Last.Damn.Call

You know, when I was in treatment (aka rehab) I thought often about my reputation. About what other people would say or think about me. Addicts and alcoholics are selfish that way. Everyone is talking about me. Looking at me. Me, me, me. It doesn’t feel that way when you are in the middle of the shit show, but that’s the truth.

I decided a few days before I left Gateway that I had two options: Spend the rest of my life in a fake beard and sunglasses anytime I wanted to go to Wal-Mart or to one of my kid’s events or I could just put it out there. Not an “in your face” kind of way, all hateful like…but as in…I am human. I make mistakes. In hopes someone can learn from my experiences. I decided I couldn’t properly sport a beard and hide for the rest of my life, so I just decided to be me. Scars and all. Ugly parts of me. Things I really hated about myself. But if I could help one person…just ONE, to get out of the kind of mess I had been sulking in for so long, I decided it was worth it.

And you know what happened…lots of good things. People who don’t know a single addict or alcoholic–is that even a thing? Can anyone raise their hand and say they cannot name a single soul that has been affected by this disease? I really doubt it. I have had such an outpouring of support and people telling me things that I highly doubt they have shared with others. And those single conversations or comments could lead someone on a path out of darkness. I will take that any day. And p.s. I happen to be very good at keeping those stories to myself.

You know how many people had judgmental things to say to or about me? I have zero clue. And couldn’t care less. I never thought I would get to that point, folks. But here I am.

I have had parents contact me about their child (if you think I am singling you out, I am not–you would be very surprised at the amount of calls Eli and I both receive). I have had friends and strangers tell me how they lost a parent, friends, cousin, co-worker, whatever to addiction. People sometimes get teary eyed. Sometimes they look off in the distance as if they are remembering and missing their loved one and what could have been. I get it.

I have had old classmates from school reach out to me ant privately tell me that they, too, sought help for alcohol or drugs. We think we are unique. Not unique in a good way as in special. But the kind of unique that wears a badge of shame. The kind of unique that silences those struggling. The stigma associated with it all. The kind of unique that kills people.

The stigma associated with this disease ruins lives. Relationships. Faith. Shakes families apart like nothing else. The stigma can kill a person. Because for whatever reason admitting you need help carries a bigger stigma than dying from it? I call bullshit. I can say that now. I couldn’t have if I hadn’t lived it and been pulled from that wreckage.

Addiction is not a moral failing. Lack of proper upbringing. Not being able to distinguish between right and wrong. Lack of faith. It’s a disease. And luckily, I feel like, we are starting to see that as a society. I don’t have the answers. I am sorry, but I don’t. But I do have ears for listening. And a faith in a God that has pulled me through some tough times and shown me more grace than I ever deserved. If you find yourself or someone you love struggling, reach out. Whether it’s a trusted friend, your pastor, a complete stranger, a doctor…reach out.

I keep seeing these slogans that say things like “Recover Out Loud. People are dying in silence.” And that’s the sad truth. But it doesn’t have to be.