- Drugs
My name is Christy, and I am an addict in recovery. The names of the substances involved are not all that important—my drug of choice was anything that altered the way that I felt when the world became too intense for me to deal with. And once I got a taste of whatever it was, my real drug of choice became, simply, MORE. Once I realized that I could swallow, snort, inject, or inhale something to alleviate the pain, fear, and inadequacy that I felt inside, and the events of my life created the perfect storm for me to fully take advantage of that, I found myself drowning in all of the things that come together to create what we, as addicts, understand as “ROCK BOTTOM.” I began every day with the intention to get as far away from myself as possible, and I ended every day with the fear that I wouldn’t wake up to do it again the next day. During the time in between, I was busy doing what addicts do—figuring out where my next high was coming from, lying to live and pay my bills, explaining to the people who cared about me why I NEEDED to have the drugs in order to live a meaningful life. I made excuses for why I couldn’t go to work, to school, to social events, and I did whatever it took to avoid both the feelings that I was trying to escape and the withdrawal that set in whenever I had some sort of crazy idea that I might need to stop doing what I was doing.
I was in the process of losing everything and everyone who mattered to me… a slow process until August 23, 2003—the day the bottom dropped out. Handcuffed in the back of a police car and facing significant prison time, all I could think about was how much I wanted to stop breathing. And this is where my story really begins…
When I was finished paying my debt to the State of Texas, I returned to my hometown to face the mess that I had created before I went away. I came home to a giant empty hole where my “life” once was. In addition to the daunting task of finding a job, a place to live, and the other necessities of day-to-day life, every relationship that once meant anything to me was damaged and in need of repair – some were unrecognizable and beyond any hope of resuscitation at all. I was clean and sober, but I struggled to make it in a world that could not understand that I was a sick person trying to get and stay well, rather than a bad person trying to be better and act right. It was a lonely time.
My old friends and my family didn’t quite trust me all the way and really didn’t understand much about what had happened because I was so isolated from them in the months prior to going away. I went to 12-Step meetings, but I found it difficult to make the connections that I really needed to have with other people. I worked and slept, and got up and did it again. I was often consumed with regret about the people that I had hurt and the bridges that had burned in the fires of my addiction. I managed to stay sober, but I wondered if I would ever find a way to be genuinely free from the bonds of my addiction. Eventually, I felt that the best thing that I could do for myself would be to move as far away as possible from where it all happened. I gathered up every ounce of courage that I could find and moved to another state, where I knew exactly two people, and found the strength to start my life over in a setting where I hoped that people could get to know the person that I am now… untainted by the memory of the person that I was when I was using.
Today, nearly nine years after the handcuffs, courtrooms, and jail cells, I have found a comfortable kind of freedom in my new life. I cannot claim that it is perfect or that I do not struggle in this place, but I seem to have stumbled upon a certain security that somehow, it will always work out for the best. I am working hard to learn to live just in this moment and with the people who are here right now…loving me, supporting me, and providing a safe place for me to rest when I feel like I just can’t keep going, people who are gently encouraging me to get up and move forward when it seems that I might be staying down a bit too long.
I have a job that I love, helping hurting people find their way into the treatment that will show them the peace that is available to them in a life of recovery. The ghosts and demons of my past still visit from time to time, but every day when I wake up, I start my day with an acknowledgement of the profound gratitude that I have in my heart for the way that my life has unfolded. I know that it could have been very, very different.
My history still sometimes creates difficulties for me, but the obstacles that appear before me simply challenge me to be more persistent and creative in finding solutions that will work for for my life. This is my story… that I am alive is a miracle, and I am a hero because I refuse to let addiction define me or confine me to a small life. Second chances are meant for dreaming bigger…