She’s Only 22……….

She’s only 22 and has 3 children under the age of 5. Her Mother is raising them and has given up hope for her, well, almost. She sent her back home to her family for help, for more rehab. The 5th time she has been in a rehabilitation unit. This time she walked away from it, didn’t even give it a chance, just detoxed and left. I guess it had been at least 6 years since I saw her. She was then a teenager with long dark hair, long legs and beautiful olive skin. She was troubled looking casting her eyes downward when spoken to. Her aversion to looking you in the eye was a by product of her years of abuse by her stepfather. It all made perfect sense later when we found out the ugly, awful truth. The quiet somewhat shy girl, who later could not look anyone in the eye even stopped laughing or smiling like she used to. There was something about her, a feeling you got that you could not quite put your finger on. A gut feeling that should have been paid closer attention to………..by all of us. When her stepfather started keeping her contact with anyone outside of their home to a minimum it really made you wonder. It was not long after that he was found out and subsequently sent to prison. Good riddance you say and rightly so, however………. The physical abuse stopped and she and her family moved away to another state. Years later, her stepfather is back out in the world doing God only knows what while her life is in shambles………..still. The promiscuity that followed seemed ironic to me, yet I believe that may be typical. I am no expert on abuse and the aftermath, but from what I have witnessed, self- abuse stays on inside the victim. The heavy drug addiction that followed should probably not have been a surprise, yet it was. Why you wonder? You get rid of the bastard, put him away and she is free to live her life. Free to recover and heal and move on to the life that she deserves. But, it does not happen that way. She has ulcers on her arms, and scars on her once lovely face. You can see the beauty that was there only a few short years ago. Her teeth look like they are on their way out also. It was quite shocking to see her. I wanted to hug her and say what happened to you and why? But instead I just hugged her and said, “Hey there, what are you doing? “ I did not have to ask how, I could see how she was doing. I knew what had happened without being in her life all of those years. I did not want to be close to her, did not really want to hug her until I saw her. Afraid of her addiction touching my life, as it was already touched by another family member’s addiction, there was no room for more. But, when I saw her I felt like crying, the sadness weighs heavily on me now, even as I write this. I realize that the abuser has served his time and is free, while the victim, my once sweet little niece has a destroyed life. Her children do not have a mother that is whole. All are affected. It is sad that punishing the abuser does not change things, but there can never be justice for something of this nature. It is just not possible. Maybe she would have become a junkie anyway, even with a normal childhood. I will never know the answer. I do believe that there is a point where she has a choice, to either nurture or punish herself, but it still angers me to my core. This chain of events that he has set off. This ruination of a life or her offspring’s lives. It angers me that he is free while she may never be………………………………….

East Coast Smile

Did he make it? I think he did, I rejoice in him when I see him. There is a look of caring about him. His eyes are brighter, clearer. The color of his skin is healthy. His teeth are new and white and even. They accent the big smile of triumph and happiness on his lips! There is a twinkle in his eye and a lilt of excitement in his voice. There is complete joy and gratefulness in his heart. There is a sense of freedom that surrounds him. It is fresh and catching, that feeling of freedom and newness that oozes from him.

It was the hardest thing he ever had to do, this gaining freedom. He had been captured. Yes, captured and wrapped up tight. So very tight. He and his loved ones had thought the knots would never be able to be loosed. They had given up. He had even given up all hope of a cure as he knew there was none. Or a reprieve from it and the road to hell it had led him and his down.

He began as a child. He folks’ were of a notorious biker group. They were the rough and ready type, not just recreational bikers. The bikers of the 60’s. He was raised around the partying and drugs and became addicted to heroin as a pre-teen. They allowed it. They allowed him access to it and did not care. They were in their own little world then and did not look to the future. Someone shot him up, I don’t know who as he never said. He learned to do it himself. He smoked it. It was the number 1 most important thing in his life. He fought at different times to come “clean” and stay that way. It never seemed to work, for long anyway.

When I first met him, my impression was that of a rough guy with an East Coast accent. Nice looking guy, except his teeth. I was introduced to him at one of my husband’s rehab meetings. They became friends. They connected. They were both clean and sober.

Over the next few years, my husband relapsed. But his friend did not. The East Coast guy went to every meeting and even started going to church and praising God in every way for his freedom and new life. His wife and family life were happier, he was happy too. His work was coming along well. He had more money. He got a beautiful new set of teeth. His smile was even prettier!

He had made it. It gave me hope that somehow my husband would again, “make it.” I was happy that he called him a few weeks back, thinking good, he is a good influence. My husband looked up to him. I was happier still when he phoned again, thinking maybe he is getting through to my husband. I was doubtful when the next time he called, my husband left the house. A week later, when he called our home 3 times in a row, I was skeptical.

An hour later the phone rang. As he spoke with my husband, I looked out the window. Rain was coming down hard and I saw East Coast leaning up against our front fence talking on his cell phone. Then my husband went outside in the pouring rain, wearing my pink rubber shoes on his feet to meet his friend underneath a tree that shaded them like an umbrella.

It really struck me! When my husband came back inside, the anger poured out from my heart and mouth. “What are you doing?” and “Don’t you be a part of his relapse!” and “Oh, my God!” The grief that followed surprised me.

East Coast with his beautiful new smile and freedom had relapsed. I thought he wouldn’t. Somehow his sobriety had become a symbol of hope to me. Now that was crushed. Did he make it? I thought that he had, but not this time. I sincerely hope and pray that he does again. I hope he makes it for good next time. I hope there is a next time.

Color Them Blonde

My brother and his wife became “tweakers”.

“Meth” or “Crank” came very close to ruining their lives and the life of our mother. There were radical changes in them. Physical, mental, emotional and even spiritual changes. Disturbing, dangerous and despairing. Life changing events followed. There was no one left without scars.

He had always been somewhat into the “drug scene” as were many people in the 70’s . Drugs were rampant in those years. First came weed. Later came “Benni’s” or “cross-tops”, short for little white pills, which were actually Benzedrine, or uppers. Truck drivers were known to use them for sleepless long haul periods. Diet pill prescriptions were sought after as they were similar in their effects. I remembered hearing about “pink hearts” and “black beauties” among other upper type pills in my high school years.

The 80’s gave way to “speed” and “crank” or meth. It was crushed and snorted through a straw. Felt instantly rather than waiting for a pill to dissolve it was an immediate rush. It was somewhat of a social drug then in our circles. It was fun for a while, then it changed. Somewhere, somehow the drug itself changed. Not that it was ever good, but it’s chemical make up somehow changed and became not only a drug that sped you up and made you feel good, but also a psychotic drug. An evil drug. I swear that the devil had his hand in that one, every bit as much as heroin if not more so.

By the 90’s the “meth face” became easy to spot. A long term user’s facial features seem to become shaped different, I believe it is the skeletal frame of their face that changes. I know it does eat away at the bones that hold your teeth in place, and rots out your teeth also. There is something similar in the shape of a meth user’s face, at least I think so. You can spot tweaking behavior as people walk down the street. Their exaggerated movements in simple things like brushing their hair, or talking on the phone. Even the way they wear their pants up too high, or hold a cigarette in between their lips can tell the tale if you know what you are looking for.

My brother and his wife were no exception. They were living with our widowed mother in her house at the time. They got into the meth heavier and all the changes I have spoken of took place.

Once they colored each other’s hair the same exact blonde. They looked identical, it was freaky. They wore their shorts too tight and too short. They painted each other’s toe nails. They became freakish looking . They were spotted at all hours of the night and wee hours of the morning traveling around the valley, almost skulkingly so, either looking for meth or selling it or both. They fought physically, get down dirty fighting. Police were called many times. They screamed horrible, ugly things at each other and at our mother, even at me.

The atmosphere at around the house was disturbing and violent. Furniture was dismantled and broken. Holes were in the walls. Bizarre writings left on paper. There were other disturbing things that I won’t mention. These gave me nightmares and trauma feelings just seeing it. That was when I knew I needed to get my mother out of there.

My husband and I packed up her bedroom and moved her out and into an apartment down the street from our house. She mortgaged her house and lived off some of the money, while we warned my brother and wife that they had to leave as we were selling the place. We knew it was the only way to get and keep them away from her. As long as she had that house, my brother would think it was his home and would not leave. We put it on the market and gave them $5,000 of her mortgage money to leave and began fixing up her home to sell. Basically, we bought them out.

They left and lived in an apartment for a few years. They would come to her house just before payday and do some schmoozing and it usually worked. She would help them from time to time with rent money. They were too dependent upon her. Eventually, she stopped this altogether as her money ran out. They talked her into moving into an apartment next door to them. She heard more fighting and carrying on than I want to talk about. Eventually, they talked her into moving in with them. So she was paying the rent then.

That did not last. Too much fighting and weirdness went on. Finally in order to get out, my mom moved into a foster home, then eventually in with me. She is still here with me. We have had our share of ups and downs, but not anything like that.

They were in trouble with the law. They went to drug court and got counseling, and cleaned up some. They still dabbled in the dope though, fooling themselves that they were clean. They lost their apartment and lived in their car and motels. Eventually, I think they just got sick and tired of it all and cleaned up. Plus, they grew older. They are doing so much better now. Two different people that you can actually have a conversation with and have some fun as family members. They were extremely lucky as it does not usually happen like that.

For the first time in years, I think I can safely safe that my brother and his wife are clean and sober. They have some gray mixed in with their hair color, but it is not blonde. The abuse has taken it’s toll on their health in some ways, namely their teeth. Their teeth are very bad, and there is no insurance to fix them. Their brushes with the law have an effect on their driver licenses also. Considering all that I saw and heard, I still believe they are one of the “lucky” ones. They are no longer “tweakers” and I thank God for that because I never thought I would see the day.

Gemmey’s Mom

Gemmey’s Mom can’t take it anymore. She is sure she is going to loose her mind. He screams and screams and beats on her. She just doesn’t know what is wrong with him. He does not talk, he just screams.

He is almost 2 years old and has not even said “Mama”. It breaks her heart. She is pretty sure that he is autistic. He is showing the signs. The social workers think so. She has some literature to read and has had meetings with a specialist.

She loads him into the stroller and walks down the street to the little market. You can hear Gemmey letting out a shrill scream every so often as she walks him. She goes into the market and directly to the beer case, where she picks out two 40 oz. of the cheapest beer. That will do for now. She smiles tensely and chats with the girl at the counter and looks nervously about as Gemmey lets out another scream. She has got to go! “Bye now! Have a good day!”

She goes back home and pours herself a beer and gets Gemmey to settle down for a morning nap. Finally. Thank God. Then she reads some material on autism given to her, dreading the facts. Her husband has already left her. She loved him so. But they fought. When they drank, they fought. He has been very little help with Gemmey. He wants to see him, but she is afraid. She is afraid he will steal Gemmey away from her. She would loose her mind without that baby. She has lost 2 before to miscarriages. She has another beer. Then another. She is buzzed pretty well by the time Gemmey wakes up.

She feeds him lunch and plays a little with him, then off they go. Into the stroller again. Into the little market again. To the beer case again. Two more 40 oz. cheap beers. Her demeanor is more relaxed and she is laughing a little as she converses with the girl at the counter this time. Gemmey yells loudly. She uses some sign language on Gemmey that she learned from the social worker. The sign stands for , “Need help” as she asks Gemmey, “Need help Gemmey ?”. It is time to go. Off for a walk down by the river. Gemmey’s mom says, “See ya later sweetie!” to the girl at the counter.

It is mid afternoon when the girl at the counter is getting off of work. She sees Gemmey and his mom going by heading for home. Gemmey is sleepy looking in his stroller and his mom is sleepier looking. His mom is walking in a weaving pattern down the sidewalk. She slurs her speech as she tells the girl to “Have a good day and see you tomorrow.” She and Gemmey are going home for a later afternoon nap. Actually almost evening nap.

She appears hours later looking rugged with Gemmey in tow. She is on her way to the little market again. She is with some guy she met down at the river and they are both heading to the beer case. More 40 oz. beers are bought. Twice more that evening, they come back for more before the market closes. By the last time, she is almost in a blacked out state, you can see from the way her eyes look. There is an almost vacant look about them. If you have ever seen anyone blacked out from too much alcohol, you will know what I mean. It is a look like none other. It is like the person is there physically, but that person is literally gone in a temporary alcohol haze. She stumbles and weaves her way down the street with her friend and her son.

Her days are filled with a similar routine, over and over. Eventually someone calls the cops when they cannot get her to answer her door in the middle of the day and she is discovered drunk with her baby awake inside the house. Children’s Services is called in and her son goes to foster care.

She goes to rehab twice. She makes it through one 30 day program. She gets Gemmey back. She tries not to drink. She really tries. It is just too hard for her. She is down on her luck, no money, no husband to help her, no car with an autistic child. It is just too much for her and she begins again to drink.

Her husband shows up and they talk about getting back together. They drink together and walk Gemmey around town. Later in the evenings, they argue and fight. It gets violent. She gets a knife and slices his tires. There is a lot of screaming and cussing and he goes after her. He leaves and takes Gemmey with him.

Eventually, she looses custody of Gemmey to her husband. He can only handle Gemmey for so long and puts him up for adoption. She looses Gemmey forever. She drinks more.

Gemmey’s mom is a very sweet, loving and funny young woman………when she is not drunk. Gemmey’s mom is hindered by her drinking problem. Gemmey’s mom looses 2 more children throughout the next few years. Gemmey’s mom now lives on the streets. Gemmey’s mom “Needs Help”.

Dear God, please grant her the serenity to accept the things that she cannot change, courage to change the things that she can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.

Here We Go Again

Actually I should say here he goes again, not here we go again. We are not going anywhere together from the looks of things. Nothing has changed in the month that he was gone. The only reason he is back home is because he fell and injured himself. He had to go to the hospital and get stitched up, so being the idiot that I am, I went and picked him up there. Then the vicodin was a given and of course he took them all. He did not really have a place to stay, and I told him that he could stay for 2 or 3 days and then we would talk. We never really talked. I finally told him, you cannot stay here unless you are clean and in treatment.

He never went to treatment or even a meeting. He seems higher than a kite tonight, all wound up and excited. Why do I not tell him to go again? It is not because I am afraid of being alone. I liked it when he was not here. After about 3 weeks, I missed him mildly. What does that tell you?

I do need money as all of mine went to pay for the house payment. It is way, way too high for both of us to pay, never the less one of us. He gave me some when he was gone, but most of his was garnished for the treatment program that did not get paid. I cannot make it on my paycheck right now. Some changes would have to be made. I am too lazy to make those changes I guess.

I am pissed off to the max right now. I am so damned angry at him and his addiction. I am angry at his choice again. I am angry at my choice, again. I am mad as hell when I hear the happiness of the drug in his voice. For God’s sake, his grandbaby does not even know him as he does not go to see him. Of course he is not allowed when high. Time is passing, time is ticking away. His chances with the grandbaby are going to slip away. It makes me sick. It makes me sad. It makes me mad, so very damned mad.

I do not even want to hear his voice as he is blabbing on and on about the day’s events. I don’t feel like it is a real person talking. It is the drug. It is always the drug. It will always be the drug. Always.

How many times, have I hoped and prayed? How many times do I try to convince myself that it will change? It could change, he could choose differently. He could choose to seek help, to seek life as some say. Instead he chooses not. So what does that mean? It means that is he is not choosing life, then he is choosing a sure death. There, I have said it. In my opinion, he chooses death. What a waste!

I Am An Addict

You can’t make me clean, though I know it is what you want for me to be. But until I want it. I won’t be. You can’t love me clean, because until I learn to love myself. I won’t be. I know you must wonder how can I learn to love myself when I am caught up in a life style of self-hatred and self destruction. I can learn from my own experiences. I can learn from the things that happen to me along the path of my own mistakes. I can learn by being allowed to suffer the consequences of my choices. Life has a funny way of teaching us the lessons we need learn.

I know it devastates you to watch me hurting myself. I know you want to jump in and save me. This helps ease your pain, but I don’t think you understand just how damaging it is to me.

You see, although I look and sound like your loved one. I am not. That person is in a self imposed prison way deep down inside of my being and what you see before you is an addict ruled and reigned by my addiction. I am a addict and my main focus is to feed the addiction. Every effort you put forth in the name of “helping me” falls prey to my addiction giving it more power to shackle me down a little more each time.

I feed my addiction enough. So please don’t help me.

The only way for the real me to get free is to be free. FREE to fall as far down as I need to go in order to find the strength to fight and find my way back. To break free.

How can or will I ever be able to get clean you wonder …

The same way I gave myself over to my addiction is the same way I can give myself over to my recovery. BY MYSELF

By not enabling me you will be allowing me to reach “rock bottom”. By trusting the process you move over and allow me to find the my own way back. You see, it is in the fight to get free that I will find myself. It is in the fight that I will learn to love myself and the more I love myself … the more I will start to do to better myself, but I myself, must do this.

I am aware that when I use I am playing Russian roulette with my life. I know this, but that is a chance I take when I use. The addict in me is willing to take that chance in the name of getting high.

Rock bottom is but a circumstance away. I can’t reach it you are blocking the entrance.

I know you love me and you only want whats best for me … but that very love keeps you blind sighted to just what truly is best for me and causes you to act from/out of fear and emotions.

Please for my sake don’t try to stop me… just let me go … move out of the way and let me fall as far down as my addiction is going to take me … as far down as I have to to reach rock bottom. Don’t try to cushion the fall. Just believe in me and trust the process. Pray for me that when I do hit … it is not with the impact that leaves me for dead (I know that is your greatest fear), but if it comes to that, be sure to tell my story so that others might learn from my mistakes and live.

Passion
Recovering addict __________________

Note from Girls Without Shoes, I Found this on Sober Recovery.com forums.

Is My Contract Still Good?

I did not sign up for this, this craziness surrounding me. This addiction of his, which has somehow become mine too in a way.

I could not tell you when it actually began, Maybe before I knew him. I think it began right around the same time or shortly after. That was years ago, so talk about a way of living your life. Time just slips by and the next thing you know it is 35 years later and you are past your prime.

You have hoped for so long that he will change. That it will change. That there is a cure out there for that which you know there really is none. You have prayed, cried, cussed, screamed, thrown things and put your arm through a window in frustration. You have tried reasoning. Others have tried.

You have done an intervention and supported him through recovery. You have learned that there is no cure for addiction. You have learned that when an addict’s mouth is moving, he is lying. You have learned and accepted that it is out of your hands. You have learned to let him fall. You have had to harden your heart.

There is admission. There is recovery. There is relapse. There are lies. There is theft. There is hurt. There is extreme grief and more and more and more. There is something close to madness at times. There is deep regret for the years you wasted, the time it took you away from your son, the damage done.

You give up, but not really. You stop caring, but of course you still do. You wish you did not care. You wish he were a totally rotten person, it would be easier to turn your back, to begin a new life, to just walk away.

I found myself wishing I could turn back the clock. We were barely out of our teens and he told me, “I have to tell you something. I like to smoke a little marijuana now and then”. Knowing what I know now, I wish I would have walked away. I did not.

I was shocked, had only heard bad things about pot. I was scared, but eventually learned to inhale it. I learned to like it sometimes, in the evening when you did not have to go anywhere, when kids were put to bed. It was never as important in my life as his.

Later on it was crank, meth whatever you want to call it. I did that with him also, recreationally for about 7 years off and on. I grew to hate it, to hate the way you felt coming off of it. I hated the paranoia, the way it made you jerk when you tried to relax and sleep, the way your internal organs ached. I told him, don’t even offer it to me anymore, I don’t want it. He would offer, and I would usually accept.

I begged God, over and over to take this demon drug from me. Eventually, I stopped and have been happy that I did ever since. I never craved it, it was easy for me. But if you have the addictive gene, it is not the same. I know that now.

There is much rejoicing by loved ones of the addict when he decides to finally, finally, get help and go to treatement or rehab. I hate the word rehab. I hate to hear people say, “when I was in rehab……..” I don’t know why. Maybe if it was the last time, or the one and only time that person had been there, maybe it would not bother me? Maybe it is the people who seem to toss that phrase out there so lightly, like it is nothing….. To me it sounds as bad as “come on honey, we need to hurry, Daddy needs to get to his P.O.”. This shit is not light stuff, like “how’s the weather” kind of stuff.

This shit should be taken seriously, as it is a life or death matter and not just for the addict. It is also the difference from feeling alive or dead to emotions, for those connected to that addict. It makes all the difference in the world to the addict’s children. You can never get or give back what you have missed with your children.

It seems like the addict is almost “rewarded” for trying to get clean. I mean they go to rehab and everyone is so relieved and full of newfound hope, that they bring him gifts, cards, candy, cigarettes, new clothes, books, anything to keep his mind off of the drug. Usually the people that are doing the giving and supporting of the addict, are the ones that he has hurt over and over. Is there something wrong with this picture? The addict steals your gold hoop earrings that your father gave you when you were 12 years old, pawns them to buy dope and you go and buy him gifts. Who the hell is the smart one and who is the dumb one, I ask you?

The smart one really is not the addict, at least not in the long run. Unless he makes the choice to stop and do whatever it takes to achieve that goal. Then he will be the smart one. The smart one is is not really the addict’s spouse either, as far as the spouse chooses to stay for more pain. Unless, the spouse stops enabling the addict, to let the addict fall, so that he might get help. If that is the case, then the spouse also becomes the smart one.

CHOICES, comes into play big time. No matter, what. No matter that the addict didn’t have a choice in inheriting the disease. No matter that the spouse didn’t have a choice if they unknowingly married an addict. Even after all of that, after all of the hurt and pain and the progression of the disease, there still is CHOICE. Not choice to become an ex-addict. There is no cure. But choice to recover, everyday that choice is there, just depends on how bad you want it.

No I am not an addict, but I as a spouse, still have CHOICE. My choice is to not support that spouse in his addiction anymore. Recovery is totally his option and I will fully support him in his recovery efforts, but that is where I draw my line. No more. I hope and pray that he makes the right choice for himself. I know that I have…………

I Know The Bum In The Alley

Written and contributed by Girlswithoutshoes

I heard a cough from the alley behind the gas station this morning. I was getting in my car for work and heard someone cough. I peeked around the alley and saw him laying there. He had a blue tarp on him and was coughing. He must have been cold. I thought who is that bum sleeping in the alley?

I went to the gas station and asked the girl who ran the place if she knew about this. She said she did not and we went to look at him. We looked at him and he looked back. He looked familiar to me. He kind of looked like someone I knew. I said, “Steve, is that you?”. It was indeed Steve.

We asked if he was alright and he said yes. He said that was as far as he made it from the bar last night. He had totaled his truck a while back. I knew what that meant. Most likely Steve got drunk and wrecked his truck. This was not the first time that he had problems due to his drinking and drug use.

Steve was an extremely handsome guy. I mean he cleaned up real good, trust me. He had many different looks though, depending on what he was doing at the time. There were times that i did not recognize him. Sometimes he looked like some hairy beast walking down the street, other times shaved and clean, like he could conquer the world. He could be extremely frightening, given the proper mixture of alcohol and/or drugs. I would steer clear of him then. When sober, he was the sweetest man you could possibly want to know.

Steve also had a mental illness. I am not sure if it was bipolar or what, but there was some sort of mental illness there from what I remember him telling my husband. Maybe that is how or why he continues to drink. Maybe to calm himself down. I am sure that he has the addictive gene.

There was a time when he got crazy and freaked out and swung some gigantic chain around in the middle of the street, actually in the middle of the bridge that comes into our little town. The cops came, and took him to the mental ward and jail later. He has been in and out of both more times than he can count.

He got married once to the love of his life. They had a little boy, the apple of his eye. Steve really “got clean” several times in order to stay out of jail and to raise his little boy. He did for a time, but I don’t know what happened. All I know that is now, I don’t see him with his little boy at all. I don’t see him with his truck. I only see him occasionally walking around town, or laying in the alley covered with the blue tarp.

The love of his life also has an addiction problem. I have not seen her for years, but all of the years that I knew her, she drank and drank and drank. She also used drugs. She had 3 other children before “apple boy.” The first two she raised through the drinking. The next one she lost to his father due to her drinking. I believe she lost the “apple boy” also.

I know that Steve has been in and out of rehab several times. He went through the best treatment as his parents are wealthy and footed the bill. I am not sure why it “didn’t take” for Steve. I would imagine it came down to choice again.

I have no idea what it is like to crave alcohol or drugs so bad that you would do anything, sacrifice anything for it, even your own child. I can try to understand, knowing about addiction and how it works. But I will never ever understand there even being a “choice” between your addiction and your child. I am not meaning to judge really, but it is hard not to when it comes to the child. Having a child would make the choice for you, in my mind. It is just beyond my understanding. I guess the addiction is bigger than anything.

Yes, I know the bum in the alley. I hope and pray for him. I pray that he will be able to someday stay strong in his choice to stay clean, I pray that he will stay clean for himself. I pray that he will stay clean so that his son will have a father. I pray that he will stay clean so that he may also have “the apple of his eye” back in his life.

For he that toucheth you toucheth the apple of His eye.” Zech 2:8

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Hello My Name Is… Part 1

©2008 ~Bunnis

Written and contributed by Anonymous Author

So I was asked to just jot down my story and my recovery by a friend. I thought this was the perfect opportunity to revisit my past.

I am an alcoholic, and proud to admit that. I am a member of Alcoholics Anonymous in South Africa. This is the first time I have told my story from beginning to end for a very long time. I hope you don’t mind and you give me a little license here to write what needs to be written. It is going to work out to be quite a long read, but to tell you the truth I am doing this more for myself than I am for you. I NEED to tell this right now, at this juncture in my life.

Where to start, I suppose the beginning is always a good place to start. So the beginning then:

I am a young man, having turned 25 earlier this year, from a loving, albeit broken, family. My mother and father separated in 1997 and to tell you the truth, I was happy when it happened. It has not been easy, but I know that I have the love and support from my family. The family life was always good, even if my father did drink excessively at certain points in my past. But I would never hold this against him. I will skip though the formative years, as there is not much that happened in my life that impacts much on my story.

So fast-forward 6 years, I am still a young boy, 6 in fact, and a little something came into our family, a little girl. 6 years younger than me and 10 years in the junior of my brother. Now as much as I love my sister now, I never had a particularly good relationship with her. She’ll probably read this excerpt of my life story, so sis, I apologise for anything upfront. I was extremely jealous of her. She was the new kid on the block and I felt that all my parents’ attention had been turned away from me to her. This is entirely understandable though. She almost never pulled through when she was born, she was very premature and was a sickly baby for many months after her birth.

I must outline here that I am an incredibly selfish person. An ex-girlfriend of mine has recently told me so, but I appreciate her honesty, as much as it hurts. Being a selfish person means I demand peoples attention and when it is not given I get upset… This is a downfall of mine that I am working on. As I grew up from here, I gradually become more and more obsessed with myself, going through periods of extreme highs (bordering on disgusting arrogance) to points where my self-confidence was shot and I often felt as though I was not worthy of others.

My drinking began at 12. My father had a great collection of booze lying around the house. A bottle of Jamesons later, and I was lying on the bathroom floor vomiting my stomach dry, eventually passing out on the bathroom floor. The next day started the 8 years of hell lived in. You see my hangovers were legendary. I suffered for the poisons I shoved into my body. Anyway, the next 8 years are much of a blur for me. I can highlight some of the more extreme times.

In the beginning I started out a twice a month binge drinker. This increased to the stage that I was drinking 7 days a week, and blacking out on 5 of those occasions a week. So my modus operandi was the following. Get home from school during the week. Fuck around until about 20h30, go to my room, have a couple of smokes do some homework, sneak downstairs and steal a bottle of wine from my old mans cellar (an impressive cellar, so a couple of bottles a week never went noticed). Sneak back up to my room, open the bottle (with my trusty waiters friend that lived in my drawer) and pour a good glass of red wine… Then I would really get into the flow of writing! Generally I would pass out around midnight and wake for school at 06h00. Great lifestyle I thought, I was coping, doing all my work and getting good grades.

Weekends would roll around and we would roll into the local, and literally roll out 6 hours later. My mates, I thought at the time, were guppies compared to me.. I could drink any of them under the table. There was a time at school that I thought I had a problem and I spoke to my mentor at school, he was concerned but let me know that ultimately I had to make the decision. This decision took another 3 years to make.

School went by in a haze of cigarette smoke and red wine, my poison of choice. There was a period in my school career where I stopped drinking and smoking. This was short lived but I felt at the time I had to do it as I was playing national sport, and I knew that if I carried on I would throw it away. So I stopped cold turkey and things seemed fine… Thing is a non alcoholic would not have started drinking after a 6 month break with a bottle of whiskey, a full bottle. I was drinking on school property, getting found out by the staff, even drinking with the staff on occasions. My charm always got me through and I never got into shit for it. But school was small fry for me. The days of varsity were hitting, HARD!

The December before I started my university career, it was my brothers 21^st. We had a big party, and I was surrounded with red wine basically on tap and gin to boot. Can’t remember getting home that evening, but I do remember the drama that occurred on the evening. This was the beginning of the blackouts. The drama, you ask? Well my dad and my brother got into a fight that near ruined the evening, but all was good in the morning. I somehow got involved in the middle of the fight and ended up being the most hurt, emotionally. Anyway, this was time for my second break from drinking. Stopped for about 4 months this time, and then one day, at a rugby festival in Johannesburg, I decided to get tucked into the booze again… This time guess how I started? Yes you guessed correctly, another bottle of whiskey, a FULL bottle. And so began the beginning of the end. The next two and a half years I deteriorated into a full time drunk.

Let me outline the next two years in bullet form, as we would be here for days should I write it in paragraphs:

• Broke up with my girlfriend of 2 ½ years

• Got involved with a group of friends that drank as hard as I drank

• Went through relationship every two months

• Started ignoring uni

• Started my early daytime drinking, before 09h00 basically

• Starting blacking out on a regular occurrence

• Dabbled with soft drugs

• Became rather addicted to painkillers (I managed to get my hands on post operative drugs all the time somehow)

• Started getting a clouded head, my decisions were screwed up

• Then the last few months arrived!

So it was February 2003, my 20^th birthday. Got to the pub with my girlfriend at the time and all our mates. I didn’t have a cent on me and I still managed to black out that night! I started off on the Jamesons and ended up on the Stroh Rum. I was offered a lift home, but thought it best if I drove. Blacked out and woke up in the morning with screaming. I thought to myself, shit, what did I do last night? Did I kill someone, is there blood on my car, what the fuck happened! It turns out that I had a minor accident involving, to this day I imagine, a curb. Both the tires on the right side of my car were blown. I couldn’t deal with it on the day however as I was hung-over and by this time in my drinking, my hangovers were debilitating. I got over this hangover and this car accident reasonably quickly.

That night in fact, I was out having a couple of drinks again. The wheels really started falling off after this. I was involved in a major car accident less two weeks later. This car accident left me in ICU for 7 days. This, one would think would be a wake up call from something. But to me I was totally oblivious. The weekend after I got out of hospital, I was back at the same bar I was at the night of my accident having a couple drinks, drugged to the gills on codeine. About a month later I was jetting off to Argentina, a week of blackout and hangover’s. I would not be able to tell you what happened on that week away from South Africa. The few things I do know, I cheated on my girlfriend at the time and I forget the rest. It literally was a week of forgetting about life. I got back and screwed over my best friend (with the girl I cheated with in Argentina). I lied to his face and he has never forgiven me for this. Understandable really.

The next 5 months I cannot recall for the life of me (I blame it primarily on the booze and the head injury secondarily). All I know I the last night I drank it was the only time in those 5 months that I do remember. I ended up at one of the bars in Northern Johannesburg after a heavy day of drinking. I spent more than a thousand Rand on drinks that evening, and I think the bar was well entertained by me… I performed my usual trick and ducked out of the club without anyone noticing… Then the evening is clear. I went off the road and punctured a tire. I was without any tools to fix the tire, and definitely in no state to be changing tires. I managed to get to a garage about 5kms away. I arrived there, and promptly blacked out after saying to myself: “Drive to your brother’s house, it 2 mins away.” Next thing I was home in my flat and had no clue how I had arrived there.

I woke in the morning to a family that would not talk to me, let alone look at me. I finally had hit the bottom for the final time. I had finished bouncing and there was no foreseeable future for me… This was one of many times I had contemplated ended my life. I eventually made the decision to enter the fellowship (Alcoholics Anonymous).

And thus ends the story of my drinking, my short and not so illustrious drinking career. I was 20 years old and I had had enough. I did not know where to go. I was a lost sheep and I was not willing to continue with my life the way I was going.

I maintain to this day, had I not stopped drinking then, I would have been dead before my 21^st birthday. My angels were with me, as they are today!

“Life is difficult.”

M. Scott Peck, The Road Less Traveled

This is part one of a three-part blog.

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My Story ~ Anon

Written and contributed by Anonymous Author

Here is my story, its not my opinion and it is not to be taken as advice, it is merely what I was like, what happened and what I’m like now. I am going to share my experience, strength and hope with you.

I was an only child raised in an alcoholic home, I had a crappy childhood and it was the perfect excuse to use for getting wasted.

I always said I had a good 11 years of sobriety and then I turned 12.

The first time I drank I wound up in hospital with alcohol intoxication, and that is what my drinking and using was always like for me – chaotic. I drank and used not for fun, but for oblivion, I could not deal with life or myself or school or anything, if I was happy or sad, if something good happened or if something bad happened whatever happened I needed to get loaded and high. It did not happen slowly for me I charged full force into a life filled with fear, abandonment, regret, guilt and a serious need for attention. I craved attention from people so badly I would do anything to get it, sleep with them, lie to them, whatever it took, just to feel wanted even if it was just for an instant.

I completely rebelled against everything and everyone – it was like I was absent the day they handed out books on life – I had no clue and I had no one to teach me.

I was young and filled with fear and hatred for myself. I wanted to be anyone but me and using and drinking gave me that ability. I grew up way to fast – I had seen and done more degrading and despicable things by the time I was 16 years old than most people have done in a lifetime, not to say that I am any more special or my story is worse than yours. When I was 16 I was admitted to rehab for 3 months, I weighed 42kg and was so strung out on crack and heroine, that my first week of detox in rehab was one big blur of shivering, shaking and vomiting. I was fed methadone and valium so I didn’t die from cold turkey. I finished up my stint in rehab and as soon as I got out I was up to no good all over again, I always knew I had a problem, but I didn’t care. I never again touched heroine, but the drinking and using everything else that was available was a norm for me.

I had a part time job and I dropped out of school when I was 17, I partied and some of what I do remember was fun, it wasn’t all bad, but it was completely destructive, every time something was going well or my relationships with others were going well – I would mess it up, no matter how or what, I found a way to destroy anything good in my life.

When I was 18 I got involved in a relationship and it seemed to fill the empty void I always felt that I had, but that too could only last so long until I destroyed that too.

I was unable to be honest about anything to anyone, no matter how close they were to me and no matter how much they cared about me, no one could ever know my secrets, and all I wanted to do was forget and so I did.

More lies and destruction until one day after so many rock bottoms I woke up in my care and looked in the mirror and said to myself this is not a way to live, this is a way to die and in that very moment I knew I wanted to care, I wanted to be “normal” I needed help……

I joined a 12 step program and attended meetings regularly and they always kept telling me if you want what we have then you must be willing to go to any length to get it, but I wasn’t. I kept going to meetings, but I couldn’t stay clean, I lied because it was the only thing I knew how to do, I had no idea what honesty was or how to be honest, I couldn’t even admit to myself who I was or the things I had done, it was too despicable to bare, not that I even knew who I was in the first place.

I did however learn a lot in the fellowship, I learned that I was not actually a bad person; I was just a very sick person. I had an illness, I had a disease it was known as alcoholism / addiction which is a mental obsession coupled with a physical allergy, the obsession being that I could control it, that I could handle just one hit/drink and then once I had the first one, my allergy would kick in and I would be powerless to stop myself. This is known as insanity, doing the same thing and expecting a different result, my result was always the same, everyone else would have fun and say they had had enough and I would end up in Hillbrow (a not so nice area in Johannesburg), wake up in strange places with strange people not knowing what I had done and hating myself even more, the words “I’ve had enough” did not exist in my vocabulary.

I could not live with the drugs and booze anymore but I couldn’t live without them, I could do nothing without a fix, I couldn’t brush my teeth, I couldn’t get out of bed, I couldn’t go to work, I couldn’t have a conversation with another person, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. I wanted it all to end; I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I managed to start learning how to be honest, but I could never do it completely, only about certain things and I would always have my secrets, sometimes I think I may die with all my secrets never being able to share them.

I have hurt and taken for granted every good person in my life.

I now have a beautiful wife who loves me so much and I her, yet I still manage to deceive her, I still cannot tell her things I have done, but not to deliberately hurt her, but because I thought just one, what could really happen that would be that bad……well one day I woke up after one of those and I had no idea what happened, but I knew that feeling, that horrible feeling in the pit of stomach that I had done something terrible again and I had, I don’t remember and still don’t, but I had too much GHB (sometimes known as the date rape drug) and that is exactly what happened, I probably wasn’t raped because it was more than likely me that provoked the situation and even though I know if I were sober it would never have happened, I violated myself, I allowed myself to get so out of it that something like that could happen to me.

I thought I could pretend that everything was ok, but I couldn’t and I ended up taking more and more and more and by the time my wife came home on the Sunday, I was completely out of it and she knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t tell her and the guilt and the regret was too much.

The next day I went to work, still completely out of it, I was sent home and the next day I was sent for blood tests, thank goodness they came back negative, but it was the start of me losing my job and a few months later I did.

I sat at home wallowing in my self pity, hating myself, feeling useless. I had so many things to pay off and no job, I was about to lose my house, my car, my relationship, my life and then what do I do? Well being the typical addict that I am, I think oh well it can’t get much worse, let me hit the crack pipe again, just a few hits and it will all go away and I can get my mind off things and then start looking for a job after I’ve had my release from reality. Well I managed to ruin my wife’s birthday, I smoked away her birthday present, I smoked away nearly everything I had of value that she wouldn’t notice and then thought right, enough is enough now – pull yourself towards yourself and do what you gotta do to come right.

I admitted what I had done to my wife and she understood and was angry and sad – I had hurt her and betrayed her so badly, but she stood by me. I cleaned myself up, got a great job and started working the program, but I couldn’t be honest, I had manipulated and lied to everyone for so long, what would they think if I came clean now?

So I still live with the shame and the guilt, but slowly I start revealing things to her and she sticks by me, she accepts me with my faults and me defects and my lies and she loves me and I am eternally grateful and blessed to have someone like that in my life.

One day I will be completely honest and I will tell her everything, but for now, baby steps for me, I need to learn how to walk before I can run, I need to learn about myself, who I am, what I want and I do it just for today, I can’t worry about tomorrow or I will use, I can’t regret yesterday or I will use, I am happy with who and what I am today and just for today I am clean and sober.

I hope this helps anyone who thinks that what they have done can never be forgiven, as long as you can forgive yourself and accept what has happened to you and take responsibility for your actions, then there is hope. I have also learned that I cannot do it alone, I may not need another person to help me, but I need a belief in a power greater than myself, I am not talking religion, I am talking about a spiritual belief (a higher self so to say) and it is the connection I have with this higher power of mine and the will and the want to live that I am alive and happy today.

It is not all roses and nothing is simple and sometimes there are days when I don’t think I can go on, but I do, even if it is just for another hour or minute, I put one foot in front of the other and I ask my higher power for help.

I say the serenity prayer over and over and I will leave you with these words:

Grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change

Courage to change the things I can

And wisdom to know the difference.

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