15 years later-my annual sobriety rant

I meet many people in AA meetings who didn't have any fun getting loaded. That wasn't my experience.

This shy closet case surfer boy slowly tiptoed from Redondo Beach solitude to the Hollywood club scene, making it a full-time job getting on every "list" that mattered (to this day I love lists, velvet ropes and the letters "V.I.P.") I learned that I could open doors I never knew existed...where everyone in L.A. wanted to be and hardly anyone could get in...that ultimately (nearly) cost me my life. I have 2 novels to finish before I write the sizzling roman 'a clef about this creature. I could make it something of a celeb tell-all...I've blogged about that period, infused it into my writing and spent my first 2 years or so of sobriety trying to figure out how to re-create it without the disaster. Being "on the list," walking past 2 hours of line to be let into a club, knowing doormen by name...a full-time job I worked at about 6 nights a week. I kept everything compartmentalized, not mixing my Redondo friends with my Hollywood friends, keeping my drugs here and my fabulousness there...but alas...slow curtain, the end.

One day I looked in the mirror and sobbed because I didn't recognize the person staring back. I was so scary that old ladies would cross the street when they saw me. One of the saddest days for me was blowing up the engine of my beloved silver rocket because I imagined someone chasing me. After that, I was the Scooby dude marching up the sidewalk with a backpack. Yes, I was paranoid, heard voices, all that jazz. In the end, just before I lost my last apartment, I was covering the windows...and went to other great lengths to insure "them" not seeing me.

Most of my old friends wanted nothing to do with me...I hid from the rest out of shame. I wanted them to remember me as I was...fabulous, or I thought I was. The period from breaking with my friends to hitting bottom was about 2 years. The nail in the coffin was when I started doing coke again after not touching it for 4 years. When all the cocaine connections dried up and I switched to Crystal, I basically lost my job, my car, the relationship with my family and everything else that mattered in a few weeks. I got fired from a job I really loved and that one hurt. I couldn't keep jobs very long...sooner or later they'd figure out I was an insane junkie.

I lost one job during the Father's Day dinner rush because I told someone about the people who'd been following me around. I later found out they really were as everyone I knew got arrested. I found out my best friend was really an undercover cop. I was hanging out with despicable creatures I would have turned away from a year before. I could detail the rest for you guys but you'd need a really strong stomach. In the end, gallons of bourbon, cheap 40's of Magnum, and a sea of little bags.

One of the scarier afternoons (comical in retrospect) was when I'd been hauling around a Glock 9mm in my paranoia...and I almost shot my boyfriend. Had I done that, my life would have turned out much differently.

My undercover cop friend drove me to detox, telling me I was going to rehab at the perfect time. He said "...they watched you come and go (from the dealer's house) like a freight train but we're not interested in you, we want Frank (dealer). We've been in the apartment across the street watching him since he got out of prison." Steve tried to seduce me but I never went for it. I always wondered if that was part of his job. For the record, Frank was a disgusting creature, shooting up as much crystal before noon as I used in an entire week. No, I never used needles, those are for junkies (cough). Those junkies who went to prison for years, a fate I escaped with the help of my "friend," the undercover cop, who I think ended up falling in love with me. Sick, huh? For those who read my work, I know it sounds like something I'd cook up on my ancient laptop but I assure you it's true.

I OD'd shortly after Joey Stefano (gay porn star) OD'd. He died, I...if you want the story I'll tell you. You'd think I would have stopped right then but I shook it off and continued. Funny thing, I could never really get loaded after that.

For the record, another dealer and "friend" of mine told me, "don't bring Steve over here, he's a fucking cop!" I never believed her until much later. I think he'd already sent her to prison once.

Anyway, recovery was excruciating. The first year I was hanging on for dear life. I left the South Bay and settled in Glendale, I needed a fresh start. My little cockroach infested apartment with million dollar views of downtown L.A. was my sanctuary. The funny part was, it was identical to the 1920's house of horror I'd lived in when I was hitting bottom in Old Torrance, except my place in Torrance didn't have roaches. My whole early sobriety world was 10 square blocks: The Olive Garden where I worked, The Windsor Club where I attended AA meetings once or twice a day, my apartment and the library. And of course 7-11, daily visits still not something I was able to shake. Junk food was important and I was having weight issues...but staying sober was my goal.

Secretly, I'd planned on staying sober a year and then re-creating my life when it was fabulous, without the...ahem...unfortunate end. I held this plan in the back of my mind and didn't give it up until the day I stood at the podium at the Windsor Club at the Sunday afternoon meeting taking my cake for 1 year...and I broke down sobbing. I knew right then I couldn't give up the precious gift of sobriety I'd been given.

Year two I quit smoking. I'd started a pack a day plus when I cleaned up. I slimmed down, worked on myself...and by the end of the second year looked pretty much like I had back in the days when I thought I was on top of the world.

The one damaging thing I brought into sobriety was my relationship. We'd drunk and used together. I got sober and he didn't. When I was in rehab he never visited me. He told me later he was having an affair with another guy...one who'd have drug driven sex with him. I tried for the next year to try to put it back together again and got emotionally beat up. The times when I came close to drinking and/or using were all over him. Blessed be, one day he left me.

When this happened, I got on a train headed north...and had decided to start drinking again. Amazingly, through a strange twist of events, a friend I knew from AA was sitting between my seat and the bar car. "Jeremy!" she shrieked. She yanked me to her, hugged me, showed me her tits...a couple weeks later I called her and said, "did you know what I was going to do?" "Yes, you were going to drink," she replied. To this day she refers to herself as my train angel.

I'd love to say that sobriety has been easy but that's not the case. Shortly after I turned 2, I met "him." I call him "Fuckhead #2" or sometimes "Fool's Gold." I moved to Las Vegas with him and it turned out to be a huge disaster.

I met the love of my life there after 3 years, in AA of all places. Over the next 10 years I'd have 3 different careers, make lots of money, go broke, have sensational mental health and the opposite, triumph, heartache...all of the above. But I faced it all sober. Life happens and whatever I face, a drink or a drug will only make it worse.

My biggest problem today is a few extra pounds I'm trying to lose. But I'm not worried about it, I've had the hot bod in sobriety, I will again...patience. I'm developing it in my old age.

Do I have regrets? Not so much anymore. I still fret about wasted youth but I suppose it would have been a whole lot more had I continued. I may not have lived through it. My biggest regret today...losing my car. The upper right hand picture makes me cry. I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Angeleno, the car thing backs it up. Yes, I've tried to replace it. They just weren't the same. I'm presently looking for #4: an '82 RX-7 S Coupe, Sunbeam Silver over black, low miles, totally stock, spotless and flawless. I'll find the black basket weave rims myself.

I'm fortunate...I have a great life, a sensational husband, live in a beautiful loft in my favorite city, I get to write full time...and the best part of that is I finally gave myself permission to pursue my dreams, regardless of anyone who'd like to keep me on a box.

"Shy closet case surfer comes out, rises to Hollywood Golden Boy in the club scene followed by a rapid downward spiral, burning up...and then rising from his own ashes." I'm the Phoenix, baby. Yes, I can be grandiose. And I never planned on living this long, I always assumed my exodus would be somewhere around the 27 mark, like Janis and Jimi and Kurt. Today is the anniversary of Jimi's death.

I had a long drinking career, starting in childhood. Drugs were rocket fuel for my addiction. I know if I picked a drink up again...yikes. Drugs? I'd probably die a lot sooner. I've buried quite a few friends in sobriety who decided they'd give it another try.

In the last 15 years I've done a lot of things I wanted to do. In early sobriety going to NYC was huge. I'd been living in a small radius for years. Opening the Bellagio in Las Vegas was a thrill. It was gorgeous without people in it. I went back to school and became a Substance Abuse Counselor, working with at-risk teens in an inpatient setting. I helped Kelby open his store, Sloppy Seconds. I went into real estate in Hawaii, becoming a top producer in my first year. And now I write thrillers and allow possibilities, telling the old voices that kept me down to fuck off.