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Addiction is a chronic brain disease that often lacks ongoing chronic care support, leaving the afflicted person at high risk for crisis and affecting the entire family.
Personal Stories:
He Thought He Could Handle It
Jason was the kind of person people were drawn to. He made friends easily and had a great sense of humor. He was a caring person and a loving son who respected his family. He was helpful around the house and in the winter he always shoveled our neighbor’s walk. He loved kids, he was active in his youth group, he taught himself guitar and he often volunteered for various community projects--he even worked for the agency I work for, a community-based group in Middlesex County, New Jersey that works to prevent substance abuse.
When Jason was a little boy, he’d lie about little things. When he was seven years old and swore he had taken a shower, even though the tub was completely dry. He got caught in lies like that all the time, but as he grew into a young man we talked about it and he said he realized how silly it all was. I was convinced he had outgrown it. In December of 2003, I realized he had not.
Jason was finishing the first semester of his second year as a pre–pharmacy major at Rutgers University. Since his dorm was only 45 minutes away, he came home frequently on weekends. On Sunday, December 14, I remember saying goodbye to him at our front door. I caressed Jason’s cheek and told him I loved him.
The morning of December 17, 2003, my husband called me at work to tell me that the hospital had called to say Jason was brought to the emergency room. We met nearby and drove to the hospital together in silence. We couldn’t imagine what had happened.
I have relived that day in my mind so many times, and while I really can’t tell you exactly what the doctor said when we arrived at the hospital emergency room, the message was clear--my beautiful son was gone. Apparently, Jason had been abusing prescription drugs and had overdosed.
I thought to myself that this couldn’t be possible. I work in prevention and Jason knew the dangers. We believed that he was not using drugs--we talked about it often. I was so convinced that he was not using, it became a sort of joke between us--as he would leave home at the end of a weekend, I would frequently say, “Jason, don’t do drugs.” “I know, Mom,” he would say, “I won’t.” But he did.
In speaking with dozens of Jason’s friends after his death, we learned his abuse of prescription drugs may have started after he began college, and apparently escalated the summer before he died.
We learned that he used the Internet to research the safety of certain drugs and how they react with others. As a pre-pharmacy major, maybe he felt he knew more about these substances than he actually did. We also learned that he had visited several online pharmacies and ordered drugs from one Mexican pharmacy online. We found records that this pharmacy automatically renewed his order each month.
I think back to the last several months of my son’s life, trying to identify any signs I might have missed. I remember that sometime during his first year at Rutgers, I discovered an unlabeled pill bottle in Jason’s room. I took the pills to my computer and identified them as a generic form of Ritalin. When I confronted Jason, he told me he got them from a friend who’d been prescribed the medication. He wanted to see if they would help him with his problem focusing in school. I took that opportunity to educate him on the dangers of abusing prescription drugs and told him that if he really thought he had A.D.D (Attention Deficit Disorder), we should pursue this with a clinician. He promised he would stop using the drug; he even called the counseling office to make an appointment for an evaluation.
The only other sign I can remember is that one weekend when Jason was home I passed him in the kitchen and noticed that his eyes looked odd--his pupils were as small as pinpoints. I confronted him right there and then, asked him if he was “on something.” He said, “No, what’s wrong?” and went over to a mirror to see what I was talking about. He said that he didn’t know what was wrong--maybe it was because he stayed out late making music with friends and was tired. I was suspicious, but his behavior was perfectly normal, so I let it go.
My son Jason made a difference in the world for 19 years, and he will keep making a difference now. By continuing to share his story, I hope to help other families avoid the kind of tragedy my family has suffered.
-- Linda
Full-time Junkie
It started with drinks before a night out, and it ended in a very small bathroom with a needle in my arm. Along the way many good friends said goodbye because they offered help and I refused it. I fell out of the usual circle of family birthdays and holidays. I promised attendance and didn’t show. I lost my job and became a full-time junkie. I traded sex for money in order to get a fix. My life became very small and very scary, and I just let it happen.
Homeless and out of money, one day I was offered help and I said yes. The moment I accepted help my world changed. There were challenges. I had to get honest. I had to be careful about falling into familiar patterns. But the truth is the challenges in recovery are easier than anything I had to do when I was out there.
I am the man I want to be today. I have real relationships with people. I have the respect of people whom I respect, something I had lost. I have joined my family again. This is how I stay sober: I don't use drugs or alcohol, I have a program, I talk to sober people every day, I tell the truth and I try to show up for others.
- Raja, 20
Don't Give Up Hope
Seven years ago our 38-year-old son was on a downward spiral of drinking that finally led to drugs: Meth to be specific. For more than one year we were in the dark about it until he was out of control—lost his job and had a son. We could not believe how naive and blind we were. Then it all started to make sense. The lack of money, the weird phone calls, the not showing up for family events, his actions, and his physical appearance.
For two years we tried desperately to get him help; one treatment program after another and always telling our son we love him. We ourselves started to attend recovery meetings, where we met other people going through the same thing.
Finally we realized that it was beyond our control. We were prepared for the worst and we told our son that we needed to take care of ourselves. We detached with love. He could always come to our house to shower and get a meal but he could not live with us, nor would we give him any money. Our son was arrested and we did not bail him out. He was so angry with us, but we told him we loved him. He was sentenced to go to a treatment program. He literally had only the clothes on his back, not even a pair of shoes, and it was winter. We told him to call when he was settled in and that we loved him.
He knew he was losing his family and possibly his son. That was three years ago. Today our son has gone through treatment, is working a program of recovery, and has custody of his son. We all take it a day at a time.
-- Larry & Peggy
The First Drink
When I was 13, my world of innocence ended, not with a whisper but with a bang. Hope would wait a long time. My smile waited too. I needed to weep. I couldn't. The teacher got me drunk and raped me. It was the night of my first drink.
A woman in the rooms of Alcoholic Anonymous shared that her brother threw himself in front of a train. Killed instantly. Her brother was sexually abused. The abuse happened in the rectory. The Roman Catholic pastor abused him and the other altar boys who were around at the time.
I flashed back to that night, a year after my father died. The teacher set it up. A public school teacher. Elementary level. He knew what he was doing. I would drink.
Why do I feel broken? Why do I feel lonely? Where am I and why do I not feel clear? Where does this anxiety come from? I can't stop moving. I am crying inside. Where are my tears? There are none. Why am I afraid and alone?
I am silent. I am praying deeply and crying for God to help. I feel slaughtered, raw, defeated, ashamed, cheap, alone, so alone.
I often go back to that dark, confusing night of my first drink.
The stage was set for me to be raped, to be pierced. Booze and grooming - perfect together. I was so young, so vulnerable. It was my first drunk and the first of many.
I drank every day for thirty-five years after that night. To avoid the pain, the deep depression and anxiety, I would just drink. SELF-MEDICATING WAS MY ONLY AND BEST OPTION, SO I THOUGHT.
Bedroom. His parents bed. King Size. Forced to do things I had never done. Oral. Anal. It was painful. It was raw. Naked. Scared. Drunk. I was 13.
My drinking started this night. The evolution of not doing the right thing each day began there, in that kitchen, that room, a place full of temptation.
I was now pre-disposed to the self-medication of alcohol and I became obsessed with its taste, its power over me. And, there was alcohol in my bloodline. I had the gene. This night, the death of my innocence left me with no chance but to drink again and again and again.
Thirty-five years after my first drink and consuming alcohol daily all those years, I had my second DWI. Three days later, I had my first INTERVENTION: I was brought to an AA meeting by a friend, a recovering alcoholic and he told me - just listen.
A month later, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown and my second INTERVENTION occurred: I was hospitalized in a psychiatric unit having been brought there by my wife and sponsor in AA and encouraged by a psychologist I was seeing on an out-patient basis at the time. This combination of family, friend and a professional was the intervention I needed. I was safe; I needed a time-out.
After my discharge from the hospital, I attended therapy, individual and family: my third INTERVENTION. My therapist and my family confronted me about my behavior: my alcoholic behavior. I had a lot a work to do.
I attended AA meetings regularly and found a sponsor to help me work the steps of the AA Program. I soon realized that men and women, persons of color & various sexual identities, etc. – came to AA meetings seeking a God of their own understanding , a Higher Power to hold on to, to lean on. I wanted what these new people in my life were striving for - to become fully human. As an "old-timer" in AA with close to 40 years of sobriety said to me: the journey is about being authentic.
We cannot run from the God of our choice and whatever shame we feel, whatever burden we carry, whatever guilt we harbor, whatever anger we hold, whatever ill thought we hide, God in His infinite wisdom and love takes us under His wing.
Marty Mann, NCADD's Founder wrote in 1950, "For in the depths of my suffering I came to believe. To believe that there was a Power greater than myself that could help me. To believe that because of that Power – God – there was hope and help for me.
My fourth INTERVENTION: I discovered a psychiatrist in NYC who understood the physical discomfort I had been feeling. He was an expert in CONVERSION DISORDER, a manifestation of deep psychological pain shown by a demonstration of physical symptoms, quite often peculiar and bizarre. In fact, I was having an awful time walking correctly, actually had developed a pronounced limp and frequently fell over. This doctor knew what I was feeling was real and that it could be treated. He also recognized that removing alcohol from my system made me susceptible to no longer hiding my long kept secret. I hadn't had a drink for 11 months.
To grow in recovery is to need the program more and more. It took me thirty-five years to find my voice. Silence. No longer. Abuse. Pain. Truth. Freedom. The first drink. Drunk. The rooms. Humility. Healing. Most of all, HOPE.
A proud Marine, sober thirty years, broke down when he shared that his son's friend drowned in the ocean after getting drunk. This kid had the disease; this was not a one-time swim for kicks. The current of drink got him as it does for many.
My fifth INTERVENTION: Charlie, my new sponsor, sober himself about fifteen years asked me to take a walk with him. He had a technique , as he put it...to swap alcohol stories, take turns and see what happens. We walked for about twenty minutes and I was having a hard time with my limp, in quite a bit of pain.
Then Charlie turned to me and said, "When was your first drink?" I stopped dead in my tracks and began to weep. Charlie didn't realize what he had asked. No one had ever asked me this before. I told him what happened the night of my first drink. I had never shared this. Almost immediately, I could walk normally, as I had always been able to do. My sponsor in AA made this INTERVENTON.
I have come to realize that my alcoholism, fueled early on by sexual abuse and all the subsequent doubt, shame, loneliness, is not only cunning, baffling and powerful; it is crippling, stifling and defeating. My disease – alcoholic illness - was a living hell.
I could not have experienced the healing of God's embrace if I had not hit a very HARD BOTTOM. By going to this darkness, I found light. I found God and "came to believe that a power greater than (ourselves) me could restore (us) me to sanity", (from Step 2, AA).
After the abuse, my life was not the same. I had been given a jolt no words could describe. There was no serenity. I could not change what had happened. Years later, with the help of others intervening, tears finally came – tears of joy.
I found recovery, the joy of living took hold, the interventions worked! Seven years of sober living and counting! My heart is filled with gratitude.
--Mark
Sweet Seventeen
I was 15 the first time I went through treatment. I had no idea what was going on and wasn’t ready to listen. I knew it all, and no one could tell me different. Drugs and alcohol were the only things that I thought made me happy. I was having fun. When I was 17 I came back to treatment beat up and ready to listen. I wasn’t having fun anymore. I was young and not sure if I was going to be able to stop drinking and drugging.
I struggled, trying to decide if recovery is really what I wanted or if I wanted to continue to use. I was in treatment during the holidays and came up with an analogy that worked for me. I thought back to when I was a little girl and couldn’t wait to run to the Christmas tree with my little sister and open up my Christmas presents to see what kind of toys I was getting. But when I opened the gifts and all I received were sweaters and other winter clothes, I was upset and jealous of the toys Lilly was getting. It wasn’t until it got cold that I was grateful for the clothes that I got and happy that I didn’t throw them away. That is how I looked at my recovery. I wasn’t very happy to have it at the age of 17, but I thought that maybe there would be a time when I would be grateful to have it and would regret it if I threw it away.
Today, I am grateful that I stayed sober. It’s not always easy, but it is much better then when getting high was the only thing that was on my mind. Christmas is a much more meaningful time for me because I'm learning gratitude for all the gifts of a clean and sober life and I can reflect on the good that I shared with my little sister way back when.
--Kat, 21
No Shoes
On June 15, 1998, I entered a rehab facility. I was 18 years old, confused and abusing drugs. Alcohol was my drug of choice but I smoked pot , popped pills, used acid, crack, cocaine--whatever I could get my hands on. It wasn’t about a particular drug. I just wanted to escape, get away from being me, so to speak. I started drinking when I was 14.
I agreed to 30 days of treatment, ended up staying for 16 months. Today, I remain employed at this same place. Back then, I had heard crazy things about this rehab and what they made you do. I was scared, desperate and broke. I needed something to turn my life around. Treatment was the only option I had left before I killed myself from using drugs. I used drugs from the time I got up in the morning until I fell asleep, whatever time that was.
Just before I finally walked into the rehab that would change my life, I was living in a motel room in Florida. It was a dark, lonely, seedy place. I lived with a guy I met in a treatment program we both fled. Two other guys I met on the beach shacked up in the same room. Gross. The motel was disgusting. I could reach for the refrigerator from the bed, so I was drinking before I even put my feet on the floor. When I made it to the shower, I drank there. No money left, I had somehow managed to lose every pair of shoes I had. Burning my feet on the pavement and begging for coin on the dunes was taking a toll on me. I wanted to go home. I asked my Mom for help. She came down from New York and brought me back to rehab.
My first week at the treatment place my mother signed me into was a whirlwind and then I began to adjust. I was mesmerized and miserable at the same time. I was treated, truly, as an adult for the first time in my life. I was held accountable. I was confronted when I did the wrong thing. I was being taught. I was starting to get it. Learning. I hated it. I also loved it. I watched how the residents who had been around for several months did things. More learning. They really ran the facility and they were teaching me. People respected them and they were becoming my role models. I wanted to be like them. But despite my secret desire, I still acted out. I had to face the fact that I was a drug addict and an alcoholic and I didn’t know how to break my negative patterns. My behavior really sucked. I pushed and pushed to see how long I could push before someone pushed back. They never did. They pulled me up. This was the first place in my life that I went to where I wasn’t asked to leave.
Eventually I changed. My behavior no longer was bad. I was able to gain insight into my negative pathology, those unhealthy thought patterns which often crippled me. I started to understand why I did certain things and I gained greater insight into the reasons I drank or used drugs. I learned better coping skills, enabling me to deal with issues and problems as they came up without using drugs. My self-esteem was finally based on a realistic view of myself, no longer was I rating myself above or below other people. And, for the first time in my life, I had real friends who told me the truth. I found the courage to rebuild my relationship with my family….how to get along with my father, mother, brother and sister. I allowed myself to grow up.
While in rehab, I was afforded the opportunity to go to college. On the first day I attended class, I was so nervous and almost backed out. My roommate had packed me a lunch. When I got to school, I was early, so I had time to look into the lunch bag. Besides an apple and a granola bar, there were many pieces of paper. I was curious and began to pick out each piece. I couldn’t believe it. On each piece of paper there was a note from every resident and staff member wishing me luck on my first day at school. I cried. People really cared about me. It was one of the best feelings I had ever experienced. When I walked into that classroom, I felt so confident. I was sober. I was free. I was heading in the right direction.
Two years later, I completed my studies and received an Associates Degree. Six years beyond this, while working two jobs, I received a Bachelors Degree in Criminal Justice, Communications and Psychology. Just a few years ago, in 2007, I became a Credentialed Alcohol and Substance Abuse Counselor (CASAC).
My journey was filled with much doubt and despair. When I earned the title of graduate, from the rehab facility, it was arguably the proudest moment of my life. I was given this honor because I demonstrated that I could live a better life without drugs and that this accomplishment would lead to many more positive milestones in my life going forward if I remained sober. I found hope in sobriety.
Today, my work in the same rehab where I got sober, is very rewarding. By helping others seeking recovery, I strengthen my own recovery As well, I continue to go to therapy off and on to keep on track and I attend AA regularly. AA has helped me immeasurably on a spiritual level - which has been wonderful and quite fulfilling.
I am grateful that I have embraced the fruits of what it means to be accountable. I know what trust is now. There is nothing greater in my mind than the feeling of being believed in. This made a huge difference. Structure and consequence offered me the chance to find out what being responsible really meant. People told me the truth. These were really good people who I could recognize as being good because I was drug free. I found the friendships I made in treatment to be very special and so different from other relationships from my past. I accepted these new friends because they accepted me.
For 13 years now, I am living a substance free life one day at a time. I have a key to my parent’s house. I have a good and honest relationship with my siblings. I was lucky to meet a man, fall in love and marry. We have a healthy, intimate partnership with an understanding that we must constantly work at communicating to make our bond stronger. What a gift he is. We love each other and I have the capacity to love. In those darkest times in that motel room where I had my last drink and joint, I wasn’t thinking about love. I certainly didn’t love myself.
Today, my husband and I have great friends. He is supportive of my ongoing educational goals. I’m currently working towards a Masters Degree in Social Work. I now have shoes to wear and I run on pavement for good health today!
I love my job and I love my life. Most important, I love the rehab facility for helping me become the woman I am today.
- -Alison
Getting the Message
The first time my daughter came home drunk, I’m embarrassed to say, I thought it was kind of cute. She was only 15, but she was swearing like a sailor. So I sloughed it off. But, unfortunately, it didn’t stop there and her behavior began to get more and more problematic.
For a kid who used to love school and had a lot of friends, things started to change, and by the time she was 17 my wife and I were truly concerned.
When we talked to people about it, they often expressed the idea that it was just a phase that would pass, but before long we realized it wasn’t getting any better.
We tried all the usual things – grounding her, telling her she couldn’t hang out with certain kids who seemed to be a bad influence, withholding her allowance, thinking this would limit her ability to get hold of alcohol. But nothing seemed to work.
The situation escalated and one night we got a call from the local police station. She had been involved in an altercation outside a popular fast-food hangout and had been taken into custody for public intoxication. Of course, she made a series of promises afterwards that she would stop drinking, but they never stuck and the merry-go-round continued.
Eventually, we got in touch with her school counselor, who put us in touch with NCADD. It was extremely hard for us to accept that our daughter had a problem with alcohol and to talk about it with somebody else. But the people at the local affiliate suggested a treatment facility specializing in adolescent substance abuse, and through this treatment center we began getting the message that alcoholism is a family disease and that we could – and should – actually get help for ourselves.
Our daughter went through the treatment program and has been back in school for a while now. It can be difficult for her at times, what with peer pressure and the way many teenagers act about alcohol and drugs. However, with the work that we’re doing as a family, she has been able to keep her recovery moving forward – and so have we.
We’ve been able to work through a lot of the hurts we all endured and have come to realize that our daughter has a disease. You can forgive somebody for having cancer; why not forgive them for having the disease of alcoholism?
Our family has our daughter back for the first time in a very long time. It is an indescribable feeling!
-- Peter R.
