“Recovery is like that for everyone,” he said. “But don’t relax too much. What we’ve dealt with is the physical element, and that’s a big thing. Your body no longer craves that rush, which is great. You get a fresh start. But you know there’s another issue, right?”
He tapped on the side of my head with a finger. “The mental part.”
“Exactly. This is why we say, ‘Once an addict, always an addict.’ Whether it’s alcohol, drugs, food, or anything else. The mind has to be retrained, not just the body. The body is more immediate, because there’s pain, withdrawal, and all those symptoms. But your mind is what really counts in the long run. You’re still going to have memories that float to the surface; moments when you think about the old highs and how they felt. Especially an ADHD guy like you. Carl had one of those moments in the middle of his treatment. You’ll think, ‘I could dull the pain right about now.’ You’ll remember it, you’ll dwell on it, and saying no will just make it more seductive. Like saying you’re never going to eat chocolate ice cream again. Ever. Now that I’ve said that, what does that do to the thought of ice cream?”
“Makes me want some right now.”
“Exactly.”
“So what am I supposed to do about this?”
“Talk to an addiction counselor. I’m sending you to Paula Norris, who isn’t far from where you live. She’ll walk you through weeks and months of reestablishing a healthy life. You need a better understanding of who you are and what makes you tick. Now listen—some people think they’ve crossed the goal line, the points are on the board, and they blow off their counselor. They say, ‘I’m good from here. I can handle it.’ But they can’t, and they fall right back into the trap. Classic relapse. So my friend Paula will help you avoid that.”
Paula had a practice in Slidell, Louisiana. Her clinic was familiar with the kind of treatment I had received, and she had a thorough understanding of addiction, as well as the challenges of being me. Over the next few months, she became not only a guide, but the kind of positive, supportive friend I desperately needed. Above all, she helped me understand myself for the first time.
Slidell is a forty-five-minute drive from New Orleans. I would sit and talk to Paula, and she wanted to know my whole life story. Like most people, she found it hard to believe.
“This stuff really happened to you? Just the way you’re telling it?”
“I have no reason to make it up.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’m hearing. This is someone trying, from the first days of school onward, to be someone he isn’t. The class clown. Then the one who does impersonations of all the teachers. Then the jock, the basketball star.”
“I wanted to be good at something.”
“You wanted to stand out. You were feeding on the acclaim, the attention. Not because you were egotistical, but because applause is the first powerful narcotic even kids can get their hands on. It releases that dopamine, your body’s own in-house drug. The applause of the crowd is intoxicating, and you have to find new ways to get it, just like finding new drugs. But chasing crowd approval keeps you from being who you really are. One day you’re the—what was it?—Brazilian jiujitsu guy. Then you’re the club DJ. And the host of the Closer’s Corner. Even the stockbroker. Who knows how many more hats you’d have tried on if drug abuse hadn’t gotten in the way?”
I sighed. “I can see it. But who am I?”
“That’s what you’ve got to find out. But in a healthy way. Robby, when you focus on something, you’re powerful, productive—like a laser beam. The problem is that you’ve been pointing in the wrong direction for years. People with ADHD tend to be creative, effective, and successful once they figure out where to point that high-intensity beam. Before then, they point it in every direction, and a lot of people get burned. So let me give you this exercise as homework.”
“I hate homework,” I smiled.
“Well, you’ll like this task, because you get to look at yourself in the mirror! I want you to wait until you’re by yourself, then go to the mirror, put your nose right up against it, stare yourself down, and ask, ‘Who is Robby Gallaty? What does Robby Gallaty want out of life?’”
“Okay, but I don’t get it. How’s this supposed to help? If the mirror talks back, I’ll know I have mental problems.”
“Just do it. See what happens. Answer your own question, when you have no one to impress and nothing to prove. Find out who you are when no one’s looking.”
I went home and tried it. First I felt a little silly. Then I began to think about that question and realized I had no answers at all. I was twenty-five years old, a guy with a crazy life, who had no idea who he was or what he wanted out of life.
That moment remains as one of the most difficult I’ve ever encountered—asking myself a question I couldn’t answer. And maybe, just maybe it was a small beginning toward hearing the answer from Someone else.
Chapter 11
Get Out of Town
By the middle of May 2001, my head was spinning. But at least I was conscious of it. Maybe it’s just that I was using my head for the first time in months.
Between last Thanksgiving and the end of spring, I’d walked a dark, terrible road through the world of addiction. I hadn’t just taken drugs, but I’d sold them. I’d sold myself. I’d
