When your whole life depends on keeping a constant supply of opiates and benzos so that you don’t go into withdrawals, you change. The moral compass that once guided you through life, was pawned long ago for a handful of  pills. As the addiction grows, behavior that once repulsed you, is now a possibility if it gets you what you need. So when the wife of one of your friends is dying of cancer and you know she has painkillers, you try to draw a line you won’t cross, but soon insanity takes the wheel.  She’s been really bad lately and you hear she’s been hospitalized. The wheels start turning. On the way home from work you stop and buy 2 bags of groceries, and then head to their house. Ring, knock, ring, knock nobody home. Twist the knob and a rush of adrenaline when the door opens. Carry the groceries in (just in case any of the neighbors are watching, you’ll look like such a great guy). Straight to the kitchen and into the cupboards, morphine. Leave the groceries on the table and head out the door, mission accomplished.   

               I don’t  remember the first time I decided to walk in someone’s house when they weren’t home and look through their cabinets for pills. However, I do remember some of the worst. I think it was on my lunch break one day that I drove past a certain patient’s home. I had just prescribed her some lortab a few days earlier, and no cars were in the driveway. I stopped out front and went to the front door. I ring the bell and knock real hard. No answer, ring it again and pound even harder, still no answer. Turn the knob and thankfully it’s unlocked. I stick  my head in the door and yell her name, no answer. I hurry in and as I’m rifling through the kitchen cabinets a voice from behind me says,”what you lookin for?” I don’t remember what I said, but I hurried past the half dressed husband, who had been sleeping because he works graveyard, and hit the door running. I jump in my truck and head back to the office wondering if this was finally it. 

            The old boy had a bad toothache and he wanted it pulled.  “I’ll prescribe you something and you’ll have it if you need it.”  He’s the last patient before lunch, so I think I’ll head out and discreetly follow him to the store to see if he fills it right away.  Im in my truck and heading to the pharmacy,  keeping  enough distance he won’t notice. As I sit in the parking lot and watch for him to come out, I am shaking, WHAT AM I DOING? Here he comes and he has that little white pharmacy sack.  I’ll just follow him home and see what happens, ‘why’, I don’t know, maybe I’ll be able to get those pills somehow.  He pulls in his driveway and OH MY, he leaves the sack in his car and walks in the house. I hurry and pull up, hop out, open the car door and bingo, grab that bag of instant gratification and bolt.  When you take 40-50 pills a day, little scores like this can really help out. 

               It’s Sunday morning and we’re off to church. I’m a little agitated because I’m running low. (I can’t get a hold of any of my runners; the people I call to say hey, I’ll give you 50 bucks if you let me call a scrip in for you, with the understanding that they have to bring it back to me). We make it to church and I start scanning the congregation looking for someone who might have had surgery or somebody I think may have pills. Maybe even one of my own patients who I’ve recently prescribed for. With a few possibilities in mind I excuse myself and head for the neighborhood. I’m a little more relaxed because I know that at the very moment I’m in their house, they are sitting in church.  

          As I put some of these very dark memories down on paper, my mind seems to pull more up. Recalling some of them still makes me wince. It’s like a punch in the gut at times and I think, ‘did I really do that? ‘  I know these feelings are shared by many. I’ve sat in groups and listened as souls are poured out and pain is re-lived. It’s part of the deal, we have to step up and really own what we did. Who we became, no excuses just lay it out there. I don’t ever want to forget. Remembering makes me more certain to never go there again. Recalling the pain I’ve caused, while at the very same moment knowing I have been cleansed and changed, is peace. That was then, that was me, but it’s not me now. 

             Too many times I think we try to define others by what we observe. I guess because we don’t have the ability to look into their heart, the exterior is all we are left with. I’m guilty of this everyday, it’s one of my character defects. In the culture of comparison that we live in, it’s easy to try and put people in boxes or categories. During my time in jail as an inmate and now, when Jill and I go in as volunteers, I’ve met many people who have been written off in a lot of ways by society, us. When we sit and listen to their stories, we find out that many of them are just like us. Searching for that simple happiness in life that comes from loving and being loved. So many of them are there for the same types of things that I did. One big difference however, is that a good number of them have nothing, no reason to change, no one to show them a better way. We have no right to judge them, we’re just not qualified.  I knew the better way, it wasn’t easy, but I knew I could remake my life if I stuck to the truths I had re-discovered in jail; prayer, faith, family and recovery. 

            My prayer is that if anyone struggling is reading this, please know there is hope. Change is possible, it can be painful, but if that’s what you want, and you make it the focus of your life it can happen. My belief is that the most important work in this process is done while on our knees, pleading with God to change our very nature. I’ve worked hard, but I truly believe that the only real, lasting change comes through constant spiritual inventory. Christ changes us from the inside out, something we can’t do. When I’m left to my very best efforts, I can still turn into a world class  A-hole in record time. When I CONSISTENTLY invite Jesus into my life, the rats in the cellar slowly die. 

           C.S. Lewis explains what it means to be ‘born again’; “Put right out of your head the idea that this is only a fancy way of saying that Christians are to read what Christ said and try to carry it out- as a man may read what Plato or Marx said and try to carry it out. It  means something so much more than that. It means that a real person, Christ, here and now, in that very room where you are saying your prayers, is doing things to you. It is a living Man, still as much a man as you, and still as much God as he was when he created the world, really coming and interfering with your very self; killing the old natural self in you and replacing it with the kind of self he has. At first only for moments, then for longer periods. Finally, if all goes well, turning you permanently into a different sort of thing, a being which in its own small way, has the same kind of life as God; which shares in his power, joy, knowledge and eternity.” After the first few steps in the Christian life we realize that everything which really needs to be done in our souls can be done only by God.

          I’m so thankful for forgiveness. The forgiveness of friends, friends I stole from who still include me in their lives. Those I manipulated and lied to, and yet they still let me be their dentist. My patient, beautiful wife. She’s the rock in our house, she’s committed for sure. 27 years ago when she said yes for eternity, she really meant it.          

          Lastly but most important I’m thankful for the peace in knowing that God has forgiven me and strengthened me. As these painful stories show, my addiction to drugs and alcohol slowly eroded my ability to choose God. I was so lost, easily jerked like a dog on a leash by the great deceiver. But now the desire for drugs is gone,  It’s been gone for over 13 years. It was taken from me, that rat is no longer in the cellar. My hope is that if I’m blessed  to live a long enough life, the remaining rats in the cellar will all be destroyed.