- Alcohol
- Drugs
- Faith
It is but for the grace of God that I write my story because someone reached out a hand when I was in need. I am forever grateful to Jesus whom has saved me.
Here’s the funny thing. I grew up in a loving home that was guided by faith and full of support, listening ears, kindness, love, humor and tons of hugs and kisses. My parents said, “there is nothing that you cannot do with faith and the support of your family.” My father said, “you are beautiful, I loved you the moment your mother told me she was pregnant with you, you are intelligent and you cannot stop what others say so do not let them in.” But I was on the seesaw in my mind. I couldn’t hear my father’s message. Unbeknownst to my loving parents, at the age of seven a relative was molesting this sweet young seven year old girl dressed in warm flannel pajamas decorated with sweet periwinkle lilies and telling her, “it is ok.” So the message to me became, “I love you, but you cannot trust me” and “it’s ok even though I am hurting you.” I do not share my story for sympathy. God has written my story in his book. He knows all the hairs on all our heads.
So then I entered 2nd grade, moving from New York to NJ and continuing my catholic education. I was chunky with curls and I found them and me to be lovely. But from 2nd grade to 7th grade, like many other children, I became the target of bullying. The message I got from my peers was that I was fat and ugly and that they didn’t like me. When I nurtured my feelings with cakes, the science teacher chimed in and openly commented on my eating habits and my large physique. I hated going to school. I did share this with my parents. I cried endless nights and begged not to go to school. They thought that bullies are around wherever you go and that this phase was to be one of my many lessons, all meant to give me experience.
When I turned 12, the natural progression of young womanhood arrived, along with a neighborhood boy who liked to follow me home and scare me. One day, he caught up with me and grabbed me inappropriately. For some reason, I told dad about that and he was my hero who took care of that situation. After six years of bullying, I decided to go on the peach and water diet to show them all. That became my own recipe for the beginning of my 21 years of anorexia.
When I returned to school in the fall, no one knew who I was. Girls envied me, and boys loved me. I thought I needed attention from others, not from God. I was on cloud nine and felt excited about our 8th grade class trip to Washington. Then one of the sisters stood in front of the class, lined up 4 boys and said we would not be going on our trip because of them. No one said why. I felt like I was being punished for what someone else had done, but I still felt like it was my fault for some reason. At this point, I stopped going to religious services.
I started high school and I owned all the negative comments, many of which were not true. Words would plague me to a point of not being able to sleep. My self-worth was based on what others thought of me. Instead of believing and trusting in a higher power, negative talk was my best friend.
At the age of 16, my parents took me to the Governor Morris Inn and, as a rite of passage, brought me my first alcoholic drink, “The Pink Lady.” It was a magic potion. I felt beautiful, smart and giddy and had no worries. I thought I had the cure. So this began my 11 year blackout drinking career. The next time I drank was in April of that same year. I lied to my parents and slept outside in a tent, had 2 shots of blackberry brandy and 2 beers and vomited all over. I guess it didn’t bother me too much, because two weeks later, I was drinking again. My parents are not alcoholics, but it does run in the family. Later on, my father shared with me that one of his aunts died in her own vomit after ingesting too much alcohol at the young age of 35.
I hate throwing up and I also hated the tasted of liquor, but it didn’t stop me. I became self-centered, egotistical, deceitful and disrespectful to myself, my employers, my family, my friends and anyone else. I quit drinking for a few months and feel in love with cocaine for about a year. When you use cocaine, your nose bleeds, you can’t eat and you sit like a stone, paranoid and powerless. I was miserable, suicidal, lonely and looking really ugly. I was in a vicious cycle. I started using crystal meth and within 3 months I looked and acted like a cave woman who was 100 years old.
My love affair with drugs only lasted for a short period. I always went back to my first love of alcohol. At the age of 23, I meet someone who was going to make all my dreams come true. I put all my self-worth into his basket. I started going to 12 step meetings, but he told me that I didn’t need those groups and all I needed was him. He was afraid that I would meet someone there, so I stopped going to meetings. I kept the big book by my side and I was a dry drunk for 2.5 years.
In my mind, those who loved me also hurt me. After a year, he began to verbally and physically abuse me. This continued until one day when he beat me so badly I could not get out of bed. I was cigarette burned, and he attempted to throw me down a sewer and tried to smoother me with a pillow. One night, in a desperate attempt to escape, I took pills and drank bottle of something. That didn’t work, so I woke up.
How many of you have someone in your life that supported you or gave you a kind word of encouragement? For me, she was a woman who was a survivor of physical abuse from a prominent physician. Although physically disabled, she had the courage to leave him, go to school and move on. I finally called my father and, with tears in his voice, he said, “either you come home now for the last time or don’t ever come home because I can’t take this anymore.” The thought of losing my father killed me. I went home in September of 1986. I stayed sober until October of 1986, when I went on a blackout binge and ended up a few inches in front of a telephone pole. But that didn’t stop me, and I pulled the car out and kept drinking.
In December of 1986, I looked in the mirror. I weighed 104 pounds and I said, “dear God, please help me.” On December 24, 1986 I smoked a little marijuana and that was my last abuse of any type of alcohol or drugs.
I started going to 12 step meetings and I fell in love with someone else in the group, who is now my husband of 24 years. We have 3 biological children and 2 pseudo children, who are now 25, 24, 23, 23 and 18. None of them are addicts or alcoholics because of the 12 step program and the grace of God.
So here we are 25 years later, I am a counselor of 21 years and a mother of five. Since my first incident of physical abuse, I have experienced five other accidents to my head. Several months ago, Christ called me out of my job on medical leave to get my attention. I needed to be called back to his son Jesus and recall a past trauma I kept a secret for 38 years. I was raped in 8th grade and I was keeping that secret.
I cannot counsel today because I have a traumatic brain injury, but that is a present. I would be lying if I told you these last few months have been easy, but it is God’s way and not mine. I am a survivor of alcohol and drug abuse for 26 years as of December, 25, 2012. By the grace of God, I am also a survivor of anorexia, bullying and physical, sexual and verbal abuse. And now I am trying to survive menopause.
My advice would be for other to pray, pray and pray some more. Be grateful for everything, even the pain. Reach out for support and don’t stop reaching. Trust the Lord with all your heart, mind and soul. God and recovery are stronger than anything anyone can try to put in front of you. Love his son Jesus and trust in His word. You are a sweet child of God. He has a good plan for you, and I don’t know what it is; only He does.
MY SWEET CHILD OF MINE