Exactly four years ago, and when I say exactly four years ago, that's what I mean, exactly four years ago to the day, I was sitting in my second rehab.

But before I go into the flashback, there's something else that leads me to it. I watched a film at the theater today with my father, "Charlie Wilson's War." The film's not important. What's important is that I'm back home in College Station for the break visiting, and I'm watching the film here, and as we're leaving the theater, I hear my name. So I look to see an old friend of mine, Christina. At first, there was nothing really significant about running into Christina, me and her weren't really close friends in the first place, in fact, I was closer to her ex-boyfriend than her.

What was significant about her was something she said. She remarked upon an occasion where a mutual friend of ours was playing a song that I used to play often at a coffee shop and apparently another friend of mine (the name was unfamiliar to me though) said that she recognized the song because I used to play that song often at that coffee shop when I was homeless. When Christina said the homeless suffix, I remarked something to the extent, "Yeah, but that was a long time ago."

And that's what got me thinking. And then I started thinking really hard. It's hard for me to believe now that it's been almost ten years since I entered high school and six since I left. Five since I started college, and it's been four years exactly since I spent the holiday season in BVCASA, a rehab for the homeless in Bryan. I had no idea about the history yet to be made in my life (for instance I never met Christina and those people associated with my last relapse that would lead me to my final rehab and eventually to where I am now; furthermore, it almost makes me cry to think about last Christmas and how I spent it in Kerrville, silent away from home with my father, still confused and heart broken, and how now I've been sober almost 1.5 years- how much has changed!). At that moment, I had just met my mother's new husband-to-be while I was in a psych ward, and I was confused over my life because I just left the University of Michigan, something I loved, but something I was coming to terms with believing I was never returning to (which I haven't). My first rehab failed miserably and quickly, and I was curious about this one, and just got off the worst heroin binge of my life (and the worst detox thus far- the one in 2006 was pretty bad, too. The first one was a piece of cake). I thought maybe this time, I should stay clean, but my mind was a wreck. And I was homeless. My father made probably the hardest decision of his life- he asked me to leave his house, and while I was angry then, now I see how it was beneficial for me.

But Christmas rolled around. And in this rehab, we were a tight group, because it was a small bunch and they kept the same group for the holiday season, taking no new clients and releasing none of us. I remember Christmas, all of us sitting in the dimly lit TV room, sharing stories of our lives when everything was better- before the prisons and bridges and rehabs and broken homes. I was the youngest one there at 19, and I will never forget how much they took care of me there. I will never forget the sadness and pity in their eyes, and the hope they had for me. And while I feel sad that I failed them then, I wish to find them now to show them who I have become. But I remember that Christmas in the TV room, wish the stories and our cups of coffee, and how we tried to laugh, but instead our eyes tried to avoid the slight aura from the Christmas lights from the house across the street.

And when the families came and visited me, and my father gave me a present, and it was my first guitar, I did break down. It was the second time I broke down in front of my father at that rehab, the first when he picked me up from detox to take me to St. Joe's psych ward. I took that guitar on all my travels when I was homeless, learning how to play and write songs. I think, if it wasn't for my guitar, I wouldn't be here today.

I think about this, and in the drama that I can make it, I smile. I love it. This is who I am. I see it with a grace that is above me, and an understanding that is particular to those that have been through what I have, a grace that is pretentious, and I know it is, but I do it anyway- I look at it, and I know there's those with worse, but I look at it and I give thanks that when autumn came, and the seasons change, I wasn't a bristle leaf that faded into the wind, but I stood firmly to my stem, and matured into something strong, independent, and free.

I'm just rambling and thinking about the past. Thought I'd share. Merry Christmas. Give thanks.