This March will mark my 21st year of sobriety. As a
recovering alcoholic and drug addict it’s a pretty significant moment, so it
seems fitting that it be the topic of today’s post. It could be real easy to
pat myself on the back with a, “Look at what you’ve accomplished” attitude but
truth be told it’s not me who deserves the credit. Yes, I’m referring to my
higher power but also to all the people who have struggled with me along the
way. Alone, I was not able to control my addictions, “But for the Grace of God,
There Go I” Understanding a power greater than myself is an essential part of
what keeps me sober and perhaps in a following post I’ll discuss that. Today,
however, I’d like to share my story with you and tell you how I came to find
sobriety and a new life.
When I was very young my family enjoyed a lot of time
together. My aunts and uncles and cousins would come in from out of town for holidays,
football games, races, and just to get together. These were always very joyous
occasions for me and I looked forward to each visit. Once everyone was there
the celebrating would begin, the adults would have a few drinks, there would
laughing and dancing, sometimes games. The kids would get Shirley Temples or
virgin Boilermakers and we all stayed happy. Then my dad passed away; I was
eight.
The good times seemed to come to a screeching halt. There
were no more parties for football games, no races, no dancing. I believe this
is where my alcohol and drug dependence began. With no one coming over for any get-togethers
there was a fairly large supply of beer and liquor stored away in the basement.
I think I started drinking it as an attempt to hold onto those “good ‘ol days”.
I didn’t drink a lot, just a beer or two every now and again. In fact, it wasn’t
until 3 years later that my mom began to notice that the stock was being depleted.
My older brother got the blame for that, he was five years my senior and
already in high school by that time - sorry bout that P” After I realized that
it had been noticed I decided that I needed to be stealthier when it came to
having a drink. By this time it had become a fairly common occurrence. Any time
that I was at a friend’s house, and the parents weren’t paying attention, I
would snatch alcohol from their bars. When I couldn’t get that, I’d risk taking
some of my mom’s stock, mostly vodka or gin. As the bottle began to get emptier
I replaced the booze with water. Eventually my mom noticed this too, and again,
my brother got the blame. My point here is that even at eleven or twelve if I
wanted a drink, I found a way to do it.
This progressive illness continued on throughout my teenage
years. It caused some severe problems between me and my family. I was no longer
hiding my alcohol use and drugs had also made their way into the picture. Basically,
I took advantage of every opportunity I could to get wasted. It didn’t matter
to me what the drink or the drug was. I was out for a “good time” and nothing
else really mattered. I lied, I stole, and I was party to many other illegal
activities during this time because it provided me with what I wanted. And
while my biggest “downer” during this period was my mom and family always
riding my case the consequences slowly grew bigger and bigger. I eventually
ended up in a correctional home, but even that didn’t stop me from using. There
are many creative ways that teens come up with in order to get high, believe
me.
By the time I turned seventeen I was living for nothing
other than to get high. My mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer, and while I
loved her, my thoughts centered on ways I could get my hands on her
prescriptions. She didn’t want to take the pain medicines the doctors gave her
and I found numerous ways to take advantage of that. After she passed my life,
as I saw it, was nothing but a party. I think my vain attempts to find solace
in the loss of my parents became my obsession. I managed to keep a job for a
little while but even that became too much of a hassle for me. It seemed easier
to just scam my way through life and do whatever I felt like doing. Somewhere
between six months and a year after my mom had died. I accidently overdosed and
ended up in the ER. You would think that would be a wake up call and it almost
was. It did scare me a bit and I tried to get straight but the disease had its
grip on me and it wasn’t long at all before I had started right back up where I
had left off.
From here on out between the ages of eighteen and twenty six
or so I managed to live what I thought was a normal life. I had real jobs, all
be it, none lasted very long, except my bartending. I had my children and my
share of relationships, infidelities, and breakups. During all these events
there was one constant, I remained wasted.
So, wow...this post has certainly turned out longer than I
thought it would. I think that it is going to have to be a, Part I. I guess
that next week I’ll begin with my attempted suicide and the beginning of the
end of my drinking and drugging days. Thank you for reading and I hope that you
come back to hear the rest of this tale.
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