The account was named Instone Nutrition, which we soon discovered was owned by Sylvester Stallone. Next thing you know I’m meeting with Sly for dinner. I’m not one who is easily impressed, but I admit the experience was magical. Though Sly covered the tab, I soon would learn how much that dinner really cost me.

Steep Decline
Turns out the rich and famous are powerful magnets for lawsuits. I learned there’s an entire cottage industry chock full of law firms that work on a contingency basis hunting for any opportunity to bite into a wealthy celebrity.

What enables this system to operate unimpeded is something chemical dependency counselors deal with every day: delusional thinking. In the case of a trial by jury, it is the litigator’s job to construct the best version of events, not necessarily the true version. Their version is usually emotionally charged and makes sense on the surface, and jurors will believe it with absolute certainty. Because of this, many celebrities opt to settle out of court so as not to jeopardize their reputations or risk the full jury award.

Sure enough, just as Sly starts popping up on “The Tonight Show” promoting our product, a lawsuit emerges and hijacks the next four years of my life. The lawsuit was initiated by a former employee of mine who claimed the product we developed was partly his idea, and therefore Freedom Foods—and by extension our client Instone Nutrition—was guilty of theft.

Driven by massive resentments (“How dare they; I’ll teach them!”) and pride (“I’ll win because I’m right”), I allowed the lawsuit to become all-consuming. The business suffered irreparably as I rechanneled my time and emotion to attorney meetings and poring over old files. I became distant from everyone who cared—hostile even. I coped by isolating, drinking, and abusing cocaine, methamphetamine, and a host of other drugs. Obvious to everyone but me, I became as addicted to the lawsuit as I was to the chemicals. Rapidly I went into deep debt, exhausting every asset of the business and my marriage.

Two years into the litigation, the business no longer could afford inventory. My primary job then became evading bill collectors, using, and waiting for the mail each day to see what new litigious horror was being thrown at us, as the dream born during my dinner with Sylvester Stallone was obliterated, Still, the worst was to come.

The more I risked and the more delusional I became, the more drugs I did. I was spending more than $100 a day, seven days a week, on cocaine and painkillers, and was the kind of alcoholic who would drink mouthwash when the booze ran out. I was seeing things, hearing things, and walking around the house in three-day-old sweaty night clothes with a fireplace poker, searching for the tree police. I overdosed on three separate occasions, each time requiring a defibrillator to restart my heart. Yet I couldn’t stop. No one was able to get through to me—not my wife, my family, my friends, my therapist or our pastor.

Finally in 2008 we went to court. The trial took just five days. Four years of wrangling and suffering was over in just 40 hours. The verdict: guilty. We presented a mountain of evidence, we called to the stand renowned food scientists, and we introduced testimony from a top Washington, D.C. law firm specializing in patent law. The arbitration judge we met with prior to the case had said there were no grounds for the lawsuit.

I can’t remember opposing counsel offering a single expert witness or evidentiary document that didn’t come from us. Instead, they based their entire case on the fact that their client once worked for me. Against all odds they persuaded the jury to empathize with their client. Guess it didn’t help that my brooding and frequent emotional outbursts in court were noticed by the jury, but for four years it had felt like my house was burning to the ground while I screamed at the fire department having coffee on the lawn.

Rebuilding a Life
I was bankrupt and broken, my home was repossessed, my marriage was over, and virtually all my friends disappeared. One day I realized I had nowhere to sleep, $80 to my name, no credit cards or secret bank account, and no one to rescue me. Unfortunately, The American Recovery and Reinvestment Act included no provisions to aid someone in my particular position. But God specializes in second chances.

Believe me when I say I found Him in the deepest depths of my despair (which included a visit to a psych ward). I listened. Little by little I believed, and eventually acted. Through His grace, the support of my family, a near-arrest for possession, two rehabs, and dedicated 12-Step work, I began to experience the miracle of clear thought and reduced craving.

During my recovery I became immersed in the mystery of addiction. I wanted to know how and why a clever, professional guy like me got so sick. The more I understood, the more I realized how much others did not understand. Likewise, the less I lamented the unfairness of my experience, the more I appreciated the fact that I got through it at all. And, more importantly, I realized there would be plenty more opportunities.

Truly I believe I was made for a purpose, and that purpose had nothing to do with finding pleasure in a balance sheet. Money had never brought me serenity. If it had, I wouldn’t have been a habitual substance abuser for years prior to my dinner with Sly, when I was already earning six figures.

Something else was percolating in my brain. I began to wonder what it would be like to ditch my career completely and begin anew, learning to help others out of their addiction.

Thanks to an unexpected loan from my family I returned to school, five years after my dinner with Sly and 25 years after receiving my master’s degree. I completed the two-year curriculum in one year, interned, and then earned my alcohol and drug counselor certification. Since then I’ve accumulated additional credentials as an interventionist and in Motivational Interviewing.

Now I help people just like me recover from chemical dependency.In the past it was all about me, my drugs and I. Now I have tremendous empathy for the people I work with, and my relationship with them brings me satisfaction like I’ve heretofore never known.

Another surprising result of my recovery is the novel I’m writing. The story is based on a mere 10 pages of ideas I composed back in the mid-1980s and stuffed in a file folder with the desultory intent to complete it one day. Now it’s a certainty. Within the last year I’ve added 250 pages. It’s a horror novel tentatively titled The Horrid. The story is an epic metaphor for the horror of addiction and the blessing of deliverance. The more I write, the more fulfilled I feel. Isn’t that how life is supposed to be?

I have indeed received many of the Promises outlined in the Big Book, with my favorite being, “We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us.” I’m not altogether back on my feet but I’m getting there, and am so much happier for it.

Today as I look back on this unfortunate and unnecessary chapter of my life, the devastation still pains me. As a direct result of the case, two dozen people lost their jobs, many reputations were ruined, two companies went bankrupt, and millions of dollars in bills went unpaid, resulting in who knows how much collateral damage.

Recovery takes Heart
My “recovery act” isn’t the kind you read about in the financial section. The emphasis of my transformation isn’t on the word “recovery,” but on the word “act,” as in effort, as in heart. In the final Rocky movie “Rocky Balboa,” Rocky explains what having heart is all about. It’s a message that speaks to the foundation of what substance abuse counselors do every day. Rocky says:

“The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and nasty place … and I don’t care how tough you are, it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently, if you let it. You, me or nobody, is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard you hit … It’s about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward … how much you can take, and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done.”

You know something? I had dinner with that very wise man.

One night not long ago, I counseled a couple whose son was addicted to meth. Afterward, as we said our goodbyes, the husband added, “It was an honor to have you in our home.” It’s been eight years since the honor of my $4.9 million meal with Sylvester Stallone. Somehow I know I’ve come full circle.