I made myself a new God Box this week, which, ironically, used to be my old drug box. It’s a water-stained Punch cigar box that used to be my grandfather’s from the early sixties. When I was at the apex of my drug-using era, this box represented professional success, oddly enough. Because I was so frequently drug-addled but also broke, it was a goal to be able to buy hundreds of dollars' worth of drugs in advance so there would always be some available in case of emergency. For a few months here and there between the 2012-2014 era, I could afford that type of drug-taking life.

​What constituted an emergency back then was, say, 4 a.m. rolled around and the dish is clean, the bags are chewed, but there’s a ravenous group in my living room still up, listening to music way too loudly, ready to glue themselves together—or to each other—who still want more. Before everyone was stricken with despair, I would heroically be able to grab something from the box that would give everyone what they needed, mostly extra molly—or this wild hash-dusted moon rock concoction that my drug dealer had upsold to me and I never let go of—which would keep the night going. Toward the end of my run, the box was mostly a chaotic mix of evil-looking pills whose only job was to wash everything away, including the fun parts.

​But now it’s empty, save for some leftover crumpled cash from a bonkers trip to Egypt around that time.

Since it is March, the third month, this syncs up with the 3rd Step, the one where I, a human, turn my will and my life over to the care of something bigger than me, the one I call God, simply because it’s easier to do than dance around whatever sort of religious hang-ups I still might have. And this drug box, I’m giving it a new purpose as my God Box, the place where I’ll store a few leftover resentments that continue to hang around. For those of you who forget what a God Box is:

​“God Box is, it’s a spiritual tool I picked up early on in Al-Anon, where you write down the most pressing problems in your life that are causing inner turmoil and then place them inside the box. The practice of writing it down and letting it go allows the mind to think more clearly and peacefully, some real 12-step Jedi shit. I augmented the practice to use it mainly as a Resentment Box where I’d place the names of people who’d done a number on me, spiritually speaking.”

​I threw eight names in there this time around. Four of them have been there before. But there are a few new ones.