Often, what happens after the fall is all that really matters
By Lee Cataluna
Advertiser Columnist
How do you pull your life out of ruins? How do you fight a fear so deep you can hardly name it? How do you pick yourself up after falling down more times than you can count?
Perhaps we're all asking ourselves these sorts of things right now.
A group of eight men has spent the past seven months looking for the answers to such questions. They say this is what they've learned: Strength lies in human connection.
Jay, a 25 year-old construction worker, puts it this way:
"They say you gotta give away what you want to keep. Like if you want love, you have to give love. It's the same with other things. If somebody's hurting, I could easily walk away. But down the line, I'll only be hurting myself."
The eight men are participants in a program through the Hawai'i Human Development Corporation. They were all referred by Drug Court. They're all recovering addicts.
"I was a good addict," says Paul. "By that, I mean I was good at manipulation."
All the men nod in agreement. They freely talk about their self-centered drug lives, their time on the streets. For each to commit so deeply to a program built on honesty, trust and brotherhood meant giving up just about everything they knew.
"In recovery," says Jay, "they say you need to have a psychic change. Everything has to change."
They live together dormitory-style for a year. They use that time to go to school, get vocational training, get a job. They go to AA meetings, talk with counselors, work toward independent living. The program allows them to bank their monthly rent so that, upon successful completion, they leave with a small nest-egg to help set themselves up in a place of their own.
The sorts of things they deal with on a daily basis range from the mundane to the profound. They ask themselves what their purpose in life is. They ask themselves if they can make it to the bus on time.
"I had fears of not being able to handle a normal life," says Paul. "Not being able to pay rent, to be on time for work, not being able to communicate with other people. I didn't work for almost 10 years. Today, I love my job. Running around on the street, some days you get lucky, some days you don't. Now I can say I work hard for my money."
"What this brought to my life was structure," says Jay. "I never had that before. I never had to answer to anyone, and my life became chaotic. I like what I see now."
"I try to make my days useful. I'm not just waiting for something to happen anymore," says John.
They see themselves as a team, these eight men who speak with such wisdom and look at you squarely with a steady, clear-eyed gaze. They use words such as pride, dignity, honesty, the sort of things you'd expect people who have traveled a long and difficult road to say. But they more often speak of an abiding compassion for one another, a deep friendship. They even use the word "love."
"If you see another hurting, it hurts you. It's like a part of your own body," Al explains. "If another person was to lag in his recovery, it affects your recovery."
They watch over each other carefully, protectively.
"One of the first signs of relapse is isolation, trying to deal with your load yourself. It's like you're too proud to ask for help," says Jay.
In this time after the attack on America, when so many of us are struggling to get our lives back and to battle the fear that cripples dreams, these eight men offer words to live by:
"It's not that I will never fall down, but when I fell, I could get right back up. That's stability to me."
Lee Cataluna's column runs Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Reach her at lcataluna@honoluluadvertiser.com or 535-8172.
