I was a 13-year-old who wanted to be part of the cool kids at “Stoner’s Alley.” I started smoking, drinking alcohol, and then marijuana. My mom had left the house, and my dad was struggling.
At 15, I had a major head injury that changed everything. Within six months, I was hospitalized for delirium tremens (DTs) and hallucinating a three-foot naked woman dancing around my hospital room in a sheer nightgown. I went to the night nurse to ask what was happening, and that’s when I realized I had a problem, but I still didn’t want to do anything about it. I told myself I didn’t have a problem.
I continued drinking and doing drugs, including LSD, cocaine, and marijuana. I became chronically ill with Crohn’s disease after having my daughter at 25. I had many surgeries and was quite sick. The only reason I finally stopped drinking was because my body couldn’t physically process alcohol anymore, not because I didn’t want to. I tried everything I could, but I was still sick with this autoimmune disorder.
Doctors were prescribing me everything from liquid morphine and oxycodone to soma, Xanax, and fentanyl patches. My gastrointestinal system was having issues with absorption, so they started giving me fentanyl patches. I started consuming more and more until my 100-pound body was taking astronomical doses for my Crohn’s disease.
Eventually, I was running out of my medications early, doctor shopping, chewing my fentanyl patches, and snorting my pills. I justified this because of my absorption issues, but I was wrong.
One time, I dropped off my prescription somas and took my last four. I went across the street to a Denny’s to wait while the prescription was filled at Walgreens. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital. I put on my clothes, pulled out the IV, and tried to book it for the exit, but I found two police officers who grabbed me and put me in the backseat of their police car. We happened to be driving past the Walgreens where I had dropped off my prescription. I kindly asked the officer, “Could you please go through the drive-thru so that I could get my ‘medicine’?” He completely ignored me and continued driving on. He took me to jail. I don’t remember anything after that except that my mom told me the rest of the story. She had to bail me out of jail.
There were plenty more run-ins with the police, and I even got a DUI. The worst part was that each time I got loaded on pain pills, benzodiazepines, and amphetamines, etc., my mind was completely lost. I mean, I totally and completely lost who I was. I ended up in so many psychiatric wards that I knew which ones were the good ones in my area. My records read, “opioid dependent with psychosis.” I was actually going into psychotic episodes from both the opioids and the opioid withdrawals. I think back and it’s just insane. Yet, that’s what happens when we lose ourselves in drug and alcohol addiction. Then comes the insanity of it all—doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result.
By the time I realized it was time, I had over eight suicide attempts (that I can recall) and had been defibrillated twice. One of those defibrillations was in front of my five-year-old daughter, which is a hard one to say. That’s my biggest “hard one.” She remembers it to this day. I lost custody of her many times as a single mom. I was a mess.
In October 2017, I moved from Arizona to Utah with only a duffel bag and a bus ticket. Fortunately, I had an aunt I hadn’t seen in years. She took me in because no one else would. I had burned every bridge.
I’ll never forget the day I walked into my first meeting. I was exhausted. I was tired of being a prisoner of pain management, tired of drug dealers, tired of being alone, tired of trying to die, and yet, tired of living. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a reflection that disgusted me so much that I would actually spit in the mirror. I was dramatic, yes, but I also hated myself so much. I was depressed and desperate.
That very first meeting, all I could do was cry. I cried so hard that I may have been disrupting the meeting, but I couldn’t help it. I was at my lowest point, and even now, when I think of it, I can’t help but think of that desperation. I’ll never forget when a girl walked up to me and said, “You’re in the right place.” They took me to a small Chinese restaurant next door and bought me some food. I couldn’t eat, but I appreciated it all the same. I told people how much I hated myself and how much they wouldn’t want to know me. That’s when they said, “We’re going to love you until you love yourself.” I thought I would simply melt right there in that booth. I couldn’t control myself. I lost it… yet, I was hooked. I figured I wasn’t very good at trying to die, maybe it was time to try to live.
That first year, I went to so many meetings. I hung out at the Alano Club. I found that in those meetings, I wasn’t in my head, listening to how much I hated myself or who did what to whom, or how much pain or withdrawal I was in. Just one hour. I’ll take it.
I didn’t achieve sobriety immediately. I had to contend with more health issues, including stage two rectal cancer. After that surgery, I relapsed, but I promptly resumed attending meetings and enrolled in rehab. During rehab, I underwent a complete detox under the supervision of a doctor, primarily due to the severe withdrawal symptoms I experienced after nearly two decades of consuming such high doses.
So, what’s next?
For starters, I haven’t had suicidal thoughts or attempts in over five years. That alone is a miracle!
I’ve been clean and sober for just over five years. The most remarkable aspect of being clean and sober is the absence of self-loathing. I can look into the mirror today without any lingering thoughts, except for the usual, “Oh wow, where did those wrinkles come from?” I met my fiancé during my recovery. I’ve never been married before, yet I never realized my capacity for love.
I’ll conclude with the most profound line I’ve ever read: “Surrender means we don’t have to fight anymore.” This line holds immense power for me, having been both an alcoholic, addict, and suicide survivor.
When I was seven years old, I was caught in an undertow while in Oceanside, California. I’ll never forget how exhausted I was, struggling to keep my head above water, and yearning to surrender and let go due to my overwhelming fatigue. It wasn’t until my father miraculously rescued me and brought me back to shore that I found hope.
During my addiction, it felt like I was struggling to keep my head above water, literally. I was trying to survive, but I was exhausted and drowning. No matter how hard I tried, I was drowning in guilt, shame, and my addiction. I witnessed my family drifting further away from me, and I felt the urge to give up. So, I embraced the concept of “surrender,” realizing that it meant no longer fighting. I surrendered, letting go and allowing the undertow to guide me to safety, to shore. I may have encountered some obstacles along the way, but that was okay.
Today, I love my life and don’t dwell on thoughts of suicide. I aspire not just to survive but to truly live, to be alive! I smile, laugh, and savor the little moments.