Tag Archives: rehab

Mar2

I Believe In “Never Again”

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It can be overwhelming to look into the face of addiction and vow “never again.”

I remember when I left Dallas headed for rehab in New York. My intention was that I would be gone from the city and people that I loved for the minimum required stay of 6 months and then I would return. My plan was to go clear up the pesky cocaine business I’d so apparently lost control of and then get on with my life. I had no concept of reality. I had no way of knowing that when I changed, everything would change.

I didn’t know, as I was driven, weeping, out of the city that day, that I had become an alcoholic. I didn’t understand that, in my addiction, I had built a world around myself that supported my addicted behaviors and that helped me stay as sick as I wanted to be. I had no idea that beneath all of the drugs and the drinking, beneath the promiscuity and the violence, underneath everything that created the life that defined me, was a self-loathing little girl who had done everything she could to avoid fixing herself. That sort of awareness only comes with hindsight.

I’m certain that had I known ahead of time that my sobriety would encompass alcohol as well, I never would have gone. I wouldn’t have been able to wrap my head around the idea of a future without drinking – what a boring, pedestrian life that would be. At the time, I couldn’t imagine a world that didn’t include all of the excitement of the nightlife, all of the dangers of the sparkling underground.

I’ve gotten several emails from people looking for… something. There are questions about how I did it, how I manage to do it still. There are confessions of individual failings and struggles. There are people looking to just tell their story, people looking to know that someone understands the chaos that comes with the dawning awareness of a problem needing attention. These people are afraid. It is an overwhelming thing to look your addiction in the face and say “never again.”

I certainly have no easy answers. There is no simple solution that leads to joyful sobriety and guarantees a successful future. The path to sobriety that I know involves a lot of saying goodbye, a lot of heartache and turmoil, and a lot of learning humility.

I believe a few things, though. I believe that addiction is most often a symptom of an emotional injury and that it takes more than willpower to stay sober, it takes healing of my heart and mind to stay well. I believe that when I fall, I must get back up again. I believe that I would not be able to stay sober without my diverse support system. I believe that I would not be alive today were it not for God.

I believe that sobriety is the most worthwhile thing that I have ever achieved in my life. I believe that it is worth every moment of heartache, past and present. I believe that each and every person who desires wholeness can ultimately achieve it.

I believe in your ability to be whole. I hope that you do, too.

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Oct29

Me & the Mrs.

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Me & the Mrs.

If there has ever truly been a time when there was a tug of war between my self-control and my desire to be completely obliterated it is now. I cannot remember another point when my emotions and my desire to drink were so completely connected before, and I was so aware of it. I can understand now why people actually do fail. Thank God my life isn’t always like this.

My boss is being pressured by the executive committee to fire me. The rent is due, my car needs brakes and winter tires, my propane tank is closer to empty than not, and my boss might have to fire me. I’ve finally managed to turn my credit around, to establish a sense of stability and grounding and my boss might fire me. After a year and a half off the wagon, I just hopped back on two months ago and I might get fired.

Oh yeah, I want a drink. A bottle of red wine to be precise. Two.

My sister announced the other day that she “might want to, but doesn’t have to”. She’s right, I’m drinking water. Her statement was followed with “I’m free!” I’m undecided.

Through an unusual set of circumstances, my boss was told that I have a warrant for my arrest in the city of Dallas for a DUI that happened in 2006, and that I would be resolving the situation in February. The executive committee said to fire me.

In all fairness, it’s not that I love my job. Most days, in fact, it’s quite the opposite. It’s not where I want to be and it’s not what I want to be doing. Still, I like the pay and I love the health insurance. I like bringing my dog to work and walking around in my socks. I like feeling stable.

I don’t like feeling that even when I’m doing everything “right”, I still can’t outlive my past and the person I used to be. I don’t like having that feeling I used to have right before everything fell to the ground again. I have to wonder when I will be through with the mistakes I made in Dallas, and if I’m just going to keep making mistakes?

The internal optimist cheerily asserts that this might be a blessing in disguise, with a bit of free time and focus I can find a job doing something I’m more suited to, that I’ll be happier at. I remind her that there are very few jobs available in this economically depressed area, and even fewer good jobs that don’t require degrees and that I don’t have a savings account.. She’s certain things will work out and points out good-naturedly that at least I have a job at the mini-mart. I remind her that I hate that job. She, growing tired of my arguments, insists that things are going to be fine, that they always are, and that I should really just cheer up. I roll my eyes and tell her, in no uncertain terms, that the American dream is a myth, that if my life is going to fall to pieces anyway, I might as well be high and that, at least then, I knew why my life was falling to pieces. She sighs, and we drink another glass of water.

I’m undecided. So is my boss apparently. He told the executive committee that he had to “process this”.

In the meantime, I’ve got to go spend some of this Saturday at the office to beat a few deadlines. After that I’ve got a shift at the Sunoco. She wants me to point out that the fire is warm and I’ve got enough wood for the winter. I don’t feel like that’s relevant.

She wins every time.

Sep13

addiction felt organic

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addiction felt organic

 Addiction felt organic. Like I went back in time, to when people worried about the basic needs: food, shelter and warmth. Addiction feels like that, like modern society’s only solution to returning to that level of simplicity, except the basic needs change –  to money and drugs.

Addicts don’t worry about what they’re going to be when they mature or their retirement plan. They don’t plan to live long enough to care, really. Addicts don’t worry about what you think about them or how you feel about their latest kind of fashion. Unless, of course, your opinion somehow affects their money or their drugs.

It’s probably not politically correct to mention this but being an addict is a whole lot easier than being a sober person.  Admittedly, it’s not as fulfilling or peaceful, life isn’t filled with intimate friendships and tender moments but, frankly, an addict only cares about that loss when they’ve sobered up – and then the concern is fixing the problem of sobriety, not the problem of missing  tender moments.

A sober person, on the other hand, has to worry about the what-ifs in life.  What if I never meet Mr. Right?  What if I lose my job tomorrow?  What if my family is upset with me because of that decision or that mistake?  What if, what if, what if?  It’s exhausting really. It’s exhausting to me, I confess.

I admit, though, to being fully commited to switching sides. Having lived, fully immersed, on both sides of the fence, if you will, I can assure you that sober living has far more moments of peace than addicted living does. When you’re addicted to a drug you are never at peace; you’re always considering what will happen when you run out, how much money are you making and how much can you spare, what bill can you not pay in order to be able to buy more, on and on and on. When you’re sober living, you may have some moments of panicked ‘what if’ but there’s nothing too big to find a solution to, if you’re sober enough to try.

I’ve lost the simplicity of organic living somewhere along the way, it’s true, but I’ve found reasons to live and that is far more important.

Jul22

every story has a beginning

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every story has a beginning

I have not loved every moment of my journey. I don’t, in fact anticipate loving every moment of what is to come. But I do thank God for every step, every turn and every fall. I thank God for allowing each moment that brought me to this very one.

There are certain things I know; things I know with assurance. I know that all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose. (Rom. 8:28) I know that I love God. I know that he called me many years ago with purpose and in promise. I know, rely on and rest in the truth that God is not Man, so he does not lie. That he is not human, so he does not change His mind. God has never spoken and failed to act or promised and not carried it through. (Num. 23:19) 

Nearly two years ago, I completed 10 months in a faith based rehabilitation, Christian discipleship program. It was, and is, a place where God moves mightily and daily. What follows is a story of my life and pieces of my journey. More importantly, it is the telling of God’s grace and power to save. This was written soon after my departure from my place of healing.  It is my introduction to today.

I’m 30 years old (now 32) and, while I was raised in Northern Vermont, I am most recently from Dallas Texas. I’m the second oldest in a family of 6 children. While I was fortunate to be raised in what was, for all intents and purposes, a Christian home my childhood memories are limited and most of those I do have are not fondly recalled.

When I was 7, a local 14 year old boy from a troubled home came to live with my family. Chris would be the first in my memory to rape me, beginning a cycle of sexual abuse that would last for seven years, ending with my father when I was 14.

Growing up, my parents were always involved in one church or another. It wasn’t uncommon during these years of my mothers search for her own answers to switch churches, denominations and sometimes even religions without notice. My mother was generally involved in the ministry, leading womens groups and Sunday School. God was discussed, known and available but, in light of my life at home and the continuing search for what was truth, He seemed vague and disinterested at best. Still, inwardly hurting, angry, and rebellious, and while our home steadily deteriorated – outwardly and in public we all presented as the perfect Christian family, well trained to perform our roles.

At 14 I was still living with two of my abusers and unable to discuss either the abuse or a subsequent suicide attempt with anyone in or outside of my home. With so many younger siblings, sharing what had happened to me with anyone, even a counselor, would be asking the the state to step in and divide our family. I understood the reasons butI grew increasingly resentful toward what I viewed as the decision to sacrifice my well being for the “greater good”.

At the age of 17 I made a personal commitment to Christ and, following in the footsteps of my mother, began involvement in leadership. About this same time I also began experimenting with marijuana. The double minded standards I had perfected as a child flourished in my adult years – with every forward step in Christ followed by a deeper plummet into the world of alcohol and drugs. By the age of 23 I had spent time as a worship leader and a children’s pastor and begun to struggle with bouts of addiction that included marijuana, alcohol and ecstasy.

After a time, the initial fulfillment I had found in church began to wear. Without knowing enough to build my life on a relationship with Jesus and move toward healing, I instead looked for an answer to ending the pain that grew within. In time, I became disillusioned enough to walk away from the church entirely, confused about who it is that I was, nevermind God.

At 23 I moved to Dallas, Texas and by 27 I was fully immersed in addiction and depression. For three years I bounced from bar job to bar job and from relationship to relationship. I was continuing to search for something, anything, to find myself, fulfillment and relief from my hurt. On the surface I seemed well maintained. I was living the single girl dream of life in the big city. I had a closet full of designer labels, a great place, a ton of friends. Everything society told me I needed. The truth was, I was slowly coming undone. I began to use cocaine on a regular, and mostly daily, basis. My alcoholism worsened until I was experiencing nightly black outs and intermittent bursts of violence. I was arrested twice on alcohol and drug related charges. I partied as hard as I could for as many hours and days as I could. It wasn’t about searching for the way up anymore – I was looking for the way out. I gave up on the struggle to find and understand God in the midst of my chaos. I stopped fighting to overcome an eating disorder that was threatening to destroy me. I no longer recognized the girl in the mirror. I craved the finality of death and pressed toward it with a passion that overruled anything else.

Late in March of 2008, I woke up in the middle of the night in the bunk of an 18-wheeler driving through the Texas countryside. I had no idea where I was or where I was headed. I didn’t know who the man driving the truck was or even how I had come to be inside of it. To this day, the last thing I remember from that day was sharing Easter dinner with a friend and his family. Finally I was ready to accept that I needed help. I called my mother back home in Vermont and my family made arrangements for me to go into treatment at a Christian center outside of New York City, the Walter Hoving Home.

For me, this was the first step towards my redemption in Christ and the beginning of my journey toward healing. Looking back over the things I have done and the places I have put myself, the protecting hand of God becomes so clearly evident. For ten enviable months I was able to learn firsthand about the grace God offers freely, His endless faithfulness, mercy and provision. After a lifetime of wounded hurt and confusion, struggling through everything to find love, I have been able to accept – to truly embrace and know – the unconditional love of God that I can do nothing to earn and nothing to lose.
Most importantly, I have been liberated from the confines, tradition and hollow legalism of ‘religion’ and learned the beauty that is my relationship with Jesus Christ. I had a lot to unlearn. Faith is so simple and yet so very hard to give in to. I chose at first to believe and trust and watched as my God came alive in my life. In the last ten months, without income, I have truly wanted or needed for any one thing. I live in a place of trusted commitment with God that I never before thought possible (or even desirable), knowing that only He has the power to affect lasting and real change.

Today I am poised on the brink of rebuilding all that I gave up and allowed to be stolen from me. I have been set free from the addictions that tormented me for so many years. I am winning the fight against an eating disorder. I have learned to allow God’s love to heal wounds that I thought never to be rid of. I have never before been so joy filled, at peace and excited to see the future. I know the girl in the mirror today, I am grateful for everyday that I live and breathe.

I am loved.

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future nor any power, neither height nor depth nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Romans 8:38-39