Mark Masserant
I began writing articles for recovery magazines in January of 2016. My work has appeared in I Love Recovery Café, Step 12 Magazine, InRecovery Magazine, Sober Nation and Recovery illustrated, as well as other websites. I love to add humor when writing about my thinking problems and memorable experiences in recovery, and to share some of the little miracles that kept me on the path. I also am a poet and a stained glass artist, working primarily with lamp shades. I attend meetings regularly, am married and live near Ann Arbor, Michigan. I’ve been continuously clean and sober since March 14th, 1987, and am active in my recovery. I hope I never forget to be grateful for my second chance at life.

Not Your Classic 12th Step Call; Grrr-Attitude Problem – By Mark Masserant 

Some are sicker than others and Crazy Paul’s first name was a heads-up for the newcomers in the rooms. No other warnings were necessary—as soon as they listened to him babble for a couple of minutes, they knew his tip didn’t go to the top. Crazy attended meetings in our neck of the woods while he sweated out another court date, the by-product of the latest of a handful of DUI’s he collected around the Midwest. The prior cases he picked up forced him into a few geographics, but they produced the same results. Accordingly, wherever he went, there he was—geography wasn’t the problem. He swore it was a conspiracy, of course. They were all after him.  Hence, his travelling drunk-driving show had swerved into our town, seeking refuge. To nobody’s surprise, he infracted again and spent a grueling night in our county jail, or the “Hooterville Hotel” as he… Continue reading

The Great Right Now – By Mark Masserant

  Outside noisy. Inside empty-Chinese proverb “Welcome to the Here and Now,” he said, then winked and sipped his coffee, awaiting my response. The sage but puzzling remark was followed by a mischievous grin and eyes so penetrating they unmasked me. The Whiz sensed we were talking long-distance—I was trying to see through the cloud of me and my ten thousand things while he spoke with a simplicity too abstract for me to grasp. I didn’t know it and couldn’t help it, but it was all me, me and more of me. That was the problem—this self-obsessed junior grasshopper wasn’t all there. “What the hell is he talking about? The Here and Now?  Is this another Timothy Leary moment?” I wondered, alluding to the wacky LSD pioneer from the Sixties. It was philosophical gibberish to me—something from a bumper sticker on a makeshift Socrates dummy at a psychedelic toga party,… Continue reading

Detox My Socks Off – Mark Masserant

  An unforgettable week on pins and needles unfolded while I waited for a bed in a Detox unit after my last drunk, but I rode it out. Things at my house were a little brittle. The treatment center I went to was filled to capacity, so I was returned home after my evaluation until space became available. They gave me a heartfelt ‘Hang in there!’ and a handshake to go, along with a fistful of pamphlets. My wife didn’t say a word. ‘Just my luck,’ I thought as I wandered off into the darkness of the night and my life. “We’re so sorry—it shouldn’t be long. Four or five days at the most,” they assured me. Still, it was no sure thing I’d make it back once I hit the bricks. “Remember– call if you need help,” they offered, but that was unlikely—I knew me. What’s worse, they forgot to… Continue reading

Finding Acceptance – A Spiritual Good Time Charlie – By Mark Masserant

  “I amz what I amz and that’s allz that I amz.” (Every freakin’ episode?) – Popeye T. Sailorman    Rarely did I go down without a fight. As a result, acceptance in any area of my life was always a struggle proportionate to the current unpleasant episode I was confronted with. My drinking was the common thread that ran through all of my troubles, yet it also helped me forget them. Consequently, defeat at the hands of alcohol was a victory neither pain-free, nor easily gained. Despite the constant upheaval caused by my boozing and my urgent desire to stop, there were unforeseen obstacles that blocked me from accepting my drinking problem. On the surface, I was certain I had thrown in the towel—the monotonous drone of my name, followed by ‘…and I’m an alcoholic’, was sounded at meetings every night for almost a year. I believed it. But hidden… Continue reading

Walking Barefoot Through Hell – By Mark Masserant

  sometimes i see medusa wearing my face, with my dreams dangling like an ominous crown of complex and cunning serpents. the horizon, dormant and riddled with salt-sculptured icons, is emblazoned with the history of mega-apocalypse.   sometimes i see a chained prometheus, wildly waving a strangled eagle, delicately taunting the gods. his mountainside looms in the northernmost regions of my mind.   sometimes i see the ferryman, but he is a cautious one, wary of the stowaway. sneering harpies flank his approach.   sometimes i see bosch, painting infinite murals in unison with my narratives wrought with melancholy.   sometimes i see dante, and hand-in-hand i guide him, walking barefoot through hell, the devil’s winds whistling our bones.   hell is a time in a place in my mind.   yet in a suddenly shimmering distance, Jonah brushes himself off, liberated at the edge of the foul and festering… Continue reading