My Life: Addiction, Love, and Parenthood
I never know how to start this story if I’m being completely honest, especially without cutting out some of the boring stuff. But, if you’re willing, please just sit with me for a while and I hope that somewhere along the way you’ll find some of the things I have to say relatable. Perhaps even inspiring…
I grew up in Southwest Michigan. I was born there, I lost my first tooth there, had my first crush there, and eventually graduated high school there. After that, I attended college a little further north, but still in Michigan. In fact, it was at this small town college that I first met Rachel.
Tall, confident, and a bit of wild child, I instantly fell for Rachel. We bonded immediately because we had both just gone through trauma (she’d been forced to have an abortion, and my little sister had been taken away from my mother). I believe they call this a trauma bond…Either way, she was pregnant within a month. This caused a huge problem with my family and her because they questioned whether the baby was even mine or not, so we dropped out of school and moved to a nearby city to live with her mother.
This is when I began to notice red flags. Like how she would get extremely aggressive over small things (hitting and biting, or pushing me away and ignoring me) instead of exhibiting healthy communication. But, even though I was unhappy with how she dealt with her anger, I looked past those things and told myself I still loved her anyway. I was young, naive, and excited about being a father, so I just wrote it off as pregnancy hormones.
But as the years went on, things only got worse. I won’t get into too many details because it doesn’t feel right to do so now, but I will say I had always been a lover, not a fighter, so to say it was never a fair fight would be an understatement…and that goes for both parties.
Over the next seven years we had two more children, and I began to drink. Slowly at first. But then it progressed to being every day. I told myself it was because of the stress of being in an obviously toxic relationship, parenthood, and work. Later on, I would find out that it was a hereditary coping mechanism. But I’m getting ahead of myself, because six months after the birth of third daughter, my life changed forever.
On August 21, 2017, at around 1 pm, Rachel drew her last breath. She had suffered from cardiomyopathy (an enlargement of the heart) and went into cardiac arrest. I was working until 5 that day, and after which I dropped off a coworker, then went for a run. At around 6 pm I returned home to a flock of police officers, and one ambulance…My daughters had been stuck in the home with their deceased mother for just under 5 hours. It wasn’t until my oldest daughter—5 years old at the time—called 911 that Rachel’s body was discovered.
Things after that were tough. Three girls against one clueless father…or at least that’s how it felt at the time. The stress of finding daycare, holding down a job, and providing them with the therapy they needed after losing their mother was too much. (Also don’t even get me started on how many times I had to leave work or take a day off because they were sick). So, I began drinking more at night, and then all day on the weekends. I also began sending the kids to my mother’s on the weekends so I could have a break, but really that just was so I could drink more. That is also when I found cocaine.
Six months after Rachel died, the loneliness was more than I could take, so I took to a popular dating app. It wasn’t long before I met a woman. Two years later we were married, and even though I could see the red flags, I told myself that it was true love. Also, my drinking had progressed to functioning alcoholic (holding down a job, but keeping beer in my car so I could drink during my breaks). The cocaine usage had doubled, as well, and by the marriage ended in 2022 I was speedballing coke and beer three times a week.
After losing my job, my wife, and my fourth daughter, I began developing panic attacks if I wasn’t able to have beer or whiskey in the house. I also continued to buy cocaine on a regular basis and would use it to feel something other than despair. It wasn’t long before I had moved into my mother’s house with my three daughters with Rachel (I only got to see my fourth daughter every other weekend and it killed me).
My mother did everything she could to help me, and I was no longer using cocaine, but the I was up to 200oz of beer a day. That’s when she put in rehab. I did fine there, even met friends to help support my sobriety, but a week after I left…I was plastered. This continued for a year a half, where I would get sober, then drink…rinse and repeat. It really wasn’t until my fourth arrest that I got sober, and that was only because I was on probation and I had no other choice.
I met Anne sometime between me getting drunk, and me getting arrested the fourth time. It was in 2023, and I was so desperate for love, but with her it was different. She lived in the Philippines, so we had no choice to do the long distance relationship thing. Over six months, I told her everything, and she loved me for it. So, in February of 2024—2 months sober—I flew to the Philippines. I didn’t even make it past the airport before I was drinking again.
Drinking in the Philippines is much different. It is widely accepted here, but only if you can tolerate it and act responsibly. I felt like that was my free ticket to drink, so I did. It wasn’t long before I picked it up as an everyday habit again. But now, after 9 months, I’ve realized that it’s killing me…in a country that doesn’t have accessible rehabs or medication like my home country does.
I guess the moral of this story is that if you can get sober, no matter your past or the temptations before you, please hold on to it. It doesn’t come by easily and it truly is a struggle.
I love you all, in every stage of recovery…so please don’t give up. I know I’m not.
No comments:
Post a Comment