The Polk County Meth War, Part Three

Working the Steps

The newcomer says he doesn’t have a problem. I’m forbidden to describe him to you, but I can tell you that he’s acting like he’d rather be back in the state penitentiary. Instead he’s here, at Action Counseling…with a circle of recovering addicts scrutinizing his every word.

“I shouldn’t have to be at this,” he tells everyone, “except I flunked a [urinalysis] test; my parole officer found marijuana and cocaine and opioids and meth. I don’t know how it got there.”

“You don’t know how it got there,” repeats Dr. Linda Wells. “Right. Sir, it got there because you put it there.”

“Are they processing meth with that stuff now?” he asks. “‘Cause I smoked a joint and some meth, but I don’t remember the coke or anything else.”

A woman shakes her head. “I’ve done plenty of stuff I don’t remember when I was high.”

Others nod as he frowns. “Well, ice is bad stuff, I won’t argue that,” he says. “But I want to smoke marijuana ‘til the day I die. I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

Dr. Wells stands up. “Sir, do you see that poster behind you?”

He turns and studies the cutaway view of a human body that’s taped to the wall. Organ systems are outlined in lurid colors; each with an arrow highlighting marijuana’s ill effects on it. His jaw drops as Dr. Wells describes the harm he can expect if he keeps toking up. He stays deep in thought for the balance of the meeting and leaves with a troubled look on his face. Perhaps he has a problem after all.

Afterwards, Dr. Wells muses on the episode in the privacy of her office. “Did you see him turn?” she asks me. “He turned in a matter of just seconds. He says he was in prison for years without fully understanding the dangers of marijuana. They’re not teaching well. They’re not giving them adequate tools. Yes, I think incarceration is great, but what are we doing? The state is literally going in the hole to try to keep these people in prison, and they’re coming back out and they still don’t have the tools to keep them from using when they get home.”

Criminals deserve punishment, and lockup is great detox, but counseling is the best cure…if you want to call a lifelong struggle against relapse a cure, that is. Maybe this fellow flushed his stash down the john when he got home, or maybe he rolled the fattest joint of his life. Either way, a seed of motivation was planted in him.

Unfortunately, Dr. Wells is right about the lack of substance abuse counseling in prisons and jails. There is some access to Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous in state prisons, but the Tennessee Department of Correction’s Substance Abuse Services Delivery Policy reveals how tight funding and high inmate substance abuse rates necessarily limit the availability of in-depth therapy. Too many addicts, not enough cash. The DOC winds up depending on the community to get users into long-term recovery after release.

And the Polk County Jail can’t even host AA and NA meetings. I’ve asked Sheriff Bill Davis about that, and though he understands their value and he’s looking at offering such services in the new jail, the old jail’s simply…you guessed it, too old. It’s often overcrowded and not set up for secure group sessions. Even Sunday church can be tough to pull off. So the Sheriff is trying the best he can, but for the moment…

…it falls to Sessions Court Judge Billy Baliles to haul on every line he can reach to pull community resources into the boat. He’s gotten approximately forty local pastors enlisted to offer counseling through Drug Interdiction Court. He’s worked with AA and NA and Al-Anon to increase the number of twelve-step meetings in Polk County—to one or more every day. And he’s partnered with Dr. Wells and Action Counseling to earmark a portion of $17.5 million in federal money granted to Tennessee from the Justice Department’s Access to Recovery Program, so the funds will flow through the Tennessee Bureau of Alcohol and Drug Abuse Services and directly to the treatment of local addicts.

The judge favors organizations like AA and others because they work from a twelve-step plan; a disciplined ladder to recovery. Substance abusers admit their lives are out of control, place faith in a higher power, ask that power for forgiveness and strength, take inventory of themselves, list their offenses, make amends, work toward daily progress, and commit to helping other addicts recover.

The degree of these groups’ success correlates to supervision—Dr. Wells will tell you, for instance, that 60 percent of her heavily-monitored clients stay clean. How successful AA, NA, and Al-Anon are depends on individual persistence, but it’s hard to argue against the idea that one Polk County addict placed on the road to recovery is better than none. In the words of Teddy Roosevelt: “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”

I drop by an open session of a recovery group one night at—oh, it doesn’t matter where—to see how it goes. I also want to answer a question that’s been nagging me: how come I’m not an addict? I’m no saint; I’ve wrestled every temptation in the Book and succumbed to more than a few. The addicts I know are much like me—good folks, mostly, who have had bad choices turn on them and rend them some.

It’s a heavy scene, at first. Sad eyes, worn faces, the sense of the reach being longer than the grasp…and one tired toddler in the back, who’s tagged along with mom. The group murmurs its way through an opening ritual of affirmation, which I can barely follow. They’ve done this so often that they’ve mouthed the words beyond familiarity and into indistinction.

But then various ones testify to their Trials & Tribulations since the last meeting they attended. One woman says she’s been so worried about the safety of her children that she hasn’t slept in days.

Horrible insomnia…brain won’t shut off…her kids were breathing when she put them to bed, but are they now?…what about now?…and now?…and it’s the holidays, so she’ll be driving…what if she nods off and crashes?…no way she’ll be able to sleep, worried about that…unless she scored a few painkillers…not such a bad idea, in fact…knock herself unconscious, find the sweet peace she craves…or pour a drink or two…not enough to get drunk…just enough to…

And I start getting it. Maybe I’m not an addict because I can cope with my fears without self-medicating—lucky me. Or maybe it’s something else. Who knows? People use drugs for many reasons, but this is what they all mean when they talk about One Day at a Time.

Others in the room console her, tell her to hang in there, and when she leaves she’s smiling. Actually smiling. She knew there was a meeting coming up, that she’d be able to get some support, and she resolved not to use until then. Which worked. Whatever else there is to say, she worked the steps and the steps worked.

There’s nothing shameful about going to recovery meetings, and if you think there is, get thee hence and meditate on Galatians 6:2. Some of the strongest people in the world are in these meetings; people who got strong grappling with a beast every second of their lives.

Afterwards, a man catches my eye. “You know,” he says, “I’m glad Judge Baliles forces people to come here, but…”

“Is it working for you?” I ask.

He ponders the question for a long time. “My heart’s not in it, but my butt’s here, ain’t it?”

“Do you think you’ll keep coming after your supervision is up?”

He pauses again. “I don’t know. Maybe, if I still have a problem.”