My Story
I was born the youngest child of three in a small southern middle Tennessee town in the mid 1960’s. I had loving parents who showered all of their children with whatever they desired. There was no violence, abuse of alcohol, or drugs. It was the typical middle class family etching out their existence in middle America.
I don’t know when I started feeling different than my peers or siblings, but I knew in some way I was not like them. I remember when I first heard the word “gay.” I wasn’t sure what it meant but I knew it was something that you did not want to be. One day when I was around eight or nine, I read an article in a magazine about the perils of homosexuality and its demise to the American culture. At the time, prior to 1974, the AMA classified homosexuality as a mental disorder. I feared that one day in my future, I would be locked away in the many sanitariums that existed in that era. From then on, I tried to hide my secret from everyone. The last thing I wanted to be was gay and different and mentally deficient.
When I was twelve, I found a magic elixir that would take away those insecurities and feelings of being a damaged human being. It was my first drink. It happened one Saturday night when I came home from a church activity with some friends. My parents were out of town and my sister and brother were babysitting me. I walked into my house to a gathering of older boys who thought it would be fun to get the little kid drunk. That night I had many firsts. My first drunk, my first drug and my first blackout. It was one of many blackouts that plagued my drinking career in years to come. But somehow when I was drinking and feeling good, I was one of the normal guys. It took away my fears of being different and awkward. I thought I had found the answer to my social ineptness. No one found out about my actions that night, and the only consequence I endured was my pounding headache and that knowledge that being drunk made all my bad feelings about myself go away. I liked that feeling and I chased that feeling for the next 37 years.
My drinking continued through high school and college and my twenties without any major consequences. I was able to graduate, secure a good job and be self-sufficient. It wasn’t until 1995, that a major event happened in my life that changed my way of drinking for years to come. I was in Los Angeles for a convention with friends and we had Sunday off before we flew back home. We decided to go out on the town and have fun. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon in West Hollywood. I remember meeting a person and having one drink that afternoon and then darkness. I woke up in the middle of the night in a neighborhood in Los Angeles somewhere bleeding on a sidewalk. I had been beaten and robbed. Most of this memory is a blur with flashes of vivid images. Everything was happening in slow motion and I could barely pronounce the words that were swimming in my head. I knew that I wanted to scream and yell for help but my mouth was paralyzed. Somehow a savior appeared. A lady helped me to my feet and helped me get back to my hotel. When I got back to my room, I noticed that about ten hours of my day could not be accounted for. Being more concerned with how I was going to explain the cuts and bruises to my friends, I didn’t think to worry about what had happened to me. I pushed all the bad thoughts out of my head and I boarded the plane early the next morning sunglasses over my black eye, cuts, and bruises. When I arrived home, I called in sick to work and did not see anyone until I healed. I did not seek medical treatment for my physical wounds or my mental and emotional state. I vowed to never let anything like this event happen to me ever again. So began the new phase of my addiction and isolation. After this event, I shut my door and continued to drink by myself for the next 18 years only leaving the safety of my home to go to work and the occasional social outing.
When I finally decided I had enough, I was ready to go to treatment. I was tired of drinking myself to death in fear and isolation. Fortunately, I was blessed to go to the right facility for me. Through counseling, I got help for my PTSD. I got help for my feelings of inferiority and inadequacy. But most importantly, I got help for my addiction. I owe my life and new beginnings to those who helped me get to where I am today. At my age, every day being sober is a second chance at life. Many things have changed for the LGBT community since 1974. It no longer carries the stigma that can make a damaging lasting impression to a 9 year old boy or girl. Words of hate and ignorance can leave lasting impressions and emotional scars on the strongest of individuals. Being sober and living in the moment can only bring peace and contentment to each individual. That is why when I wake up each morning and I say thank you for giving me another day to be me.
If you would like to share your story, there are two ways you can do it. You can contact me on Facebook at Bo Brown (Nashville, TN) or click on the submit your story link on the homepage. When you share your story, you are helping others break the stigma associated with mental health and addiction issues. Please feel free to share my story or leave a comment!
Much love,
Bo