Road to recovery a bumpy one
He runs to clear out the "big jumble" a couple years of meth use left in his head. He runs to calm the voices that wonder how he'll pay off the restitution he owes the court, what he'll do with his life, if he can stay on the straight and narrow.
Seven months clean, he runs, though his destination is unclear.
"I know where I go if I get high again," says Sateren, 23. "It's no place good."
By the numbers, Sateren fits the profile of the typical meth user in King County: Most are white and between 18 and 25 years old. He is now one of hundreds in publicly funded treatment for meth addiction.
Methamphetamine — also called speed or crank — is a relatively easy to produce, addictive stimulant. It delivers a powerful rush to the brain that can result in highs that can last more than 12 hours.
When the drug begins to wear off, it can leave users feeling anxious and depressed. The simple solution is to take more, resulting in binges that can go on for weeks.
Some 659 people were admitted to publicly funded treatment programs for meth addiction in King County in 2002, up from 234 five years earlier, according to the Washington state Division of Alcohol and Substance Abuse. In 2002, the latest year for which numbers are available, meth — either as a primary or secondary drug — was cited in about 15 percent of adult admissions to county treatment programs.
About 42 percent of people who enter treatment in King County complete their programs; that includes treatment for meth and other drug habits.
Sateren, who exudes energy and tends to gesture with his arms when he speaks, could be the poster boy for someone recovering from meth addiction — a young, amiable but directionless guy who got stuck before he knew what had hit him.
A rapid descent
Sateren grew up and went to high school in Renton, where he was on the track and cross-country teams. In his junior and senior years, he wound up living with his track coach to get away from a deteriorating situation at home.
After high school, Sateren attended Central Washington University for a year but dropped out. He drifted down to Portland, got a job packing 100-pound sandbags to earn cash, lived in his truck, hung out with other homeless people — and tried meth for the first time.
It wasn't until he returned to Renton, though, that he got hooked.
"I was fed up. I didn't like where my life was going," says Sateren, who is tall and athletic, with a dark-brown goatee and short hair.
He went to a neighbor who had sold him pot and asked if he had anything stronger. It was only his second time on meth, but it was enough to send him on a three-week binge.
"It was just off to the races," he says. "A month and a half later, I lost my job. A month after that, I lost the car and the apartment. I pretty much spent a year and a half just running the streets, stealing whatever I could get my hands on to buy, sell or trade for more."
In January 2003, he was caught shoplifting at a Fred Meyer and possessing meth. In March 2003, he was caught with a stolen Toyota and more meth. Seven days later, it was a stolen Volkswagen Jetta and meth.
"At one point, I was like: 'This is it. I'm going to be a drug addict for the rest of my life.' "
He was facing the prospect of a long prison term when his attorney suggested entering drug court, which allows nonviolent offenders to get treatment instead of getting locked up.
Sateren decided to go for the treatment.
"Every time I've ever gotten in trouble, it's been connected to a bag of meth," he says. "It was like, 'Yeah, I got a drug problem.' "
A long road ahead
Treating drug addiction is at best an imperfect science.
The primary remedy for addiction to stimulants such as crack cocaine and meth is cognitive-behavioral therapy, which involves the person in recovery talking about his problems — either with a counselor or in groups — and figuring out strategies to escape old, destructive patterns.
Alan Marlatt, a professor of psychology at the University of Washington and director of the UW's Addictive Behaviors Research Center, says most people who enter drug-treatment programs won't have immediate success.
"For most people, it takes a few lapses along the way," Marlatt says. "Some people make it the first time they try, but that's 20 percent at maximum."
Addiction to meth has been considered especially hard to overcome.
But the Washington state Division of Alcohol and Substance Abuse recently released a study that showed success rates for people who completed treatment for meth dependency were the same as for other drugs. Studies undertaken elsewhere show similar results.
"People were saying meth addiction is untreatable, that treatment can't handle it, and we should throw them all in jail," says Ken Stark, director of the state agency. "That's not helpful. We should take a logical rather than an emotional approach."
Treatment experts say it's crucial to get drug-dependent people clean for 90 days, because that's when the danger of relapse is highest.
For Sateren, those three months were rough.
When he entered drug court, he agreed to random drug tests, almost-daily group meetings and weekly sessions with a counselor, but he still couldn't stay away from meth.
"I'd be clean for a couple of weeks, then I'd go back and just go off the deep end," he says.
After two more arrests for violating the terms of drug court, Sateren was given a choice: either be sentenced on drug charges or go to inpatient treatment. He chose the latter and was sent to Spokane for 78 days of treatment.
That time helped him get into the rhythm of recovery, including the meetings and daily discipline required of people recovering from addictions.
He returned to Renton but stayed clean for only a month. Then he got high and had an epiphany: "I thought, OK, I can't do this by myself."
So he sought help.
Remaking a life
"The only thing you've got to change is everything," Sateren often says, repeating a phrase he first heard from a counselor.
That means building a new life in the footsteps of the old.
"People need to develop social networks, learn what to say to friends, how to handle things when they're upset," says Marlatt of the UW.
Sateren's life is now based around people he met in the group meetings he attends almost on a nightly basis, either at Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous. He got a job as a window washer through an AA acquaintance, as well as an apartment. He hangs out almost exclusively with friends he met in meetings.
But reminders of the past are all around.
He has to avoid products such as energy drinks, the stimulating effects of which could trigger desires for meth.
One night recently, when he was walking down the street — he has neither a license nor a car — he caught what he was sure was the smell of meth cooking in an apartment building.
"I smelled it, and then it stopped," he says. "It freaked me out."
At times, he says, his life seems to be going too well. Then, for no reason, he finds his heart rate going up and the stress beginning to build.
"It's like I've got this built-in self-destruct, and every time I'd get something good going, I'd do something to mess it up," he says. "I'm not used to things working out."
A day in court
On a Friday afternoon last month, Sateren — as he does every four to six weeks — appears before Judge Richard McDermott at drug court at the Regional Justice Center in Kent.
McDermott asks him what he is doing to pay off the $2,300 in restitution he owes the owners of the cars he stole. Sateren's graduation from drug court is scheduled for this fall, but he needs to settle his restitution before then.
He explains that he's going to make an effort to pay down the debt over the next month. McDermott tells him to get the debt under $1,500 and come back in four weeks.
"Let's give Jacob a big hand," McDermott says to the 25 or so people sitting in the courtroom. "You've done a great job. We're all very proud of you."
After his appearance, Sateren steps outside the court and lights a cigarette.
He's beginning to look at the future. Sometimes, he thinks about becoming an electrician or a drug counselor.
He waves his arms as he speaks, as if the gestures will help make it so.
He runs five or six days a week — getting up before 5 in the morning to do it before work — and is thinking about training for a marathon.
Running has always been there for Sateren. His main challenge is learning what to do when he slows down.
"It used to be that if things were getting to be too much, I'd get high and forget about it," he says. "I know now that when I get sober, the problem will still be there, probably worse. ... I don't need that anymore."
