01/08/2021
https://www.facebook.com/1430408783745817/posts/3687559048030768/
Nine Months.
The other day I was in the shower pondering my life, and where I was nine months ago. I was overwhelmed with gratitude and peace. I began thinking what a miracle it was to have regained my life in just nine months; after all, it took me an extensively longer time to destroy it.
This is the longest I have ever been clean and sober. Not only sober, but genuinely content with who I am and where I am in my life. I can’t recall a time in my life, even prior to my downfall with alcohol and drugs, where I felt as serene as I do today. After years and years of feeling restless, irritable, and discontented (for as long as I can remember, really), and being a “prey to misery and depression” (as my handy dandy Big Book states), it took just nine months for me to get to this place.
I used to base my happiness on external factors. I thought if I could just fill the emptiness I felt inside with a perfect external life, I would be alright. If I just had the perfect job, the bank account, the fancy car, and the relationship, I would be happy. But I never was. I couldn’t understand why I was always so miserable, why I couldn’t stand being in my own skin. Then I discovered my drug of choice and those feelings melted away.
This is not my first attempt at getting sober. Since the age of 24 (I am now 32), I have been in four inpatient detox centers, three inpatient rehabs, four sober living environments, and jail. Every time I burned my life to the ground, I swore it’d be my last. They say people like me have to hit rock bottom before accepting help, but it seemed every bottom I hit had a basement. If I attempted to write all of the things I faced during active addiction, and all of the avenues I tried to get better, it would be an entire novel. But I want to focus on what led me to these last nine months.
March 2020. It was the beginning of COVID-19, and what should have been the end of my life. I woke up on my bedroom floor with my father on the floor next to me, surrounded by paramedics and police officers. Anyone who knows me knows how much my father means to me. My 66 year old saint of a father witnessed me overdosing. The horror on his face will be implanted in my mind forever. I swore I’d never do it again. I didn’t want to.
Two days later. I experienced another near fatal overdose, but this time, I was driving my car. I hit the car in front of me at a red light. This woman pulled me out of my car, and tried to perform CPR, but I was not responding. I woke up in an ambulance disoriented and confused. I had a HUGE third degree burn on my chest where this woman (who happened to be an Army Paramedic) performed a sternum rub. I was told my heart rate was only four beats per minute. The paramedics administered Narcan and Epinephrine to save my life.
Two near death experiences within three days. Two trips to the ER during the madness of COVID-19. I was finally defeated.
Most “normal” people will judge me for this. I didn’t want to use, I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to hurt everyone around me, or burn my life to the ground. I COULD NOT STOP. I was powerless.
My sobriety date is 04/11/2020. By the grace of God I am not only alive today, but alive, and happy. With the help of my family, the women around me, the program of Alcoholics Anonymous, and my Higher Power, my life is better than it has ever been. I am a productive, useful member of society. I have a job in healthcare, I have a license and car, I am a responsible cat mom. I have beautiful relationships with everyone around me but most importantly, I have peace.
Nine Months. I was born again. 💕
