A Tale of Two Cities?

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

Apparently this is the opening line in ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ by Dickens, but P said it to me in my dream last night. Go figure. I’m guessing it could be because “Desperate Housewives” was the last thing I watched on TV before going to bed, and I was remembering my own experience with sponsorship and the whole 12-step program.

Anyway, to clarify, P is a friend of mine from my program days. And by “program,” I am referring to Cocaine Anonymous, which is where I finally managed to straighten out my life (Shoot! I just ruined the end of “TBOTE!”). I saw P about a year ago at a mutual friend’s father’s funeral, and haven’t seen him since. But he was right there in my head last night, and with that trademark P smile, looked at me and said, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” For whatever reason, I don’t remember if there was anything happening before he said that, or if the dream continued after he said that. All I remember is that phrase. I woke up with it echoing in my head. And it remains with me even now clear as day.

Because it was so crystal clear, I did what any obsessive person would do: I started overanalyzing it. I wondered exactly what P was trying to tell me. I wondered if there was some sort of hidden meaning in those words, if I was supposed to act on something I didn’t know about. But after worrying for most of the morning, I decided to take a virtual step back and just look at the big picture rather than scrutinize the details that just weren’t even there.

And that is how I came to the conclusion that Bree VanDeKamp probably had something to do with my dream. Watching her with her sponsor probably triggered my subconscious. And P was just telling me what I already knew: that it really was the best and worst of times. Why he chose Dickens to relay that message is still an unknown, although P always seemed the intellectual/artistic type. Because you see, I met a lot of great people while getting clean. We had parties, and dances, and poker games (yeah, I know, one addiction replaces another…), and hung out at the coffee shop together. My whole post about a best friend? I guess I kind of forgot my RH pals. Collectively, I had a bunch of best friends for about two years, because in recovery openness and honesty are key. In meetings I could (and did) spill my guts without being judged. I was able to cry, I got the hugs I needed, and never had to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. Pretty damn good.

Although, you could also say it was the worst of times. Getting clean is hard. And beating yourself up over your past sucks, too. Doing a complete 180 with your life is something that takes a lot out of you. Well worth it, of course, but hard as hell. There were many nights I wanted to just give up, that I hated not being able to party, that I felt abnormal being “normal.” As my system cleaned out and I started facing life on life’s terms, I felt emotions I had to deal with rather than smother. I gained weight when I started eating regularly instead of smoking regularly. I lost “friends” I thought were the only people who cared, but who, it turned out, were never my friends at all. I made a lot of discoveries about myself and my life, not all of them good, many I wasn’t proud of. But I busted my ass to do the next right thing.

So I think what P was doing was reminding me of where I came from. And maybe, he was also trying to show me how far I really have come by reminding me about those days. There are many people I met in recovery who didn’t make it, who couldn’t find the strength. Some who relapsed and died. Actually, many who relapsed and died. I have videos of “sober parties” and watching the laughter and the camaraderie can be bittersweet when you see the celluloid ghosts of those who lost the battle.

I’ll be forever grateful to the friends I made back at RH, for their support as I rebuilt my life. There are a few I still keep in touch with and always will, but most I just hear about in passing or wonder about on occasion. Like P. So, thanks for the reminder. Because you’re right. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”