One forced decision changed the trajectory of my life.
In my formative years, I did not learn to deal with adversity; instead, I found I could numb myself by consuming alcohol. At age sixteen, I labeled myself a “weekend binge drinker.” That was also when I decided I would kill myself on my 25th birthday.
Leaving my parents’ home and moving to college gave me the freedom to increase my alcohol consumption without having to hide it. By the time I graduated from technical school, I was drinking daily—often until I passed out. In time, I built up a tolerance and found I needed something more to shut my mind off at night. Then, a softball injury opened the door to painkillers.
Being under so many influences made getting up to go to work no easy feat. I decided I needed a pick-me-up to get my day started. Finding a drug that would bring a burst of energy did not take long.
My body did not know which way to turn. At the young age of 22, I started experiencing chest pains. The day came when my pain demanded that I pay attention to it. I was hooked up to a heart monitor and watched my heartbeat flatline. Then, a few seconds later, my heart restarted itself. I sat in stunned silence at what I had just
witnessed.
The doctor advised me that I was going to have to make a decision. Did I want to live? Or did I want to keep using alcohol and drugs, which would lead to a certain death? The doctor said if I continued on my current path, I would die—by twenty-five. Wow. I was on the way to die at the age I had chosen years ago.
I was sent home to take my time to make my decision. Would I fight to stay alive? Or stay on my current plan to be dead soon? The fight to stay alive would be multifaceted. My body was addicted to the drugs. My mind was addicted to being numb, not having to feel. Getting clean would require healing my body and learning how to
cope with both daily life and all that had happened to me in the past. The decision was complex.
In a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, my desire to stay alive won. My hope that the future could be better was the deciding factor. The following steps would lead me to a place of vulnerability. While seeking help in the rehab facility, I was voted as the least likely to succeed.
Just kidding, there is no vote for this. However, after I graduated, the staff revealed their first impressions upon meeting me: They did not believe I would stick it out until I graduated the program. Hope was not innate in me. The fact that I desired to live still surprises me. On a self-worth scale, I rated myself in the negatives. Yet, there I was, fighting to stay alive.
Life had not been fair to me, and I internalized everything. Somehow, I dug deep to find the courage to begin sharing my wounds—one step at a time. I began to recognize I had spent my life being disappointed in not finding validation. Somehow, I knew it was wrong that I wasn’t validated. This understanding, at last, added fuel to my fire of finding a way to get healed from my past. I became determined not to allow my past to dictate my future.
The process took longer than I wanted it to. The good news is that it has happened! Healing is a journey. But please be assured that there is always hope for a brighter tomorrow. You don’t have to be alone in your struggles. Reach out and tell me your story. It takes just one step to begin walking a new path.
