I've been dealing with addiction for twenty-nine years. The problem lies in being only twenty-eight. Addiction for me started a conception. My parents were practicing addicts and left no room in their lives for the children they went into this world. It's a cold, dark and desperate world to be born, and one who does not leave room for kindness, generosity or love. It is hopelessly flooded with despair and destruction and the only guarantee is certain death. I never knew I was living my life straight in hell until it was too late. Twenty-three, life pours me some time to think about the last twenty some strange years. Four months thinking about being precise. Four months in county was enough time to realize I was having trouble. However, it was not long enough for me to find a solution. I was busted for methamphetamine production and I thought my life would certainly be complete. I had no idea how to live a normal life. I did not even know what normal life looks like. I sat behind the children and wondered how my life came to be what it is.
My father was in prison, my mom is a nurse and I had just missed two of the most important family members for drugs and alcohol. The only context I had in my life was prison, drugs and death. I learned how to do weed when I was five years old. I grew up in bars so that alcohol was regularly available at the early age. I had no previous experience that life was great. No knowledge of marriage lasts forever. Yet, I had tons of proof that showed me that life was full of pain and torment. Proof that nobody cares about you and life is nothing but a cruel joke. Something inside me was broken and I had no idea what was normal; I did not know exactly what was broken. I started writing down what I thought about. Long lost dreams I had as a child came back to me so I put them on paper too. I started writing about the terrible things I had gone through and even worse, what I had done. I reached a point during these four months that started me on my journey for recovery.
They released me from prison with a lighter sentence and I returned what began my new faith in God. I moved to small towns where no one knew my name. I met with people who understood what I came from and knew how it seemed to be dead inside. I continued to work on me as my child grew up. When my daughter was born, I had some decent grip on me. I found out, with the help of other people with similar suffering, that my problem was not a drug. It was me. As a child, I learned the skills to survive torment. As an adult, I am learning the talent to flourish as a producer in society.
Support for life is given; learning to succeed with this struggle is a choice. I have found hope and happiness, kindness and love, friendship and family. I have figured out that life does not have to be what you were given at birth. That's what you do with the life that was given that matters.