I remember the first time I got arrested. I was sitting in a car with a girlfriend under the FDR drive in Lower Manhattan. I left work in Brooklyn to see her and get high. Back then I usually had liquor in me or on me. I remember leaving work and a small quiet voice told me I had better not go. I had a premonition that something bad was going to happen, but disregarded it and off I went. It was a cold snowy day, mixed with rain day in December. As we sat under the FDR drive drinking and getting high, out of nowhere an unmarked car showed up two plain clothes men jump out pull guns and tells us to get out of the car. As they circled the car they yelled obscenities at us both. Calling us unforgivable names, spiced up with every four letter word you could imagine. Within a few seconds they put handcuffs on us both, and that’s when it all seemed like a dream happening. I kept thinking, I just want to go home. Maybe they just want to scare us. I just want to go home! Well off they took us to get booked, finger printed, and placed into the tombs in NY 100 Center Street in New York City.
I remember sitting there scared to death. Uncertain as to what was going to happen to me. Looking around at the people in the cell with me fear griped even more. There were way too many to be in one cell, as they just kept packing people in. Down the hall I remember hearing a guy in another cell yelling “C.O. I’m sick, I’m sick”. I remember seeing a police officer going to the cell of this man yelling out that he was sick, cursing at him and then heard the thumping of a night sick against the inmate, and the inmate yelling in pain. I didn’t hear the inmate the rest of the night.
As I again looked around in my cell, other cellmates some were laying on the filthy concrete floor, while others were talking to each other and figuring out what was going to happen to them based on their last arrests. They seem to know the law as if they were attorneys. I kept thinking I got to get out of here I’m not like them. I was repulsed by it all. Around midnight I found myself getting a nice spot on the floor, under the bench, trying to sleep while my mind raced uncontrollably, and my body was now getting sick. I realized I’m very much like the rest in the cell except I got caught for the first time. Walking into the tombs on a chain gang C.O.’s stand by and curse you as you go in saying awful things to you threatening you pushing an hitting you. Most folks who experience an event like this would walk away and never return. Not with addiction, because it lies. It had me believing it was going to be different next time, I won’t get caught. Truth be told, it only gets worse. Addiction is not satisfied until the alcoholic or addict is dead.
After seeing the judge and getting released, I sat in the kitchen of my dad’s house. My dad stared at me, baffled, shocked and confused. How could this happen to his son he asked. I swore to me dad that morning it was one big mistake and I promised it would never ever happen again. Did little to satisfy him, as he knew I had to still go to court and possible jail sentence was hanging over my head. I didn’t even think of it, other then I dodged a bullet, and I need to get out of my dad’s house and get a drink in me, then I can figure it all out.
Whatever my mind told me I obeyed. After all I thought of it so it must be okay. Besides others just don’t understand me, they don’t get it. I could not, not obey my mind. It’s where my addiction had free room and board. It ordered me to use and so I did. It’s sometimes just that simple with addiction. All action is born in thought, so my mind would say use and off I went. Even when I reached a placed in my alcoholic journey to hell when I didn’t want to use any longer and knew the consequences that lie ahead I had to use.
I am so grateful to God that those days are long gone and I’ve been set free. I am so grateful for my recovery given to me by God.
It’s a privilege to get to serve this loving God and live a life of sobriety!
How bout God!
How bout recovery!
Blessings
Chop wood, carry water
Peter Marinelli
