Active addiction for me is a tough go, a funny dance. Like many other randomly-plagued individuals, I suffer from not a moral deficiency, but a disease where I have a choice. I battle an ironically-wholesome mess of terror and misunderstanding, daily. The chaos has become so normal, evolved over time. It appears in many forms and how I engage with it is always up to me.
The events and passages discussed in the following entries are not up for debate, nor are intended to cause conflict or grief in anyone’s livelihood. They exist as a wholly-therapeutic tool, and will forever evolve as such. There is no A.I. brain function present in any facet of these thoughts. I am a novice, humble writer, and an aspiring blogger. Nothing here is perfect, and the lives of those mentioned in the stories reflect that. I hope after reading, you can either understand or relate to the cause and effect of the addictive personality that is either you, the person sitting next to you, or the rough-looking dude that’s holding you up in the Tim Horton’s lineup.
Although complicated, the disease is easily judged with assumptions that are understandable, but rarely bear any actual relationship to this terminally-real mental disability. I’ve heard we like to party. I love partying, but in active addiction I am far from a birthday bash. Those afflicted lead a controversial, isolated life while actively abusing drugs and alcohol in many ways, shapes, and forms. Their struggle is adamantly present, and extremely toxic. It portrays constant health and legal issues, and affects people of all ages, races, and creeds. Infiltrating the psyche of unlucky individuals everywhere, it causes everything from overdoses and homelessness, to broken families and dreams. Addicts would say yes when they meant no in their hearts, ultimately saying no to themselves. They put people, places, and things on a pedestal, creating unrealistic expectations, and an elevated flurry of disappointment in nearly all of their sporadically-dominated undertakings. Day by day their actions proved to inflict further damage and chronic emotional pain to their ever-darkening legacies.
The key to the solution is simple. We have to live the healthy principles we learn. There are so many facts and statistics that state the odds of attaining recovery; I’ve heard one in ten, even one in one hundred. The reality is the chances of recovery are fifty-fifty, if you can find yourself at an NA meeting or in the presence of an already recovering addict. The solution is a choice, a yes or no answer followed by the practical application of healthy behaviors, which bumps those odds up to one-hundred percent. Some of those found and capitalized on a small window of epiphany that inspired a much needed reality check in their livelihood. They worked hard to dig themselves out of the grimy mental trenches of selfish decision making. They realized their potential by exploring their history and personality, and found the person inside themselves whom they loved enough to portray one day at a time, among regular society. Some were even crazy enough to believe they thought like a normie (people lacking addictive personality symptoms), and were sadly left in the dust chasing relationships that were never meant to be. Some prospered, upheld businesses and regular employment, and went on to have families, mortgages, and pension plans. Some stayed afloat for a time, and relapsed. Their lives regressed back into stir-crazy chaos, and few caught the play quickly enough to recover their healthy lives. The unluckier ones, unable to find that moment of clarity granted once in a lifetime through a window of prudent necessity, perished.
Welcome to the Addictorum. The aura of my story is typical of most recovering addicts, but unique concerning specific details and timelines. I come from a middle class family with no addiction present. I started drinking and using regularly towards the end of high school. I attempted educating myself further a few times. As a result of my abhorrently-extensive pattern of drug use and behavioral symptoms of addiction, I completed a mind-blowing sixteen year timeline of my journeyman papers as a carpenter. During that time I had numerous failed relationships, travelled to and stayed in random places worldwide, and lived in and out of the notorious Downtown Eastside in between. I upheld a pattern of criminal ambition; it was always fuelled by a need to support my “future,” my drug use, or a desire to fit in. I was a notorious people pleaser, and many times experienced faces of proximity to death. My nine lives have been used and expired a handful of times, overdosing or ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time as a result of extremely-selfish judgement.
I am currently living my eighteenth attempt at recovery. I celebrated one year of clean time this past April 17. I sleep, eat, and work, trying to implement principles in my life to avoid slipping back into the flow of unmanageability once again. I feel strong this time around. I kicked a twelve year OAT (opiate-agonist therapy) regime, ceasing methadone and opening new doors. The progression of my disease had me in the grips of a colorfully-devastating crystal meth and fentanyl habit, which fortunately I have left behind. I know in my heart I have no more shots. No more attempts, no more horseshoes up my ass, no more chances. This is it, the new chapter of my legacy. I hope you not only enjoy learning about mine and the lives of those close to me on this journey, but that you develop a newfound sense of empathy and understanding towards this deadly process. I am trying to deepen the connection of us as humans in society today.