each of crunched up potato chips and cheese puffs. Then you take salami from Store, and throw just a few little pieces in. After cooking the soup in a sandwich bag, you throw one mustard packet and two mayonnaise packets in and then drain out all the water. Closing the top of the bag with one hand, you squish the bottom of the bag so everything mixes together. It tastes great. It’s weird what you learn in jail. When I get out, I’m still going to make it.

Dear Mom,            June 1, 1999

It’s me again. I’m still waiting to see my counselor so I can get out of Reception. It’s Store day tomorrow. I’m spending $70, buying enough things to last me a month. I’m getting three cases of Ramen soups, 10 bags of potato chips, 7 bags of chocolate cookies, 3 boxes of caramel bars and 3 jars of coffee, which totals $50. I already bought my deodorant, toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, soap, and lotion the last time I went.

If I didn’t have Store, I would always be hungry. There were two dead weeks when it was real dry in this dorm. Nobody had any Store left. But now everybody’s going to have a lot of food. It’s a whole different situation when there’s food around. The whole dorm is happier so people share and make spreads.

When I go to the library again, I’m going to ask about the books you talked about. Thanks for the postcards and pictures. I look at them every day. Nobody can believe you’re my mom. You look too young. I’m going to lose my belly with my workout so I should be thin when I get out. More pictures would be cool, and please write more.

P.S. I hope I’m not asking too much of you, but I have nobody else’s help. Frankly, I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re the best mom in the world.

Hi Mom,           June 4, 1999

I moved locations. I’m in a dorm, but I’m still in Reception. There are 200 people in the dorm, so I have lots of people to talk to instead of being stuck in that cell. I was lucky to get out of there after five days. Most people get stuck in cells during Reception for about three months.

Now I can shower any time and watch television all day. There’s more freedom and air-conditioning in dorms. I’m with a lot of short-timers, so it’s pretty cool because everyone is nice. It will probably stay this way because I’m a first-termer.

Will you send me pictures? I don’t care what they are. If you could send a picture of me trimming those palm trees, I would really love that. I haven’t received any mail from you yet, maybe because I moved. But I’m still waiting for at least one letter.

Hi Mom,            June 17, 1999

It’s me again. I thought I told you that I received your money order. It came on June 1st so it took about eleven days to get here. That’s not bad.

Things are going to be different when I get out of here, I’m sure of it. I could be out by August if I go to a half-way house for recovering addicts. They can release you up to six months early to do that. If that doesn’t happen, I’ll be out in December.

I finished reading the Bible all the way through and now I’m starting to read the Big Book. It’s not easy for me since I never really liked to read before. It takes a lot of time, but that’s what I have a lot of living in here.

Dear Mom,            July 13, 1999

I can’t believe I haven’t seen my counselor yet. But after I do, I’ll get out of Reception in about two weeks. It takes two months to see one. That’s how long I’ve been here, exactly 56 days. It feels like I’ll never get out.

It’s hot as hell in this dorm, and all we have are swamp-coolers. It’s got to be 85 degrees in here. Luckily, I’m sleeping near one of the vents so I feel the air blowing on the right side of my bed. Other people don’t even have that.

Right now I’m waiting for Store. I’ve gotten into drinking coffee. That’s what I look forward to now. I like to drink coffee and read a book. I read about an hour a day whenever we have to be on our bunks.

I can’t believe I like to read, but only if it’s an interesting book that I can’t stop reading. I’ve read about five books, fat ones, with about 600 pages. So far, my favorite author has been Stephen King. I also like Danielle Steele and Dean Koontz.

After being locked up for four months, I’ve done a lot of thinking. I feel like I’m not going to use drugs when I get out. But, even though I don’t want to, I’m still a little scared that I will. I feel like the longer I’m in here, the more strength I’ll have not to use. The thought of not using is getting stronger every week. I feel like if I stayed at the last rehab longer, maybe it would have worked.

I’m starting to work out since you sent me those pictures and I saw my thin, trim body in Oregon. I’m also learning how to play Pinochle, a card game that takes a lot of thinking. Since I got so hooked on that game, I play about five hours a day.

It’s hard to concentrate on writing because it’s 8:30 PM and there’s a prayer going on. When all the Christians gather round, they clap and sing for about fifteen minutes.

Hi Mom,            July 15, 1999

If you want to send me a book, it has to be mailed from the publisher or a book store. But don’t send one now or I will probably be gone when it gets here. Right now, I have a library day every other Tuesday.

I think about the help you said you would give me when I get out. I’m really looking forward to starting my life again, buying a truck and making money, instead of being stuck with nothing but a chainsaw and climbing equipment. I hope I don’t sound like it’s all about what I want, want, want, but I need something like that to fix up my stump grinder and run a nice little tree and stump grinding service. I can do it because I’m not going to use narcotics anymore. During the last four months of my term, I’m going to be somewhere in the San Fernando Valley, hopefully, at a half-way house, a place to live for guys trying to stay sober. They say I can get into one since I’m a first-termer with no violence. So if I do, I’ll be out by September or October.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve treated you in the past and it bothers me. I have to give you more respect. I think my attitude must have been from the drugs I was doing. In fact, I’m sure it was. I can’t believe I treated you like that. Neither can some of the friends I met in here. They can’t believe I treated my mother that way. If I feel that way again, I think I better see a shrink.

Hi Mom,            August 31, 1999

Believe it or not, your letter got to me in two days, unlike Wasco Reception. I went to Store today and it felt good to have money for sun-glasses, Q-Tips, tuna fish, tortillas, soups, coffee, chips and other things. I’m going to buy a radio headset on Friday.

I haven’t smoked cigarettes for four months after deciding to try to quit. It’s going to be real hard since it’s one of the only things to do in prison. But on Monday, I started going to school to get my G.E.D. and it’s going pretty well. I can’t get a job while going to school, but that’s alright, maybe I’ll get my G.E.D.

You won’t believe who I saw at class. Are you ready for this? It was my black friend, Alex, who lived near us in Los Angeles. We couldn’t believe it when we saw each other. I recognized him first. We talked about skateboards, family, and his vacation in Oregon, catching frogs at the stream, and bringing them home, all the things we’ll never forget. We see each other every day, giving high fives when we pass in the hall and on yard. He has a rehearsal studio in Los Angeles and looks the same except he’s thinner. When I see him from a distance, I say, What’s up, Bro? and he says, What’s up, Mike? It feels like old times. He’s into Gospel and he’s pretty much in here from a mistake. It’s his first term also. Well, it’s count-time and I have to go to my bunk for three minutes.

Hi Mom,            September 1, 1999

I got your package today. Thank you very much. I bought a headset for $32.00. That’s a pretty good price. If it’s possible, I’ll send a list of some tapes I would like. The record store has to put their label on the box and it has to come from them or else I can’t receive it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I act towards you. I want to be softer when I talk to you, but it’s hard and I don’t understand why. Getting your package made me feel bad. You keep helping me, but I don’t do anything for you. If I change my life, I think that will make you happy.

Hi Mom,            September 30, 1999

I just got off the phone with you. I will start going to Narcotics Anonymous meetings after I pass the G.E.D. test. Don’t worry, there’s nothing you can do except hope that I stay off drugs. It’s up to me. This is the longest I’ve ever been clean and I know what to do to stay that way.

Things are going well here. I’ve got 80 days left. Time is flying by. I play volleyball now, from 6:30 PM to 9:00 PM, every other day. The whites only get the volleyball every other day, or else I would play every day.

Hi Mom,            October 11, 1999

I’m really nervous right now because I have to take the G.E.D. test for three hours at 7:30 AM tomorrow and again on Wednesday morning. I made the ten-person cut on the practice test to qualify and studied for eight hours yesterday, so I feel pretty confident. Last month all ten people passed. The test has writing skills, essay, social studies, science, math and literature. I’ll tell you how I did after I get the results.

I have 68 days left. Time is going by pretty fast but I’m sure the last month will be slow. Well, I better get some sleep for tomorrow.

Hi Mom,            October 18, 1999

I did it! I got my G.E.D. I’m so glad it’s behind me now. What perfect timing that I could give you my good news for your birthday.

Well, this is it, just a few weeks to go. I am anxious to get out of here and ready to move on.

Dad is going to pick me up at the downtown bus terminal and then take me to the apartment he rented for me. I will call you when I get out and we can plan where to meet. I can’t wait to see you.

Chapter Two

Round Two

(2000 – 2001) Michael relapsed three months after his release from prison. He was evicted from his apartment the following month. It was difficult to stay in touch with him over the next two years. Since I had moved to Las Vegas by then, the telephone was still my only contact with him. Unfortunately, Michael moved around a lot and changed cell phone numbers whenever he couldn’t pay his bills.

Out of the blue, in late January of 2001, he called to say he was on his way with his new fiancée whom he met at a methadone clinic a week ago. They were married in a simple Las Vegas courthouse ceremony the following day.

My mother died from a heart attack two days later. Michael insisted on going to her funeral with his new wife. I went back and forth about what to do. He had only been off methadone for two days. I couldn’t see myself taking them with me unless he was medicated with mood stabilizers. But I wasn’t comfortable leaving the two of them alone in my house either. I decided to take them with me thinking that, no matter what, I’d have protection on our way to New York.

Michael made it as far as changing planes in Chicago. He was escorted off the plane after abusive remarks to passengers and flight attendants, throwing drinks in the aisle, threatening to urinate on the bathroom wall when no bathrooms were vacant, and tampering with the bathroom smoke detector.

I was told that he would be escorted off the back of the plane. After we landed, an announcement was made telling everyone to stay seated. When the police came for him, two security men were standing behind Michael’s seat, the furthest one in the back of the plane. They took him handcuffed down the entire length of the plane to the front exit. Suddenly, he turned back, as if remembering something, It looks like I’m not going to Grandma’s funeral, Mom. Then he continued walking with a sadness that brought him to tears.

Michael bailed himself out of jail in Chicago while I attended my mother’s funeral. He returned to Los Angeles and was arrested for parole violations within a week.

PLEAS WITH PLEASE

Hi Mom,            February 20, 2001

Let me say that I’m sorry for making you upset on the phone last week. That won’t ever happen again. If I ever feel that you are starting to get upset because of what I’m saying or doing, I will immediately stop myself and make you feel at ease, just like you have done for me many times.

Well, time is going quickly now. It’s almost time for my Board Meeting. That’s when my parole officer will be there, and hopefully, I’ll get in a program. Now that I’m sober, what Bob was saying really makes a lot of sense. Please ask him to write and apologize to him for my actions when I was in your house.

I’m helping clean up after dinner so I get extra lunch. I save a sandwich before bed and that sure helps me sleep. Out of 50 guys, it sure wasn’t easy to get that job, but I got it.

Please send me a letter soon, and don’t worry if I try to call you, it won’t be for money.

Hi Mom,            February 26, 2001

I’m feeling a lot better now since I’ve talked to you on the phone. Thanks for accepting the call. I’m going to take my parole officer’s advice and wait until the second meeting with the Board before accepting any deals. Hopefully, I’ll get three months in a program. I know what you’re thinking, Who cares how long it takes and don’t worry about the time you get, just get better. Believe me, it’s not going to be like the time in the last rehab. I’m going to work the program now. I’m not going to let the program work me and get high when I get on the street the first day.

If you could call my parole officer around the time you get this letter, I’ll call you back around the first of March to hear what the two of you talked about. Please don’t ask her to give me a longer program. A three-month program is long enough, especially since I’ll have it set to work, and that’s what really matters. Tell her about my conversation on the phone with my lawyer, about my grandmother’s funeral, my bipolar imbalance, and how I kept on driving without a license to pay court because I’m self-employed. I think she will understand.

I’ll be transferring my parole to be with my brother and go to management school when I get out. That’s what I really want to do. I want to be the brother to my brother that he deserves. I really want to make it up to you, my brother and my dad for all that I’ve put you through. Like I told you on the phone, before you die, you will see me sober. I really believe that.

Hi Mom,            March 3, 2001

I went to my Board Meeting today. They dropped my time by almost fifty percent. First they offered me nine months, and then today, I took a five-month deal. That means I will do twenty days on each month. It puts me at one-hundred days in jail. I’ve done almost forty already so I’ve got about sixty left. I should be out around late May. I wrote to my parole officer asking her to get me into a program when I get out. Since it isn’t court-ordered, I think it will work this time and also because I want it to.

P.S. You don’t know how much I love you when I ‘m sober. I must stay this way.

Hi Mom,            March 5, 2001

I know I just wrote to you but I’m just sitting here and I can barely move from hunger. I’m not kidding. I’m really hungry. Will you please send me something? You said if I ever need food, you would help me. I don’t see myself borrowing money from you again, so please help me.

You know what a germ freak I am. Well, I’m so hungry that I’m eating off other peoples’ plates. Now I know why homeless people eat out of garbage cans. They’re starving. I would never eat off anyone’s plate before. The last time I was here, I had money, so I never did this before.

Please help me this last time. I know you have heard that before, but this is serious. I’m starving. They feed me enough for a child and I have to wait 18 hours between dinner and breakfast. Sometimes they feed us dinner at 4:00 PM and breakfast at 7:00 AM. I won’t ask you for money on the streets. I won’t need to.

I can’t believe I’ve ever needed money before on the streets. I know it’s because I was taking drugs. What an idiot I was. I realize what I must have looked like to you, always asking for something. I guarantee I won’t ask you again for anything, please believe me.

I can’t make any money while I’m in here. I’m helpless. So all I have is Store on Thursdays which I have not had yet. It really sucks so please, all I need is about $15 a week at the most. Please write me back. I haven’t received anything from you at all, not money or a letter.

Dear Mom,            March 13, 2001

Please send me the address of the court in Illinois where I got my ticket with $750 bail and the address of the court where I got my ticket in Las Vegas. It would be better if you could just spend a little time to get me time-served on all my tickets, like you did the last time when I was in the Reception Center, remember? It’s really almost impossible to do it from in here.

Could you please call Chicago and get me an extension on my ticket? I took care of the ones in Las Vegas and the ones in Los Angeles already. I’m only asking you to do these few things. Or else, when I get out, it’s going to be the same vicious circle, work to pay court and get more tickets doing so. Please help me. I must have a clean record to start fresh when I’m released.

I’m still here. I hate to write to you again for money, but it sucks watching everybody get full on Thursdays. That’s Store Day. Look, I’ve pretty much paid you back money you’ve given me with my back pay from SSI and I’m getting another one soon. So if you could just understand my situation of needing deodorant for $4.00, toothpaste for $2.20, soap for $1.10, shower shoes for $2.00, Top Ramen Soups for seven days at 90 cents a day, and cheese puffs for three days for $1.35 a day, that comes to $8.35 a week.

I really starve in between meals. I’ll pay you back. I know you’ve heard that before and I know I probably owe you more than you gave me, but if I can stay in a right state of mind when I get out, I’ll be able to pay you back just by getting my life together, and then, with money.

But if you could just read the above amount, it really isn’t that much. I know it’s not the amount, it’s the principle. But look at it from my point of view. I thought I was going to a rehab where they feed you well. Since I was tricked into jail, I didn’t have any time to bring money with me. So I’m really in need. You don’t know how much I starve in here.

I know you have helped me in the past but I can’t seem to show you my appreciation no matter how hard I try. It’s eating me up inside. I’ve hurt you so many times and you’ve always been there. I keep thinking of times when it costs you money or grief and sometimes I can’t sleep because of that. I’m thinking it’s never going to end. I keep thinking I’m doomed. But every time I go to Bible study in my dorm, I seem to have a little hope.

I was driving in my car one day, after eight months since my last release, and I prayed to God, Why won’t you give me strength to get clean and sober? I started crying to myself in the mirror. I looked at myself crying and I almost got faith that day. But I guess I didn’t.

In here, I learned that I have to find faith in God before I ask him for anything like strength. A guy in here talked to me about God and faith. He said I can find faith in here or anywhere, it doesn’t matter, Keep praying and you will find it. So that’s what I’m doing, praying for faith every night.

When I have complete faith in God, knowing He and Jesus do exist, I’ll be able to ask for other things like strength and hope. No, I’m not turning into a Jesus freak. I’m just trying to get sober on the outs, which means on the streets.

You’re probably thinking that I’m a good manipulator, but I’m serious about God. Off the record, I’m not just saying these things so you will send