INSIDE ADDICTION
welcome to our blog page! inside addiction is a way for our members to creatively express their experience in addiction and with recovery! They can be based in truth, or fiction. we hope that this page inspires your own creativity and desire for change.
enough
I am one of those people that have to be told ‘NO’ by a brick to the face or I will keep persisting. If it is my belief that I want something I
have to exhaust all my options on how to get it.
I was like that with my first husband… no matter how many ways he showed me he was not the person I should be with, I tried over and over again. Altering myself and my values along the way. When he left me at 6 months pregnant, I had finally had ‘enough’. The damage was finally fatal. When he mentioned reconciling when my daughter was two years old, it was a resounding NO. Never again. Enough is enough.
It was the same with alcohol. I tried every single way I could to still drink. Each attempt left me worse for wear… until I was looking death in the face. Enough is enough. Just the thought of how much time and energy it would take to justify and manage a glass of red with a steak is too much. I’ve had enough.
I had sold my soul to the restaurant industry. A few months before I learned about peer work, I sat down with the GM I had been working with for 8 years. He had noticed the changes in my drive and behaviours. I was sober, and the job was becoming intolerable. I told him I felt I had backed myself into a corner. Where could I go and what could I do to make the money I was making with the schedule I had? I had ALMOST had enough.
The final moment came when the JOB backed me into a corner. I fought as best I could one more time to stay with the company, but it was obvious they did not care about me. In recovery I was learning to love and value myself… and if this employer wasn’t going to respect me after 13 years, I would respect myself. Enough is enough.
Today I celebrate 1 year as a Certified Peer Recovery Specialist.. I am very close to becoming a Registered Certified Peer Recovery Specialist. I work more hours, but I have been able to save more money… and I get PTO now when I take time off for my daughter.
I’m in a mutually loving relationship where I do not have to fight or change myself to make it work… and I am alive and three years sober.
Pride so often gets in the way of us truly experiencing life. We don’t want to say we failed, or we quit, or we couldn’t make it work… we definitely don’t want to say we aren’t good enough. Why are those the options?
What if we changed the narrative? What if: The relationship didn’t fail… we aren’t meant for each other. I didn’t quit my job… I am worth way more than they are willing to recognize. I’m not a drunk… I am someone that has rebuilt my life from the dirt floor up.
I think everyone, at some point, with something, finally has enough. When they stop fighting the current and start fighting for themselves. I wonder if others can see the potential and opportunity waiting for them. I changed my entire life at age 40. It is NEVER too late. We are all worth way more than ‘just enough’.
relapse
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It's dark and hard and cold. There’s a buzzing in your ears and the gushing of blood pumping furiously through your body. Your mouth is full of horrible tasting sand. The contents of your stomach lurch up your throat and then back, but you haven’t moved.
You start to raise yourself, but the dizziness slams you back down. You decide to roll on your side instead. You slowly open your eyes: the laundry basket. You close your eyes again with the realization that you are on your bathroom floor. It could be dusk or dawn with the lighting that filled the room.
You roll on to your back again and your hand lands on your phone. Fear and anxiety grip you. You tap the screen. 8:27. You close your eyes again. You can’t go through the notifications yet.
It’s dark and hard and cold. Your shakiness comes not only from your weak and abused body, but from your soul as well.
You’ve relapsed.
You remember leaving work the day before. It was a beautiful day. You opened the sunroof of your car. You turned your stereo up louder than usual. To avoid traffic, you pulled into the grocery store strip mall. The only parking spots open were to the left by the liquor store. Through the windshield, a bright and happy Jose Cuervo poster. A margarita seemed to lift off the page and into the car with you.
You went into the grocery store. Picked up coffee and salad ingredients. The summery hard seltzers came out with a new flavor box… those were so good lounging in the pool a few years ago. You shake it off and get in line to check out.
Walking back to your car, the loneliness swells in your throat. It’s been a REALLY long time since you’ve drank… the warm relaxing feeling. The dissolution of any fucks about anything. It’s Friday. No kid for a week, and your husband is working all day tomorrow. What would the harm be of one night? One night to have one or two. One night of not feeling the crushing weight of responsibility. Just one night.
You throw the groceries in your trunk and walk through the liquor store door.
DING!
The bell greets you.
“Hi! Happy Friday!”
The salesperson smiles at you.
“Relax”
The Cuervo bottle calls to you.
You get a small 375ml bottle and a jug of sour mix and almost skip to the counter.
You put your treasures in the trunk next to the groceries and sing along to the radio the whole way home.
Back on the bathroom floor, these memories don’t seem real anymore. You are watching yourself from an omniscient point of view. You look very much like you are in control. You look happy and relaxed. Why, then, are you bound to the tile floor now?
You came home and put the groceries away. You got a glass and eyeballed a 1.25oz shot of tequila. Ice, mixer, salt shaker on top.
You sat outside and sipped watching the sunset.
You eyeballed another 1.25oz shot. Ice, Mixer. Salt.
When you got up, your husband had walked on to the back porch. He was confused. Yes, I am fine. No, I am not drunk. No, I haven’t had much. Would you like to have one with me?
Two eyeballed shots.. They don’t quite look even though. You take the larger one.
Ice. Mixer. Salt on one.
You laugh and tell stories with each other. It's after 10pm now. He has to work tomorrow and tells you it would be best if you stopped after this last drink.
You don’t work tomorrow! There are only one or two more shots in the bottle anyway. This is your ONE NIGHT to do this, you are back to sobriety tomorrow.
He shakes his head and goes up to bed. He leaves his bourbon on the counter as always. You notice.
It’s dark. It’s hard. It’s cold.
There are flashes.
He came downstairs after the tequila was gone and found you with a glass of bourbon.
He screamed at you.
You shoved him.
Dark. Hard. Cold.
You locked yourself in the bathroom. You slammed into the shelving racks by the tub.
You had your glass of bourbon with you and sat against the door.
No more memories.
Just dark. Just hard. Just cold.
You hear the door downstairs open and close. Boots coming up the stairs.
You roll on your side away from the bathroom door as it slowly opens.
He asks if you are ok.
The tears pool and spill over. You try to speak, but it is a small and meek croak of a very sore throat.
He squats down and puts a hand on your shoulder.
He reminds you about your plan. From when you were fresh in recovery. What you wanted to happen if you relapsed.
It felt silly at the time. Six months sober and on the highest pink cloud. Relapse? You had never wanted to drink alcohol again!
Dark. Hard. Cold.
He takes your phone and finds the text thread you share with the friends you met online in the rooms.
‘This is her husband… she needs you’, he types.
He gets you water and starts brewing some of the coffee you forgot you bought yesterday.
He helps you into bed, retrieves your laptop from the floor as the coffee maker sputters in the kitchen.
Bright. Soft. Warm.
You click the link, your phone starts buzzing.
You feel pain, shame, and remorse.
You raise your hand.
“Hi everyone. Today is Day One again. I relapsed. Grateful to be here today.”