- Alcohol
- Drugs
I come from a long line of alcoholics and addicts, but my parents were neither. However I was raised in an abusive and chaotic household. I suffered from emotional, mental, physical and sexual abuse. I have a sister who is three years younger than I. We were raised in the Catholic religion, and I was extremely confused from early on about God. I, being a child, made many mistakes as all children do, but I believed I was going to hell by the time I was five. Why was I going to hell, but my parents weren’t after what they had done to me? I just didn’t get it. God was not a good God. He was a very confusing and hypocritical God in my view. However I always believed there was a God. I just didn’t understand His ways, as I saw them through my life experiences.
My mother used to make me eat everything on my plate. If I didn’t, it was rewarmed each day, until I would eat it. I was obese by the time I was 10, and she was always on my case about being fat. She took me to several doctors to see why, as it couldn’t be anything other than me that was wrong. I became anorexic and bulimic by the time I was 14. Eventually my friends went to the school nurse, and the nurse called my mom. I was in so much trouble that day, when I got home. My mother didn’t recognize the mixed messages she sent me. According to her I would never be accepted, until I had long beautiful hair and a gorgeous body.
My dad was a very sick man, and he would abuse our pets. He was an electrical engineer and a brilliant man. He would rig up electrical devices, wet down our pets and coax them into the wires to electrocute them. My sister and I would hide and put our hands over our ears. It was heart wrenching. It tore me up, and the memories still do. He would also smack us, when the mood hit. Many times it was because we left the lights on or the fridge door open too long, and sometimes he would make us pay a portion of the electric bill, even though he made six figures a year. Eventually I would begin taking the blame, because I didn’t want my sister to suffer.
There are some good memories, but they are few and far between.
I struggled socially in school. I did not know how to interact with other people. I did not trust anyone and was very awkward. I was teased and hit, and many rumors were started about me throughout the years. I pushed through it, and somehow managed to get high grades. In psychology class we were given a psychological exam just to help us understand the process, but my teacher called me into his office after school one day and told me I needed to seek counseling. My mom found out, and I was in trouble of course. I was told to lie. How can one lie on a psych exam, when they are designed for people who are trying to lie?
I was raped by a family member, when I was 14. Soon after I was at a friend’s house, where alcohol was readily available. I drank a little and felt “okay” for the first time ever. I assumed that if a little was good, more would be better. I drank as much as I could. I loved not being able to feel, not remembering and not having any baggage in my head. I chased that same feeling all throughout high school. I would drink whenever possible and sought out parties with alcohol.
I was offered scholarships but denied them. I was engaged at the age of 17 to my high school sweetheart. He went into the navy and was gone my entire senior year. I had sex with other young men, because sex let me leave myself for a short time and offered just a little relief. Sex equaled love to me, as I did not know what real love was.
I got married two months after I graduated. I thought being married and moving to Virginia where my husband was stationed would make the chaos leave my life, but I was wrong. My husband began deploying. My friends in college partied a lot, and I joined that scene. I wasn’t into drugs at this point, but the men and booze were plentiful. I had many affairs in the next three years, while my husband was deployed, and some when he was not deployed. The affairs did not remain secret, as the guilt would kill me, and I would crawl back to my husband saying I would never do it again.
When I was 22, my first daughter was born. I held her for the first time and loved her so much which made me wonder why I was not loveable to my parents. I had a complete breakdown during the first three years of my daughter’s life. I was seeing a psychologist, therapist and psychiatrist. I tried medication after medication, but nothing helped me. I was deeply depressed, and I did not have any clue as to why. I had cars, the roof over my head and a lovely little family. I stayed in bed the entire Christmas after my daughter was born. I had taken a semester off of school to care for her, and I thought starting school again would be the answer. I managed to graduate college with a double major in chemistry and medical technology and environmental health. I was an overachiever, and nothing less than perfect was good enough. My 3.5 average seemed like a complete failure.
One of the medications that I was eventually prescribed was Ambien. I loved Ambien. It made me feel the same way as alcohol did but without the side effects of being ill the next day. I did not understand how addictive it was or that it would take me down one day. I just knew I loved the feeling it provided, and I could actually sleep while taking it.
I became pregnant with my second daughter and had to go off the medications. I didn’t really crave them, but I missed the “break” they gave me each day. During this pregnancy I had kidney stones constantly. I was always in the hospital and was given opiate pain medications. I began to love those too. My daughter was born two months early but healthy. I was not abusing medication at this time, but I liked the medications a little too much.
Two months after my second daughter’s birth my husband was granted an early discharge from the military because of my depression. We moved back to our hometown. I landed a good job, and my husband did too. I decided I wanted a divorce and that this would cure my depression. It was the only thing I had not tried, but it answered nothing. We remarried a year later and bought a house.
I had several major surgeries including back surgery that first year in our home. I was back on pain medications. I needed more and more to achieve the same effect and just to feel comfortable emotionally, mentally and physically.
Two weeks after my back surgery 9/11 happened, and my husband was called back into the military. I was not working, and this was when things really began to unravel, although it would take 13 more years for me to hit my bottom.
My father reentered my life at this time. I was incapable of caring for a two and five year old, as I was depressed, just out of back surgery and at a loss about the future. My father and his new wife offered help, and I accepted, mistaking it for a change of heart from my father. My five year old began to tell me what he would do to them, when he had them in his care. Obviously he had not changed. I could not stand up for myself, but he could not do this to my kids. He was cut off right then and there. My two year old had fallen and broken her arm the week after I cut him off and about three weeks after my husband left. My father called me and accused me of breaking her arm myself and said he would be right over to take them away from me. I called the police, and the police and my father interrogated me for a couple hours. My father said I was really good at lying. I was angry and told him I learned from the best. The police left saying there was no evidence I harmed my daughter, and my father said, “I know you’re guilty. Why would you have called the police otherwise?” If I were guilty, the last people I would want in my house were the police. I told him to leave in a not-so-nice way. The next day, while in recovery after having a kidney stone removed, I learned that my father opened a child abuse complaint against me. This was about two weeks before Christmas.
I began to seriously abuse pain medications and Ambien during this time. My mom worked for the doctor who did my back surgery, and she would pick up samples of Ambien for me, because I was always running out. Ambien was my drug of choice, and I used it all the time. I could not cope with my life under regular circumstances much less under the pressure of this mess. My mom invited me over for Christmas, but she said if I mentioned one word of what I was going through, I would be thrown out. She always wanted me to make the outside appear beautiful, and the inside never mattered to her. I needed all the drugs I could get my hands on to hold up the curtain and make the outside look pretty.
Child services were in and out of my life for seven months. A friend worked in that office, and she tried to close the case, but my dad would hire a lawyer and have it kept open. This happened three times, and in the meantime I was followed by my dad and his wife. They tried to get my husband in trouble with his command, and I would wake up to see my dad in my backyard or at my door. I had the police warn him to never come back or a restraining order would be issued. This was the last I saw of him, and today I am not even sure if he knows where I live.
I tried so hard to live happily, to be a good mom and to act as though I were okay inside, although nothing could have been further from the truth. I became paranoid about my kids being taken away I would clean my house furiously and constantly. I would look for my dad to see if we were being followed. I was afraid for my kids to have friends over, because what if they saw something wrong with my house and reported me? I was still being prescribed painkillers and Ambien every time I went to a new doctor. I was put on methadone, because I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. Because methadone is a long-acting drug, it worked great for the pain, but I was on an extremely high dose. My new psychiatrist added Ativan to help with the panic attacks. I was so empty, but the drugs masked it for a while. I never got out of the house or off the couch, unless it was extremely necessary. Showers were not a priority, and I gained a massive amount of weight. As I was in and out of withdrawal symptoms constantly, I drank alcohol to try to relieve the tremors. Nothing would help the feeling of my skin crawling, but, when word came that we were to transfer again, my only concern was whether or not I would find doctors to continue prescribing all the medication I was on.
My next pain management doctor took me off methadone and prescribed Opana. I didn’t know much about it, but my physical and emotional pain was so out of control that we began to go with higher and higher doses of this medication. Morphine and fentanyl were added, and I was also taking massive amounts of Ativan, Klonopin and Ambien.
I wanted to die. At one point my husband told me he felt I had just given up, and I said that I had. I was just waiting for the end to come, anesthetizing myself until that day arrived. I admitted to a psych ward voluntarily but left after two days, as they were controlling my medication, and I did not like that one bit.
This went on for three years. I was fired by three doctors because of doctor shopping. I just kept looking for more. I drove miles to get what I “needed.” I sent my husband for three different prescriptions in one day for Ambien. I was warned by several pharmacists that what I was doing was not legal. At one point I was even trying to figure out how to make Ambien at home. After all I had a chemistry degree, and it made perfect sense to me at the time.
I was a complete agoraphobic at the same time I was taking all these pills. I thought if I could control everything within the four walls of my room, I could control my life. I felt like everyone was looking at me and observing me constantly. My husband grocery shopped, drove me to see the doctor and picked up my prescriptions. If there was an occasion where I had to leave the house, I made sure I was drugged up well enough to handle the fear. I would be slurring at teacher conferences and other times as well, so I fixed this by talking as little as possible when in public. When I did drive, I would hit curbs and flatten my tires. I cannot count how many times this happened, but I began to memorize the phone number to AAA. I was so messed up, but my brain told me I was alert and completely fine.
My pain management doctor would give me 60 Ambien a month, which is twice the recommended dose. My husband began to hide my medications. I would wake up, and the bottle would be gone, and I would destroy the house looking for it. I was in and out of withdrawal constantly. It was a nightmare of an existence. I would wake up and wonder why I was still alive.
I called in my own prescriptions many times, but I finally got caught. After I was caught, my mom fixed it for me. She wasn’t afraid of what would happen to me, but she hung out with many of the “elite” in that town, and having a daughter in legal trouble would have embarrassed her. I know, because she told me. She asked me, “Why are you such an embarrassment?”
In the last two months of my addiction I went through several experiences that finally took me down. First I tried to call in my own Ambien prescription, and, while it worked a few times, the last time the pharmacist called my pain management doctor, and she refused to prescribe Ambien again, although she continued to prescribe the pain medications. Next my grandmother passed away. She was the one family member who really cared about my soul and my spirit. When she passed, somebody had my cousin text my daughter to tell me my grandma had just died. I was completely crushed by this. After my grandmother passed, I lost it.
I began calling in my own prescriptions for Ambien often. One day I called it into two pharmacies one block away from each other. I began my drive to pick them up. I wrecked my car and drove it home on a flat tire. I then asked my neighbor to take me. He couldn’t drive me, but he handed his keys over, so I could borrow his car. I was not used to his BMW, and I over-turned the wheel and totaled his car. I couldn’t call 911, because my phone was registered in a different state. I just sat there in the middle of the road wondering what to do.
A cop came by and asked me if I was on something, and I listed everything I was taking. I didn’t even have the ability to lie, because I couldn’t think. An ambulance came and medics determined my blood sugar was too low, gave me some glucose and left. The cop left after telling me to not drive home, although I should have been arrested right then and there. I never called my neighbor, because I didn’t know his number.
A random guy offered to take me to get my prescriptions. I was determined to get them and convinced I needed them. We went to the first pharmacy, and it went fine. I went to the second one, and they said to have a seat. I knew right then I was in trouble. The police came in the back door. One of them took a report from the pharmacy, and the second asked me what I was doing there. I replied, “I’m picking up a prescription.” He asked, “Illegally?” and I said, “I don’t know.” I was read my rights and cuffed. As I was being led to the cop car, the guy who had driven me to the pharmacies looked at me, and I just shrugged my shoulders.
I was booked for trying to obtain a controlled substance by fraud. They only charged me with one account. My bail was $1000 dollars, but they lowered it, when they found out I was a military spouse. I guess they figured I wasn’t going to go anywhere. I texted my husband to tell him I was in jail and needed $250 to get out. On our way home my only concern was calling my pain management doctor to find out if she was still going to see me. I had called the prescriptions in under her name. My husband called her, and she said no, no need to show up here again. My heart sank.
In the meantime, while trying to find the neighbor’s car the cop that came to the accident was questioning my neighbors and my husband about my state of mind. Later I found out the neighbor stuck up for me by stating I was always a nervous person who had been sick. My husband said the same thing. I could have been in even more trouble had my neighbors wanted to press charges or even hinted they were angry that I drove under the influence.
My husband took me to an addiction support group meeting that night, but the only part I remember is leaving to smoke a cigarette. I woke up the next day and realized what had happened. I had no friends except one woman I attended church with every now and again. I sent her text and told her to say goodbye to my kids. I was going to overdose on pills. I only caused hurt everywhere I went, and I had tried all kinds of therapy up until a month previous to this arrest. I had no hope.
My friend showed up at my house an hour later, before I could go through with my plan. I have an insurance manager who helped me organize all my therapists and specialists, and my friend sat there and forced me to call her and explain my situation. The insurance woman began to look for another doctor to treat me, as I began looking for rehab programs. Nobody took my insurance, and a couple I found forced detox without any medications. I knew I would probably die detoxing this way, but in the mean time I was sent to the ER and an open all-night clinic. They refused to help me, because I had filled so many prescriptions for the same substances. I went home and shook all night long, as I decided to detox myself slowly for a few days.
Five days after the arrest the insurance rep called and told me she found three rehab programs and a doctor who would continue my treatment. I now had a choice, and I knew I had to go to detox. I was scared, but I could not go on like this anymore. I made an appointment, and in the meantime I actually asked my husband to purchase the remainder of an Ambien prescription refill I had. I still had no clue how to surrender. I had my Ambien and a couple beers the night before I left. I called an uncle who had gone through rehab and asked him what to expect. He told me that, once I learned how to deal with life, my pain level would decrease. I figured he was right, but how would I do this? Nothing had worked so far.
I went into detox and brought all my medication with me. I was admitted and given Suboxone right then and there, but I was on time-released medication and my blood pressure was sky high. The administrator asked about any other medications I was on, and I mentioned Ambien. I was sedated, after he found out the amount I was on. I was also informed I was being prescribed the equivalent of 1000mg of morphine per day, while the average was 200mg per day. He said I should not be alive, so I asked, “Then why am I?” A nurse told me, “Because God had other plans for you, my dear.”
I was in detox and rehab from December 10th through December 27th. I was taken off sedatives and Suboxone many times, but I began to have seizures each time. I was put back on and taken off over and over, until I was finally stable. I was still miserable, but I was not having tremors. I was discharged, and I tried to find support group meetings. I could not find one until January 7th, but my uncle called during this time and talked to me about the program. I walked into my first 12-step meeting on an Army base. My husband stood at the door the entire time, because I was outside of the house, and he knew I had a tendency to leave if overwhelmed. The meeting was all old men. I freaked out, but I needed a sponsor. I asked an old man with 50 years of sobriety if he could help me. He told me to ask a woman who came into the meeting late, so I did. She was an alcoholic. She gave me her number but said she didn’t understand drug addiction. I told her to please give me a chance.
My sponsor would spend hours with me on the phone. Once she asked me what I was wearing. I told her jeans. She asked the pattern on my jeans, and I told her they were jeans, there were no patterns. She said to look closer, as there should be specks of white. I said I did see them. She asked the direction the were going in. We went on like this for fifteen minutes. When we were done, she told me we just finished living in the moment, and eventually I would get to a place where I enjoyed it. I didn’t believe it, but I trusted her. She also told me God could remove my feelings of anxiety. It had been raining, since I got home from detox. I prayed that night, and the next day I felt lighter, easier and less sick, and the sun was out. I thanked God right then and there.
My sponsor told me about some good meetings and would meet me there. Although some of these meetings were within ten minutes of my house, I left the GPS on the entire time. I was so scared of leaving my home, but I forced myself to do it. We began working steps one and two. I listed the consequences of my addictions and knew I was powerless over sex, drugs and whatever else allowed me to escape me. I began to believe God was not the punishing hypocritical God I was raised with. He was a God who was loving and always forgiving. I also came to believe what was done to me as a child and an adult was not God’s will. I believe God gave man free will, and the abuse was simply human will inserted into my life. There would be a reason for what I suffered through, and it would be revealed to me one day.
I was still afraid of going to jail. What if there were outrageous fines? What if they forced me to remain in the state, when my family was moving away in a few months? What if, what if… My sponsor told me that hiring a lawyer was actually seeking help from a power or knowledge greater than myself. I consulted with my husband and hired a lawyer. This is when I learned my case was still being investigated, and the what if questions began again. What if they nailed my husband for picking up all of those prescriptions, and he was unable to retire? The what if questions were killing me, and I was consumed with worry. A friend I met at a meeting mentioned an outpatient rehab nearby, and I called and was enrolled. This couldn’t hurt during such a stressful time.
I do not believe I am turning my will and life over to God or giving it all up to him. I am turning my will and life over to the care of God. I still have free will and live my own life, but the end results of any situation in life are God’s results. If I try to play God and manipulate situations to come out the way I want or even worry over the end result, it makes my life harder and wastes energy. The results will be what they are no matter how hard I try to change or manipulate them. I often say the third step prayer when struggling, and I believe God’s will is not for me to understand. I simply try and align my will with God’s will. I live each day in that one day. The past has left us and is forever beyond our control, while tomorrow has not yet come. By staying in this day I can tell myself that in the right here and right now I am okay. Anyone can handle just one day. I must trust and believe God’s plan is much better than any plan I could conjure up on my own. I simply am the best person I can be, and do the best I can within today.
I am powerless over everyone and everything. I can only control my own actions and how I react to people and situations. I was more than willing to ask God to remove my shortcomings. I have since then realized more character defects, and I ask God to remove my shortcomings again and again. I have realized that when lessons come to me from God, they are given to me over and over again until I learn from them. You practice humility, once you ask for help. You are being humble, when you ask for help. I humbly asked God to remove my shortcomings, and in the process I have learned a little something about finding humility. I was a person who always felt less than, and because of this I would overcompensate and make people believe I was the best thing since sliced bread. I had to deflate my ego and become right sized. I had to stop being a doormat. When you do something out of humility, you do it with the intention of genuinely wanting to help, to serve and to add value to somebody else’s life. You do so happily. When you do something when feeling like a doormat, you do it hoping that others won’t think less of you, because you don’t want others to talk about you or because you want to be liked. You do these things simply because you don’t want to be judged. I was a doormat. I had to become more humble. I am still working on this, as it’s a mindset I was raised to hold.
When making my amends about 75 percent of them were simple acts of forgiveness, but this was not simple. I began with thoughts like, “God, please forgive that piece of crap for what they did to me, Amen.” Today I see those who do wrong as sick people, just as I was sick. I see them as people who did the best they could with what they had been given. I pray they are given happy lives and are blessed with all they need in life. There is one person I cannot forgive face to face, because to do so would harm them or others. When and if the time is ever right, I will know it.
When I was making amends, one person responded by telling me she owed me an apology for not trying to get me help sooner. I told her nobody could have helped me but me, and I was simply not ready. There was nothing she could have done to help me. My amends have not been the incredible horror show I expected. I show my husband and kids that I am living my life the best I can day by day, and I am present in their lives. I am amazed at how my family has grown to accept me. My daughters ask me for help and want me to be there for them, when they were embarrassed to be seen with me before now. My family is starting to see that I am going to be okay, and my husband says he has his wife back.
I talk to God like he is right next to me. I do not pray like I was taught to as a kid, but I do fall to my knees when I am stuck and say, “Okay God, I need your help, what do I do now?” I am still learning when I need to let God take over, and this is getting clearer for me the longer I am sober. I do thank God for the gifts he has given me. Meditation is something I have not fully mastered, but I am trying. I am always trying to improve my conscious contact with God, praying for the knowledge of his will and asking for the strength to follow through.
I do not presently sponsor anyone, but I carry the recovery message others who still suffer. I can share with someone with more or less time than I. By just raising my hand and sharing at a meeting I can help somebody. I always remember I may be the only example of recovery a person sees. If I practice the steps and principles of recovery in all my affairs, I find my life to be so much easier.
I “graduated,” although we never graduate, my outpatient rehabilitation program six and a half months after I was arrested. One month before my family was going to move, my lawyer called and said the prosecutor and judge signed off on the papers to enroll me into an intervention program. In this program a probation officer gives you terms to meet each month. My terms included a fine of $1300 payable over two years, a urine test each month and two 12-step meetings a week. Once I followed through, the case would be dismissed and my record cleared. This was a miracle, because the crime I committed was a federal crime which carried a six-month minimum jail sentence and a $10,000 minimum fine. The catch was that the intervention program was specifically for the state I was arrested in. It was non-transferable, as no other state had this program. Once I met with my supervision office, just two weeks before the move, she told me they had agreed to let me move away, have a urine test in the state where I live and have the results along with proof of meetings faxed. I paid the full fine and signed an agreement to the terms. She told me, since the restitution was made, she would submit for my early dismissal in six months on December 10th. I am not in jail, I did not hurt anyone while driving around intoxicated and I am sober. I am grateful no matter how this comes out. I will just continue on doing the right thing each day, and I will do whatever I have to. Courts see addicts all the time, and I am sure that I am seen as just an addict to them. I know better within my own heart. I will eventually have no criminal record, no matter how long it takes to get there. That is a miracle, and I am a miracle. God creates miracles every day. The smaller miracles are the ones I have come to enjoy and appreciate today.
I never lost my home, my car or my material things, but I lost myself. I lost the respect and trust of my girls and husband. I lost my way. I hated it, when I was detoxing, and people would say, “You never have to feel this way again,” or, “You can get back to the person you were before you began using drugs and alcohol.” I hated who I was and how I felt, even before drugs and alcohol became a problem. Now I am reborn. I can do and be anybody I want today. My husband and I have been married for 22 years. My girls now have a fighting chance in life. I am present for them and follow through with what I say I am going to do. I now plan to re-enroll in school and finish my medical degree.
Although I was a total agoraphobic before, I now travel 500 miles to see the program family I left behind. I went to a Grateful Dead concert where I and the two other gals with me were the only ones not smoking pot, popping pills, drinking or just high as a kite. I never had the least desire to have “what they had.” I enjoyed myself, and how amazing is that? Not everything in my life is perfect. I still have problems just as everyone in life does, but I choose to see the good and to see what there is to be grateful for. Recovery has given me freedom and joy and allowed me to be the person God intended me to be from the start. Today I am blown away at how my life has turned around.
My sponsor was definitely God doing for me what I could not do for myself. In therapy I was told to let go and move on, and that everyone has to find their own way. I thought, “If I could find my own way, I wouldn’t be here asking you!” I was not born with the manual to life. I just couldn’t get it, but in the 12 steps I found black and white directions and the manual I was born without.
I will have one year of sobriety on December 11th. I am grateful to be an addict-alcoholic. If I never suffered from addiction, I would have never found a different way of life. Freedom is a state of mind, and I am free today. I hope my story touches somebody and gives them hope that life will become manageable if you just trust the process! Much love to each of you, as you are all worth the beautiful life the 12-step process has to offer.