A Recovery Story
September 20, 2017

My name is Sean… and I’m an addict

Written by Sean

My name is Sean, I’m an addict …

I grew up in a city called Peabody, Massachusetts. I come from a loving caring family, with a mother and father. I never wanted for anything and was always given love and support no matter what. But somewhere around the age of 13 years old I started using.

At the beginning it was just innocent, I would smoke weed and drink with my friends. It was accepted by the people I surrounded myself with, by people like me. As time progressed I didn't realize that the drugs had already taken a hold of me. Every chance I got I would smoke weed and drink, then I moved on to things like Percocets, Klonopins, taking mushrooms and doing cocaine.

Something about the Percocets just made me feel like I was Superman, like nothing else mattered, like I could do anything or be anybody. I had no fears, no doubts, and no insecurities. I finally was at a spot that I was comfortable with being me… or so I thought.

I was slightly older than 13 when I discovered this thing called Oxycontin. A friend of mine had got in a bad car accident and was given a prescription. We started sniffing them. Splitting them in quarters, turned to splitting them in half, and ultimately not even splitting them at all. This progression was the disease of addiction, yet I still had no idea. As a kid, I thought this is what everybody did, and if you didn't do it, you just didn't know how good it really was.

" I never in this world thought I would have to withdraw from drugs at such an early age. "

Doing Oxycontin was expensive for a kid in high school with no job, so after we ran with the prescription that was it. Once it was finished I was “dope sick” but I downplayed it to myself that it was probably just a case of the flu. I never in this world thought I would have to withdraw from drugs at such an early age.

Misinformed by misinformed people, I went back to my second drug of choice, cocaine. I sniffed it in high school, while smoking weed on a daily basis. Around 17 years old I was in a crack house getting high on coke and Oxys I bumped into a family friend that I knew from when I was a kid. We ended up hanging out with a couple days later, doing cocaine in a bathroom. I'll never forget this, he was in there for about 20 minutes so I knocked on the door. I heard a spoon hit the floor. When confronted he clammed up about the situation but I later found out he was shooting heroin. I pretended to care for his safety but and my persistence paid off. He reluctantly put some heroin out on the table. I asked him what a safe dose would be. His response was, “sniff it and tell me…” That was the day everything changed.

I instantly fell in love, I had that Oxycontin High for a way cheaper price. Within 2 weeks I was shooting cocaine. A couple days after that I tried heroin and never looked back. Nothing else mattered from this point. Not my mother, not my father, not my sisters, my nephews, my nieces, and so on and so on.

I wasn't one of those “criminals” that would rob pharmacies or pass notes at banks. No, I stole from the people that love me the most. For almost 10 years I broke my mother's heart on a daily basis promising her I would stop when I knew damn well I wouldn't.

I come from a good family and a good home and I chose to be with people that have nothing, and with nowhere to go. I chose to hang out with people that didn't get bothered by people that had no one that truly cared about them and at the time that's what I thought I wanted. My mother wanted me to be better and I avoided her like the plague. I knew that if I needed something my mother would be there for me. The drugs called the shots. I didn't want to steal from my mother the but drugs told me I had to. I didn't want to lie to her and tell her I would be home later and not show up or call, but the drugs told me I had to stay out.

I can't describe the countless times I would walk into the door and she would be sitting in the kitchen crying, either cause I stole something or because she was worried that this was the night she was going to get that phone call saying I was never coming home again.

I was in and out of countless detoxes and programs during this time period. If I was in a methadone clinic I would continue to do any drug but opiates. I’ve tried Suboxen, I've tried Vivitrol, you name it I've done it. In meetings you hear a lot about jails, institutions, and death. I've done all but one.

In January of 2015 I was living in the computer room at my mother's house she was tired of the games and tired of the lies. She told me we were expecting a lot of snow and I should probably go to detox because nobody was going to drive a car out to come make a “drop off” for me. She didn’t want me to suffer from withdrawal, so I went. I remember telling her the same thing I always told her, “no beds left, I’m coming home…” She explained that she was not going to be picking me up this time and that I wasn't allowed to come home. It was at this crossroads that I reluctantly put in for further treatment, and that ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me. I finally felt like I was tired of living how I was living. On March 6th of 2015 I got a phone call that my brother-in-law was dead. The last time I saw him alive was in jail, we were there at the same time due to our use of drugs.

This was the first time I ever got on my knees and cried and asked God to help me. I went to a halfway house and managed to stay clean for 16 months. Negative thoughts took hold and I fell into relapse. What followed was the worst two months of my entire life.

In Massachusetts there’s a law called “Section 35” which my mother eventually enacted and I thank God for that the day they finally grabbed me. Her birthday was June 30th of this year and I celebrated one year clean on my mother's birthday. For years of being in and out I finally decided to take some suggestions and got a sponsor, a home group, and I now associate myself with people that came before me and are willing to help and guide me through this.

I used to do anything in the world to stay away from these people. I now thank God, that He let soften my heart and let that guard down. Now I’m doing everything I can this time to never have to go back there one day at a time.

At the end of my using I was miserable, depressed, homicidal, suicidal and the only thing I ever wanted to do is isolate and be left alone. Getting high recreationally turned into a monster that almost ended my life. Remember that every time you tell yourself “it will be different this time…” it will be but not in the way that think. It will be worse. You will lose friends. You will lose family. Ultimately you will lose yourself.

I never regret what I've done. But I pray daily for help so that I don't have to EVER go back ... 

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