Getting Sober

I was scared to go to treatment. It felt like I was sending myself to prison. The counsellor at the shelter said I would someday see my life before treatment as the prison. So, on Feb. 6, 2010, I checked into King Haven Treatment Centre for Men. I hadn’t told a joke in at least four months. I felt out of my league in this place and decided to keep my past as a comedian on the down low, but anyone who’s been knows that rehab is a really bad place to try to keep things on the down low. It is also not a place to quit smoking. Sitting around the smoke tent, I kept pretty quiet as Abby talked about the helicopters he always heard, and war stories of hooker girlfriends and stolen – car crashes.

The first couple weeks of the 10 – week program were orientation, or big group. There was Lennie, Nate and Cody. There was Shane, nicknamed Stain. Lorne had been to so many treatment centres we called him “Lorne again.” Jesse, a gigantic football player with fluorescent yellow eyes, and Blackie, who was, as you guessed, very, very white. My roommate I called Smashy, a junkie who saw bed bugs everywhere.

Rollie, Dwayne and Rapper Dave filled up the ring of chairs.

Early on we did “The Hot Seat” where everyone would ask each guy a question, going around the circle.

When it was my turn, Dwayne went first. He asked, “You said you worked in Fort St. John once. What were you doing there?”

I replied, “I was doing stand – up comedy at one of the bars.” After that, every question was about stand – up—who I’d worked with, what it was like.

Finally Jesse, with the yellow eyes, asked, “Did you ever do it loaded?”

I said, “Oh yeah, but I prefer to do it sober, ‘cause your timing’s better.”

The next week I was walking around the grounds with a counsellor, Terrible Ted. He asked how I was doing. I said, “I’m still in denial.”

He said, “I can help you with that. You’re in rehab!”

I said, “Everyone keeps talking to me about stand – up and I don’t want to talk about it because I don’t think I can do it anymore, and I keep praying for what I should do and I don’t know what to do and it’s making me really sad.”

Ted said, “Well you did say you prefer to do it sober.”

“Ya, well … But I mean …”

I did say that. I mean, Ted was taking it out of context, but nothing is ever really out of context…
A couple weeks later I was up late, sitting in the smoke tent. The other guys had accepted that I was a washed up comedian and had moved on. The monitor working the graveyard shift recognized my voice. He said, “Holy cow, is that Richard Lett? They told me there was a comedian here, but they didn’t tell me there was a real comedian here.” He was a magician and heroin addict (they often are) and apparently we’d worked together. He said, “Every now and then I like to do a show for the boys. Why don’t I bring in my kit this Saturday and you can do 15 minutes before me to warm them up?” I begrudgingly agreed and cobbled together the material I could remember.

On that Saturday night, I didn’t get high and have a couple shots; I did something different. I did something I heard a guy say he did before he spoke at meetings—I prayed. I prayed that my words be of service to the people who hear them. Standing in the basement TV lounge, under white fluorescent lights, in front of 40 guys sitting on donated couches, I did stand up again. I think the guys were as nervous as I was. At first some giggles, then chuckles, then laughs, then roars. Not born of pain and rage, but joy and freedom. Just for a few minutes, we were lifted up out of that place. And I realized that this wasn’t about me, it was about them. After that, these guys would have nothing of the washed up comedian. Dwayne said, “You’re gonna get back, and you’re gonna be funnier than ever, and you’re gonna owe us a lot of money.”

My memories of that time are bittersweet because it was like we went to war together. And war has its causalities. We don’t know why some people are afflicted with the disease of addiction and some aren’t. We don’t know why some people find recovery and some don’t. Some of the guys who were there that night follow me on Facebook, and are fans, but others didn’t make it. Strong, smart, kind young men are gone now. They say every 35 minutes in Canada someone dies from addiction. I saw Dwayne the other night; he came to my show. He was drunk and obnoxious. I told him to get to a meeting. He left mad. I said goodbye as he walked away. Every time a relapsing alcoholic walks away, I say goodbye. Just in case.
Why him, not me? I dunno …