I remember standing on a street corner in the rain talking to my dad on a payphone.  He said “son, your mother has been so worried about you that she’s neglecting me. I’ve had this infection in my nose for over a year.  It was misdiagnosed by my doctor and I just found out that its cancer.  He said… son, you’re killing me.”  That was a moment of clarity.  I began to cry.  I was 31 years old and for the first time in my life, I realized that my behavior was affecting other people.  That was it.  I had to get sober but I still refused to repent.  I was going to do it my way.  The drugs were the problem, and if I could just stop using, it would all be ok.