At fifteen, I was introduced to recovery from the disease of addiction. I first heard the message of hope in a Hospital's and Institution's presentation and started going to Narcotics Anonymous meetings when I graduated treatment. As pat of my after-care plan I went to an adolescent Psychologist for years. I was diagnosed obsessive-compulsive, narcissistic and conduct disorder; or should I say I was misdiagnosed and just really an addict with untreated addiction? I was told that my drug problem was a result or reaction to my underlying mental health problems. Either way, I worked through many issues from my childhood with the wonderful, caring, empathetic woman. She did not believe in labels because they can lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy and stripped the harmful label of 'addict' from my vocabulary. I was now normal and pretty well adjusted and should be able to use the way others do. That began a 16 year run, of what started out as a party, became a living nightmare, and ultimately slavery.
For the next 16 years, in my active addiction, I tried real hard to use socially. After all, I believed I was not an addict; I just had a problem with specific drugs. Every time my use became unmanageable with one I would put it down ad pick up the next one. My drug of choice really depended on what era of my life you are talking about because in the end, I used and abused them all. The common denominator in all of them was me. My true drug of choice is 'MORE'! I started out smoking marijuana, to benzodiazepines, to smoking cocaine to Ecstasy, to prescription opioids and benzodiazepines, to methamphetamines to finally, heroin. In the end, I became a complete and utter slave to my addiction. I understood first hand the progressive nature of addiction, and 'the bitter ends - jail, institutions or death...' (Narcotics Anonymous, Basic Text, pg. 84)
After a decade of pain, suffering and loss I still could not stop. I went to residential treatment centers, outpatient, intensive-outpatient, detoxification, and incarceration, nothing worked. The disease claimed many lives of those closest to me. My childhood friend, Jay, at the age of ten was shot and killed, my best friend Scott, at sixteen, hung himself. My good friend Ian, at 26 found dead of an overdose, my girlfriend, Lucie, found dead in an abandoned building at the age of 30. My wife, Amy, at 27 died in my arms of an overdose and I still could not stop using. Drugs were my coping mechanism and I used because I hated myself and I hated the way I felt. I was trapped! I resided myself to a place of complete and total hopelessness. I wanted to die because in my mind then I could reunite with my wife. I did not believe addicts like me got better, I believed addicts like me, overdose and die. I believed I was going to be found dead in a bathroom and that was fine with me.
Come back next week for part 3 of this powerful story of recovery!
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