- Drugs
Who knows where the needle came from? Its origin scared me less than becoming dope sick. The needle stung as it entered my flesh. Adding a small ball of black tar to the rotation, I ensured that I would have a hit like the rest of the junkies. My “Class of ‘94” T-shirt had long ago lost its colors. The filth of the city mixed with my own vomit to give it a look of abandonment, a sort of vacancy. Grey and putrid green were my new team colors. This worn shirt had become my letterman jacket. It allowed me to blend in with my new crowd. If I hadn’t traded in a number two pencil for a syringe, I would have walked the stage to receive a diploma like the rest of my childhood friends. Instead, I found the shirt while dumpster-diving behind Goodwill. I first put it on in an attempt to disguise my pungent smell. It is now a bitter reminder of the things I sacrificed for any substance that could take me far away from my present circumstances. I lived in a world where those who traded morality for depravity thought they received more than they gave up.
There are many precipitating factors that may take a person from a life of reason to a life of obscurity. Molestation is one. It is a cruel betrayer of innocence that drives its victims to a world of hiding. The word itself elicits the most savage emotions. The very act is one that even those within the walls of prison disavow as the lowest form of humanity, hunting down the perpetrators as if hunting the haunting shadows of their past. This abuse, which can manifest itself in many ways, affects the victim on a physical, emotional and spiritual level. Gender is of no concern.
The abuse of men is more common than people realize. Discussing this abuse becomes more difficult as the years pass. Society teaches men that it is better to keep one’s mouth shut than risk being viewed as tainted by what happened. Men are also told that if they experienced abuse, they may abuse in turn. Does that mean that if I share my experience I will be tagged as a potential threat or that because I was sexually compromised I will do the same to others? These fears keep men like me from discussing such events, even with those who might help us work beyond the abuse.
In time, I found that confronting fears and shame gave me back the power that I had lost, motivating me to continue on. I discovered an inner strength, bred from survival and fostered by revelation. I found a way to turn a negative into a positive. This did not come through religious revelation or an instant emotional upheaval. Instead, my inner strength came by way of many philosophies converging over time. The experience of this convergence allowed me to sort out the confusion of a battered past. The first step was a willingness to admit to and face the very things from which I had been hiding. Confronting the monsters of my past and knowing that legions of survivors and sympathizers stood eager to help me through the desolation of abuse and its aftermath provided me with the strength I needed to move on. My greatest reassurance came from the support of others. This pursuit of inner strength did not manifest itself in grade school, middle school, high school or the tip of a syringe. My journey manifested itself through self-reflection and the painful evaluation of the very scars that scared me so terribly.
Sadly, these revelations did not take root until many years down the road. They took me from a comfortable island town which was a 20 minute ferry ride away from Seattle and delivered me into places of shadow that allowed me to bury my shame, guilt and betrayal through chemicals, sexual activity and anything else that would erase all vestiges of a past that haunted me. This intense experience with chemicals and sexual exploration took me from the very beginning. It was my own secret, which I chose not to share with anyone. What I did not understand, however, was that many people experience the subtle or intense escape provided by chemical use as a luxury. In contrast, I had no control over myself and would pursue any means available to ensure a continuous flow of pleasure. For some unknown reason, I was one of the few who would ultimately destroy myself through the pursuit of ecstasy. What should have been one of life’s most intimate and personal experiences, sexual intimacy, had become my ball and chain when mixed with chemicals. In time, I would pursue the feelings that I had experienced in that flowery paradise to the outermost edge of reality. It was something far different than the lies I had been told.
Aside from the various forms of chemical alteration I brought into my life, I loved sports. Sports fulfilled several things at once. My father and I bonded over sports. Although I rarely felt at home, I felt comfortable on the field. This was especially true when my father coached me in baseball. On the diamond, we found common ground, and through my talent, I experienced what felt like a true bond between father and son. At times, my success in sports allowed me to excel beyond and above others. For a person who had felt inferior for so long, this was a welcome byproduct.
Sports brought me praise from others and attention from girls. With each victory, I felt as if I was winning back a part of me that had been stolen years before. I was the dominant one now and I would be damned if someone was going to take that away from me. Every hit on the football field had to be the biggest, and every touchdown had to be the winning one. Though I felt joy playing the game, that was not my priority. It was simply a bonus. This intensity on the field got me into trouble with umpires, coaches and other players as I lost sight of the game’s subtleties, blinded by my drive for praise and dominance. This type of drive often takes athletes to the very top of their game, carrying them through to a professional sports career.
More than once, I was told that my talent could take me places. At the time, I was motivated by the very thought of such possibilities. Later in life, when sports glories echoed in the distant darkness, these promises turned to taunts of dreams unrealized. My talents ceased to represent a catalyst for bigger and better things. Instead, I burned briefly and then faded into the shadows as others with more even temperament filled the gap I left behind. I had become the coach’s example, the father’s warning story and a means by which to illustrate the failures that could come. They may say, “Don’t do what he did. That’s what wasted talent looks like.”
No one had to tell me. I knew this was the case. I traded dreams for illusions repeatedly, ignoring the permanence in life that time cannot erase. My life was not unique in this. My story is one that has been lived many times over. Different actors take part in different scenes, but the lessons remain the same. One learns from the other, and that other endures far more difficult lessons after failing to heed the lessons taught in youth.
At some point in my transition, I had gone from victim to victimizer without realizing it. I may not have been creating victims of sexual or physical abuse but I was creating emotional victims through my behavior. The victim becomes the victimizer. Though my actions were not the perverse behaviors my abuser’s had used, it was abuse all the same. I fed on the fear of others, manipulated them and sought emotional power and control. Is that not what abusers do while they feed their perverse desires at the expense of others? Did I not do the same by trying to manipulate those around me in order to feed a desire that now became necessity? That was my addiction.
In time, due to my behavior of drug use, the reality of a life lived in homelessness from my teenage years, the abuse I suffered as a result and the chemical imbalances that were out of my control, I spiraled out of control until I was caught by the safety nets that society places for people like me. Prison was one such net. I will not go into detail here, but the experience of prison brought me to my darkest low and brightest high, without the use of chemicals. It ultimately freed me from the bondage of addiction, abuse and mental illness through holistic means and the reservoir of human beings that touched me throughout my life.
A change of character and spiritual way of living became critical. In balancing the four areas of my life (physical, emotion, mental and physical), I was able to place the greatest emphasis on spirituality. I believed that, in the spiritual world, perfect balance always exists, whether that spiritual balance registers in my life or not. The book of life had already been written. In it, I was a spiritual being even when I wasn’t aware of that fact. My spiritual needs were always taken care of. Even when I chose to do things that destroyed the spirit, I was always protected. My spirit may have faded, but my soul had not changed. My presence in the realm of the spirit was whole and unaltered. It was my spirit that had been bruised and battered, emitting a dimmer light. Nothing could damage my soul. The Creator was too full of love and compassion to allow such a thing. I had been told lies for too long. Trying to initiate change through fear only created more fear and less faith. My spiritual growth erased those lies as I came to understand that I would always be a part of the great union between the Creator and the universe that was created. They were one and the same. This meant that the Creator lived within me as well.
My admission of faith resulted in a variety of work to be done: work on myself through therapy, working with others who suffer, changes of diet, setting aside time for exercise, doing that which fills my spirit, eliminating damaging substances from my life, taking medication for my mental health issues and above all else loving myself and others around me to the best of my ability. Perfection exists in the imperfections of this world. When I quit expecting perfection from others or from myself, I discovered this to be so. In the eyes of the Creator, I am on equal ground with the rest of humanity. I am no better and no worse than anyone else. I am simply a part of the whole. This came as a great relief and enabled me to find a niche in society in which I can be successful.
I am now a semester away from being a drug and alcohol counselor. I work as a wilderness guide in Montana for a teen drug and alcohol treatment program. I work for the college I attend as a mentoring supervisor in a program I was asked to create and run. I have been on the honor roll for my entire college career and I have been clean and sober for seven years. I have two beautiful children and I am giving back to society instead of taking away from. I also work with men coming out of prison who are in recovery. I could go on and on. This is not an attempt to brag but an attempt to show others who suffer that an eighth grade dropout who suffers from being sexually assaulted, mentally ill and an ex-IV junkie can in fact reclaim a life through recovery and this life can affect the lives of others by turning the shadow into light.