This article is by RCA

 

I was told when I got home, I went right upstairs into my bedroom. A few minutes later, my mom and grandmother heard a loud thump.

When they came to check on me, I can only assume they weren’t expecting to find what they found. After all, I was supposed to be their golden child. I was hiding my addiction so well – or so I thought.

What they found wasn’t their golden child who was known for making everyone laugh and being fiercely protective of his siblings.

What they found was a white-faced, blue-lipped skeleton of a person flopping around on the floor. What they found was their worst fears coming true – me overdosing on the bedroom floor.

No one wants to grow up and be known as the guy who overdosed. I had dreams. I had aspirations. I had things I wanted to do – none of these included winding up on my grandmother’s floor half-dead …. yet there I was.

Coming in and out of consciousness, it’s hard to recall what was real and what was fake. But one thing was very real: My middle sister’s face. You see, she had over a decade in sobriety. And we hadn’t spoken in six years. Yet she was here. Why?

Because she knew all along what I was really dealing with. They all did. Turns out I wasn’t as good at lying as I thought I was.

When I finally came-to, it was a rude awakening. I opened my eyes and was immediately immersed in my own intervention.

“Do you want to die?” My dad asked.

My answer was simple: Yes. All my years spent in addiction, I wanted to die. My introduction to the world of drugs and alcohol is similar to others: It started with a few drinks in high school and then dabbling in other things in college. But unlike my peers, who could party on a Friday night, end it there, and wake up and go to class on a Monday morning, my partying never stopped. It continued for years.

That’s when the isolation started. I stopped getting invited to things, because no one knew which side of me would show up. I was unpredictable, and it scared them. I scared myself. I was caught in the grips of addiction. I had no idea what my life would look like sober – and I didn’t want to know. It was too hard to try and get there; it was impossible.

So did I want to die? Yeah, I did.

But in that moment, surrounded by my family, all I felt was relief. I didn’t have to lie anymore. There was no more sneaking around, denying it, lying. For the first time in my life, I was faced with the truth – I had no other choice. Here I was, 31 years old. I was out of options. It was pretty simple: Get sober or die.

I accepted the help that was extended to me. And I’m glad I did. I’m a husband and a father now. I’m doing things that I’d never be able to do in my active addiction – including helping others find their way to recovery.

When my wife and I talk about my addiction, she remembers feeling like there was a darkness around me. She thought we were just going out, having a good time, and that I went home at the end of the night. But my party continued long after everyone went home. Now, I’m proud to say she sees me as a totally different person. She didn’t know much about addiction when we first met – and I was living in a halfway house! But I included her in my recovery from day one, and I know she’s really thankful for it. I’m thankful for her, and to have this opportunity to live a happy, meaningful life.

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