Throughout my life, I’ve always had a wild side, yet I managed to create a façade of having everything under control: a partner, a child, a yard enclosed by a fence. Sundays were for roasting meals, and every evening I prepared bagged lunches, complete with sandwiches cut in half. But lurking within me was a beast, dormant for years, waiting for my most vulnerable moment to reveal itself. When I reached out to him, he took advantage of my trust and pulled me down.
When I hear people say they’ve “overcome their addiction,” I can’t help but chuckle. You never truly “overcome” an addiction. It’s not a game to win or a phase to outgrow; addiction is always present, like a linebacker poised to tackle you at any moment. Sobriety is merely a fleeting gift—an emptiness that only those who mourn truly understand. It’s like a friend who disappears when you need them most, only to reappear when you’re at your lowest. Addiction is a selfish, loveless force that can never be defeated.
You can try to navigate around it, hoping today isn’t the day it strikes, but you never really conquer it. I can’t recall my first drink, but I vividly remember my last: Bud Light Platinum on December 31, 2013. I consumed much more that night, but that particular sip symbolizes my final encounter with alcohol. I wish it had been something more glamorous—a tropical drink or a fancy cocktail—but it wasn’t.
Addiction is a repetitive habit. Wine was my evening companion; we would share dinners, laugh at celebrity gossip on TV, and engage with my family. Sometimes, our time together stretched late into the night, reminiscing through old home videos or browsing the internet. Do I miss that companion? Every single moment.
My days are a struggle to get through the hours. I find myself living from minute to minute, focusing on breathing and maintaining calm. Natural happiness eludes those who battle addiction. The warmth I once felt from opiates was my version of happiness, enhancing my roles as a boss, mother, and partner. When I wasn’t intoxicated, I was likely high. To me, this was life. If I ran out of substances, finding more became a second job.
Pride is absent in the lives of addicts. My mind raced as I wondered where to go next for my next fix. But supplies weren’t always available, leading to dark days. One night, during a rough withdrawal, I had a chilling nightmare that revealed my desire to escape my pain.
I envisioned my son, now 27, in a black tuxedo with a yellow rose. My partner entered the room, beaming with pride. “Your mother would have been so proud of you today,” he said. I could see the glint of tears in my son’s eyes, the beautiful blue I cherished from the moment he was born. “Yeah…I’m sure she would have,” he replied.
I can’t afford the luxury of giving up; I need to be there to dance with my son at his wedding. Rehab turned out to be the best experience I ever had. I walked in feeling superior, thinking I didn’t belong among the diverse crowd—everyone from street dwellers to housewives who had lost control. I quickly learned that addiction is faceless, and we all share the same inner beast that drove us to seek help.
In those three weeks, I formed connections with 25 strangers, sharing stories and struggles, finding strength in each other. It was like a dorm for misfits, and some of us were fortunate enough to emerge with newfound wisdom.
I won’t claim the past year has been a smooth ride. It’s a constant battle, but I wake up each day and choose sobriety. I seek natural highs in life. Kids are the happiest beings because they see the world with fresh eyes. They’re not yet jaded. Each day, I strive to reconnect with the 9-year-old version of myself, who dreamed of being a writer and found joy in simple pleasures like chocolate milk and swings. I return to that innocence, living one day at a time.
The Beast no longer stands a chance against me. With Love as my shield and Hope as my sword, I will continue to fight. Even if I stumble along the way, I’ll keep swinging.
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In conclusion, the daily battle against addiction is not merely about overcoming it but learning to live alongside it, finding joy in life’s simplest pleasures and cherishing the moments that truly matter.