- Drugs
- Friends & Family
- Mental Health
Submitted by: Marta Mrotek
I struggled to write this. I don’t think that I have ever put my story on paper, nor have I truly and publicly shared it. Addiction has taken so much of my energy that sometimes I feel that it doesn’t deserve any more of it. But recovery is a precious gift that should be shared, unequivocally. Everyone has a unique story to tell; mine is no more heroic than any other. I have never wanted to be idolized for overcoming addiction– heroin is not something I have ever been proud of. But, separating addiction from recovery is a process in itself. It is a personal separation of who you were while using and who you can become without using. There is pride in that growth and it has taken me a long time to realize this for myself.
I think about addiction nearly every day. The days that I don’t, there is an article or a news flash about another overdose that forces me into the lurking corners of the addicts mind. No, not a craving. A deep, deep tattooed hatred for a substance. A substance that does not discriminate on gender, socioeconomic status, interests, age or associations. It will take anybody it gets its hands on. But the good news is, recovery doesn’t discriminate either. There is hope for everyone– even when you feel the most hopeless, at the depths of addiction, there is change on the horizon.
Like most teenagers, I struggled to find what was comfortable. Much of my life consisted of an internal anxiety that I began wrestling with at an early age that became exasperated by the twists and turns that take shape in all of our stories. Before I knew it, or knew any better, I was a drug addict– completely in denial of that fact. My parents struggled to understand the “why” behind my drug use, send me to rehab and hoped that they could love me enough to urge me to get sober. Love is the last thing wandering an addicts mind; the only love I had left were drugs. I offered up everything about myself– all of my dreams, friendships, family members, money, my health, my sanity, my dignity– on a silver platter in exchange for a substance. The experience along with the realizations of my addiction are harrowing to this day, even nearly five years later.
I did not work the steps. Rehab did not work for me. Church did not work for me. Being kicked out did not work for me. My parents love didn’t work. The disappointment in myself didn’t work. Other drugs didn’t work. Scripture didn’t work. Writing didn’t work. Running didn’t work. Being broke didn’t work.
Pain worked. Growth worked. Choice worked.
The pain of drug withdrawal worked; feeling oh-so-close to death is terrifying. The imagination and appreciating of a different, better life worked for me. I stumbled, tripped, relapsed and remained bruised through the process. We bear scars from a journey with addiction. Accepting those scars, the anger, the sadness, the pain are all steps towards my own recovery. Not one thing about recovering is easy, not one; it is one day, one hour or one minute of choosing. Each day is a choice, you have the choice of life… God willing. The important message here is that there is not one prescription, one road, one church, one rehab or one step that is a “fix-all” to addiction. Everyone is different, each addiction is different. Each chapter is a puzzle all its’ own. Yours is unique to you– you are the only one capable of putting the puzzle pieces together.
I had to completely remove myself from the life in which I was living and modify every choice that I made. Keeping busy and challenging myself to new things, new people and new places were my answer and my solution to the puzzle. There is still work to be done each day, a self-inventory if you will. As an imperfect person, my story is imperfect. I will walk with addiction and continue to choose freedom each day until my story is finished.
There is hope, so much hope to a better life beyond drugs and addiction. Whatever the struggle, you can overcome. Keep writing your story… there is always time for a plot twist.