At the tender age of three, I was given my fist dose of liquid heaven: codeine cough syrup. It was 1967, and I had been a sick child for as long as I could remember. Medical problems plagued me; I was diagnosed with asthmatic bronchitis and I was allergic to just about everything under the sun, so much so, that simply playing outside on an autumn afternoon had unpleasant health ramifications. Narcotic medication was the remedy of choice back in that era, thus I spent a large portion of my childhood under the influence of codeine, paregoric and the like, never realizing that the euphoric haze I’d come to crave would one day bring me to my knees, literally. Before I even became a teenager, I had developed a full-blown substance abuse problem. Soon after, I learned that I didn’t need to go to doctors any longer to get my medicine; instead, I figured out that I could buy all the drugs my thirteen-year old heart desired from the street. My first drug was marijuana, although that doesn’t sound so bad it lead me to my first swig of Southern Comfort; boy did that feel good going down and after it came up again I continued on this path of destruction until I was thirty-three.

Sobriety showed up on Saturday, May 17, 1998. I’d been working on a music video project in the entertainment industry for a grueling seven days wherein I hadn’t yet slept; the artist was as much a professional partier as he was a musician, ergo, there were drugs and alcohol galore available. Further, prior to embarking on that particular project, I’d been on a seven-day bender before production even began. Once the shoot was over I stayed in the parking lot drinking and using until the following morning. Before passing out, I made a deal with God that if I were to wake up tomorrow I would never use again. My bargain with the Big Man Upstairs worked, so I call a model friend that I knew had 12 years in AA and asked her for HELP! And she did. She picked me up and took me to the musicians’ picnic in Malibu Park in California. I couldn’t believe that all those people were sober. The next ten days of my life were a living***** staying sober and keeping the deal with God didn’t feel like such a good deal at this point. Once I started to feel better I went back to work. For the next eighteen months things were fabulous. Until I was on my way home from a sober softball game to have dinner with my parents for the first time in sobriety, when all of the sudden I was hit on my motorcycle by a Russian diplomat. For the next three years I was confined to a wheelchair and found myself in and out of hospitals; doctors told me that I would never walk again unless they amputated my leg, but I refused to lose my limb and vowed that I would walk again.

Today I am an active member in AA and my life is beyond my wildest dreams. I live in a sober environment and have very endearing friends who love me and whom I love.

The love of my life