Ironically, it was a missed phone call that was the last I
would ever receive from my former Department of Corrections overlords. Seven
months ago I missed a call and it changed my life for a month, and it happened
again only this time the effect would be more permanent. I was just minutes
away from firing my first orders on Saturday night when I looked at my phone.
What I saw, at first, struck a chord of fear deep within me that it may take a
while to get over. The screen told me I had one missed call from a restricted
number.
But this time it was different. This time there was a
voicemail; a first. I knew what it was, or at least I hoped I knew what it was.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts and I sat down, because I knew this
message would be one of the most important I would ever hear, and it was.
The message was simple yet effective. A female officer said
that I did not need to call into the voicemail system anymore, and in a voice
that did not seem detached for the first time in 13 months, she wished me the
best of luck, and asked me to have a great day. Can do, lady. Can do.
I remained seated as a wave of euphoria overcame me, and I
was flooded with emotion. I was finally
free from the D.O.C. Fuck yeah!
You would think that I might go out and do something because
I could, but I was so worn out from work I went home, sat around a backyard
fire for about 20 minutes, and went to bed. I was due back at work early in the
morning anyhow.
Last night, however, I did go out, and it was awesome! I
went to Mickey’s Diner (the other one on West 7th) at 10:30, the
first time I had been out that late in 28 months. I went with a friend from my home
group and we chatted and ate greasy food until almost midnight. It was
spectacular. It’s nice to know that the option is there to do more with the 24
hours we are each given every day, and I plan to take advantage of this extra
time as much as possible.
In fact, if all goes well, I’m leaving after work tonight on
a road trip down to Fountain. I’m going to spend a couple days there and, for
the first time, not feel hurried to get home. Any of you who are avid readers
of my life story know that I spent many an alcoholic year living in that area
and are possibly thinking that it might be a challenge for me to be around the
same people and places. Of course, I won’t know until I get there, but everybody down there knows my story, and
they know what a bad idea it would be for me to switch things up at this point.
There will be no temptation, there will be no offers, and there will be no
felonious probation violations.
This is a new chapter, folks. It seems as if a lot of
new/great things are happening in my life and I couldn’t be happier about all
of this progress. Just 13 months ago I was released from prison with something
like $200 and a D.O.C. set of clothing. Everything I have now, which isn’t all
that much, is mine and I earned it all legally. I was saying last night to my
friend that I think we as alcoholics tend to focus on the bad things in life
because that’s all we had for so long. Like how my car is beat up and I have a
twin bed, and I work a lot. But fuck, man, I own a car! It’s not pretty, but it’s
in my name and it’s properly insured. I have a bed to sleep in and I have a job
that pays me well. I have clothing, shoes, a phone, a wallet with money in it,
and all of my bills are current. I
started with nothing, NOTHING, 13 months ago and I have worked my ass off to
have what little I have and it feels great. I may not have everything I want,
but I have everything that I need and a little more. And I’m not moving
backwards.
