Land of the Lockst

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Lockst isn’t really a word. It’s a combination of where I was and the last sound that I heard.

When I got here, I was a mess. I would drink and hide it, and it was time to confess. My wife and brother-in-law, with compassion and love, knew it was time I got help from above. February 23rd, 2014, was the day that I arrived to get myself clean.

I had tried and tried by going to AA. It just wasn’t working; what can I say? I thought I could do it; I had done it before. But this time was different; I couldn’t open that door. It had a lock; I didn’t have the key, so I would just knock and knock.

We walked through the entrance; the woman said, “Have a seat.” I am looking for the man I was intended to be at the Brattleboro Retreat. I cry when I write; I cry when I read; I am begging for help; I want to be freed. This is all I, it’s not a “we,” because nobody ever tipped the bottle for me. I know it’s not hell; I know it’s not heaven. During my screening, I blew a .17.

I am here for a while; it’s time to start. Is getting here the hardest part? I hugged Kevin, and I hugged Jen, not knowing when I would ever see her again. It’s called The Tyler House if these walls could talk. They’ve seen thousands of people go through detox. As we approach a door, the man pulls out a key, opens the door and says, “Follow me!” As we walked down the hall, he started to talk. He simply said, “Welcome to the land of the lock.” So now you know how the title came to be; it’s time to start my new life’s journey.

He introduced me to a man who seemed kind of obscure. He showed me to my room and said, “Let me give you a tour.” My room is down the short hall. It has one phone booth to share with no door at all. Two bathrooms down here; that doesn’t seem bad. But if the place is full, that’s all the men have. Then we went down the long hall. One phone, one bath, but no men’s room at all.

At the end of the hall is a room filled with couches, chairs, and a large-screen TV He said, “This is where all of the meetings will be.” We walk back to my room and I look at each face. A young woman actually welcomed me to this place. My laces won’t come out of my shoes, so I have to wear slippers; that is all I can do.

The daily events are written on a board, snacks and drinks are free, but that is all I can afford. My wallet is at home; I have a dollar on me. I don’t really need it, so I’ll just let it be. They take your vital signs three times a day, then they distribute the meds depending on what the results say. 

The nurses and counselors all seem very nice. They do head checks every hour, not once, but at least twice. The meetings are frequent, and they last about an hour. The TV goes off at 10:00 pm; it’s like they shut off the power. Lights out at 11:00; you have to go to bed. I have my wife’s picture on my nightstand; I kiss her on the head.

I woke up to voices in the hall. I looked at my watch because at 7:00 you can make a call. Some of the residents are already up; they are the source of the noise. Dressed and ready to go nowhere, like good girls and boys. It automatically arrives; breakfast is served at 8:00. Thank God there are sides; there isn’t much on the plate. Same routine as yesterday; the schedule is on the board. You don’t want to miss a meeting because everyone there, their name, their record.

Dr. Kane is my doctor; my social worker is Dan. They are both very nice and treat me like a man. I am beginning to learn how all of this will help. Not being dependent and figuring it out for myself. 

In an afternoon meeting, we shared a favorite memory from our childhood. Two people spoke about their dog; they would have them back if they could. I shared DOG IS GOD and revealed I have a hobby. The more that read it, the more wanted a copy. As the day went by, I saw that they really started to care, so I pulled out more poems and began to share. 

Even the staff enjoyed reading these. I was very honored when someone asked if I could autograph theirs, please? Here I am looking for help to stop drinking, and my poems are helping others; that’s what I’m thinking.

They moved my room down to the other end of the hall. Again, I hear the voices; it’s time to make a call. They need my room for someone threatening suicide. Someone sat at his door; he had nowhere to hide. My vitals are great; no more medication for me. The only thing left is to take vitamin B.

Dr. Kane and Dan agree that it’s time for the next phase. I completed detox in only three days. After considering my options and completing some searches, I’ve agreed to try a program known as The Birches. I did not miss a meeting, I am proud to say. I am even prouder that they asked me to chair that night’s meeting of AA. I said, “Yes, I will do it; it’s not a hard job; the format is simply laid out by Bill and Dr. Bob.” The meeting went well; we even passed the basket. That dollar I had, I put in the mini casket. 

The next day is Thursday; everyone wished me well. They care about their patients; it’s easy to tell. On my way out, I got my shoes back, my clothes stuffed in a bag; it was easy to pack.I went straight to the program. It started at 9:00. The man said, “You are going to be late, but it will be fine.” We dropped off my bag; I can pick it up at 3:00. Like the man before, he said, “Follow me.” 

This is all new to me and seems a little scary. As we enter a room called the small fishbowl, he introduces me to Carrie. She is my new social worker, at the head of the table. I tried to remember everyone’s name, but I am really not able. Not knowing what to do or where anything is at, she asked if I could shadow a young man named Matt. 

When that group was over, we had two more places to be, not only with Matt but with a charming young lady named Stephanie.When those were done, I now needed a lunch ticket. They took me to the reception area where I could purchase it. I have my debit card numbers written on a receipt. When the lady punched them in, it wouldn’t complete. 

Rather than being late for lunch, Stephanie handed me two meal tickets. Not even really knowing me, she said, “Later, we’ll get it fixed.” 

Down a long tunnel to get something to eat. I have just gained two great friendships, which I would soon learn couldn’t be beat. Meal tickets have a value of $5 and that’s it. I have more food on my plate; I thought I could take all that would fit. I went over that by $1 and change; Matt covered the difference as I looked at him strange. These two just helped me when I couldn’t help myself. Those good deeds are vested in my memory bank of wealth.

The afternoon classes start at 1:15. They recommended which one they thought was right for me. ACT is the one that I found myself in. If I follow the lead of Ellen, this is a battle I can win. 2:15 to 3:00 is the last one of the day. You choose what to attend, depending on what the board will say. I gathered my stuff and headed over to the house that will be my new home. Along with my possessions, I now have my cell phone. I was led to my room by Deb; she is as nice as could be. I was now the newest member of the house they call Ripley. 

My room is very basic, but I really don’t care. Jeff is in the room next door; in between is a bathroom that we will share. There is a kitchen that is shared by all, a TV room that follows suit. It’s a place for conversation and to watch something on the tube.

The next day, the group starts at 9:00. We shared what happened the day before and what was going on in our mind. Carrie asked questions about sleep and nutrition to see if our goals were actually coming to fruition. 

As the days went by, people would come, and people would go. If it wasn’t for this place and these people, I would never know. I have made so many friends, from patients to staff. I have shed a few tears but mostly I laugh. Jenny and Peter run the 10:30 and 11:30 CDs. They are inspirational and informative to anyone like me. 

I am bringing my breakfast, lunch, and dinner, saving money every day. It’s all made possible because we have the fridge and microwave. ACT at 1:15, then choosing whatever to end the day. Abby got my attention when she mediated my neck pain away.

At 3:00, all is said and done, completing two urine tests per week. If they do one on Monday, then by Friday, they will be complete. Hanging in the evening, watching TV and talking to all. Going with them to meetings or just passing in the hall. 

Patrick, who doesn’t sleep that well, we will often stay up late. We watch anything on TV, but it’s the conversations that are great. 

He is a man who’s full of wisdom, and his knowledge doesn’t lack. I hope he got it right this time and never has to come back.

It's Friday, March 14th; my time has drawn to an end. I would like to leave the retreat not as a patient but as a friend. Four days in Tyler, twelve days in Ripley, believe it or not. The bed was hard to get used to; it was like sleeping on a cot. 

This poem is my story, and many thanks to all at Anna Marsh Way. Now I have a life to live, and my disease is here to stay. 

I don’t feel lost anymore, as I stand outside room 204; I’m not going to say a word. As I turned the key to lock the door, it was the last sound that I heard.

Daniel Hamel, a Vermont native and dedicated truck driver, discovered his love for writing in 2011 through his debut poem, "A HUNTER’S PRAYER." Inspired by Robert Frost, he embarked on a poetic journey, delving into themes ranging from nature to life's trials, including his

own battle with a disease that he refused to let take him.

His commitment to sobriety in 2014 marked a transformative phase, culminating in the publication of "INSIRATIONS AND EMOTIONS \ SEVEN LAYERS TO THE TRUTH" in 2015—a cathartic c

ollection reflecting his healing process. Daniel's literary repertoire expanded to include award-winning children's books like "TAKE THE BULLYING BY THE HORNS" and "IT’S OK TO CRY," alongside his acclaimed novella, "REBEL REPRIEVE."

His latest endeavor, "WHAT’S WRONG WITH DAD?," the third installment in his children's series, resonates deeply as it offers solace and encouragement to families affected by parental addiction. Daniel's dedication to empowering youth remains unwavering as he strives to equip them with life's essential tools. Recently honored with a short story contest win, gracing the cover of KaleidoScript magazine, Daniel resides in Rutland, Vermont, with Michele, the love of his life, and their cherished pets, passionately working on his upcoming novel and more enriching children's books.

Categories: : alcoholism, disease, health, Inspirational, memoirs