Chapter 7 · Relapse

To me, it's like when I used to drive around in my 1984 Ford LTD. This thing had more miles on it and broken pieces than I did. But it had a really nice stereo system, with some MTX Thunder speakers in the trunk - and isn't that what matters? It also had an amplifier that helped me boost the thumping base of my music from my car into the houses near the road as I drove through my neighborhood. Whenever I would hear a new noise that my car made attempting to indicate that something was not working correctly, I would turn up the radio a little louder and just like that, boom, no more problem with my car. It worked almost every time.

To me, a relapse had just become the equivalent of me turning up the radio on my broken and noisy life. Even though the subtle noises of my life could not be controlled, I believed that the noise and chaos of my addiction could be. When I relapsed, it wasn't always to get high. Sometimes it was just to see if I could do it and not get hooked again, other times it was a social decision, just the only way I knew how to be around my friends. Other times, it was to quiet the noises of my broken life.

I remember a night during my active addiction in my mid-twenties. I was sitting and watching T.V. on the couch, the kids were on the floor watching T.V. and their mother was comfortably nestled into my arms. I was newly sober, and had been this way off and on quite a bit prior to this night. If someone had taken a snapshot of this moment, or glanced through the window, it would have looked like a really nice, normal, happy family with no worries. In reality, we were all quietly battling my addiction in one way or another.

The children, who were very young at the time, were just happy that their mother and I were not fighting again, and that they could watch T.V. tonight without crying. Their mother was trying so hard to make this family work that she was willing to sit with me, and pretend that she wasn't full of fear and anger. Fear that I might not be able to stay sober again this time. Anger that I might leave her and the children crying and stranded once more.

I was dying on the inside as well, but for me it was this quiet, perfectly normal situation that was killing me. In this situation, I was forced to sit with myself. I was forced to feel feelings that I was not able to control or hide from, and I didn't know what to do. I was freaking out inside.

So, I started a fight. I started a fight about nothing, as an excuse to get away from the deafening sounds of my life. They were so loud, and in the quiet of the house at that moment I couldn't hear anything else. I left and I used. I immediately felt relief. I knew there was chaos left behind now, lots of new unresolved chaos, and it made me feel better. People were mad at me now, and I would need to think my way out of it, I would need to find a place to stay, I would need to find more drugs, etc. I was back in it, and I felt free. I felt free from all of the noises that the normal life had to offer. The overwhelming sense of restlessness within me was now gone. I was re-focused once again, and had a renewed sense of purpose.

When people would tell me that "I needed to get help", I never really disagreed. I think I just always disagreed with what help really meant. For them, it meant help with everything they could see. For me, it was help for everything that I felt. Now these were two very different things and required very different solutions. To them, it was often "just stop doing drugs and be normal", but for me it was "I don't know how to be normal without drugs".

We wanted the same thing but did not speak the same language. I wanted to be free from what was happening inside of me and did not know what to do to make that happen. I had never found that freedom in sobriety, so sobriety did not make sense to me. As a matter of fact, I was beginning to think that there was no help for me at all. I felt "terminally unique". I felt so different, and so unique, that maybe I was just one of the ones who could not get well. This was a sense of hopelessness that I did not enjoy, but it actually gave me an excuse. It gave me an excuse to keep using, because I was hopeless. Man, what a terrible thing addiction is. It can convince you that you are stuck, hopeless, and that you are ruining your life, and that because of all this, you should go get high.

Let's put that into a perspective that someone who is not struggling with addiction might understand. Let's say that you are responsible for the finances in your home and you pay all of the bills. Now let's say that although this is your job you have not been doing it so well, and have been spending the money on other things besides the bills. Now the bills have piled up and you are confronted with your mess. Without solving this problem, you are at risk of losing control, and people finding out what you have been up to.

After reviewing your failing financial situation, you start to feel overwhelmed at the idea of how much money this will take, and of how long you will need to fix it. You feel hopeless. You feel like it can't be fixed, so instead you take the money that you do have and go out to spend it all. You go out and spend all of your money because you can't fix the problem anyway. Sounds like a bad plan, but that was how I dealt with everything.

Getting help is hard. Understanding what I needed to get help for was confusing. Trying to get help with my family's version of my problem was exhausting, and seemed insane. We kept trying that plan over and over, and for the longest time I thought it was my fault that it wasn't working.

Then I found out I had an illness. That there was actually something wrong with me that could be treated. It wasn't my drug use or my drinking. It wasn't classes about how to stay sober and avoid all of the things that "make me want to use". It was a spiritual recovery process that brought me back in touch with myself and humanity. I had lost myself in this addiction, and whenever it got quiet I was forced to face a version of myself that I did not know how to face.

My recovery process gave me back the ability to face myself once again and accept myself, even with all that I had done. It helped teach me how I could feel useful again, and live with a clear purpose.

I did not need help staying away from drugs. I did not need help getting off drugs. I needed help accepting myself and learning how to be a human being again. To connect with others and be accountable. In the end, my family and I were both saying the same thing but my path required much more than just staying sober. It required much more than what they thought I needed to do to "get help". It required a complete and total surrender and a willingness to do whatever it takes.