Addiction

So I’d stop drinking and not ruin my life by becoming an alcoholic.

I see it every day at work, especially when I facilitate Persons in Recovery group. Out of the 15 adults who attend regularly, 9 are alcoholics. Each of them has their own unique story about how alcohol and addiction destroyed their lives.

The majority have criminal records.
The majority were in so deep that they experienced alcohol withdrawal—seizures, sickness—whenever they stopped drinking.
The majority have made fools of themselves in front of their loved ones.

I always hid my drinking. Which, if I’ve learned anything as a recovery coach, is a major red flag. A sign of alcoholism.
I always downplayed how much I drank.
And I think—because I was a “fun drunk”—I managed to fool the people around me. And myself.

I’m happy I’m not an angry drunk.
I’m happy I’m not a sad drunk—though, honestly, the jury’s still out on that one.

When I drink with others, I’m fun. I’m happy. The life of the party.
The problem was when I drank alone.

The Way My Brain Works

My head is a chaotic place. Always has been.

My first memory of life goes like this:
A woman with long black hair and a blue-and-black dress shirt is spanking me. Or hitting me. I’m not sure. But I know I’m being hurt. Physically and emotionally. And I’m crying.

I don’t know who this woman is, though I have my suspicions.

This is how my brain works:
A little girl, maybe three or four years old, is being hurt by a trusted adult. How sad.
But there’s no doubt in my mind that I must have deserved it.
I must have done something to make this happen.
Because I am a bad person.

Everything bad that happens to me—I deserve.

Like being depressed and suicidal through most of my teen years.
Like being sent to psych ward after psych ward, then group home after group home.
I deserved it—for messing up my siblings’ lives, by ruining our adoption in Minnesota.
Just like I deserved being kicked out of my adoptive parents’ house at 18.
Because I chose drugs. I deserved to be homeless.

Just like I deserved the first abusive relationship.
And the second one after that.
Because I hurt my parents. By doing drugs.

Every time I think about that first memory, I go through the same thought process.
And every time, I arrive at the same conclusion.

I deserve it.

This is how my brain works.

The Pain & The Question: Why?

So when my back started hurting in September 2024, I spent months racking my brain, trying to figure out what I did to deserve this pain.

I had spent my whole life experiencing mental pain.
At least with that, I could always figure out why I hated myself.

But this—this was physical pain.
The worst I had ever experienced.

I kept asking myself:
Why? What did I do?

I had gotten clean from my drug of choice.
I had worked on myself.
I had finally reached a place where I didn’t hate myself.
I was the happiest I had ever been in my life.

So why now?

And then, ironically—while intoxicated—I think I figured it out.

The Background

I was born and raised in Nebraska.
A year and a half ago, I moved to Michigan.

Two and a half years ago, I was in full-blown addiction.
Adderall and meth—my drugs of choice.
I was using nearly every day.
The only exceptions were when I ran out of money or my plugs (plural) were waiting on their next prescription refill.
But for over a year, I never went a full week without using.

It got bad.
My mental health hit an all-time low.
Which is saying something—because I’ve always considered myself a depressed human being.

Then, one day—by the grace of God—I decided to reach out to my aunt.
I needed to escape the cycle of bad decisions.
I moved away from everything I had ever known.
I came to Michigan and quite literally turned my life around.

I got clean.
Forcibly, of course.
That was the whole point of moving.
I didn’t know anyone here. I had no connections. No access.
It was the only way I could not pick up.

Life got better.
I became happy—something I had never been before.

For 21 years, I had lived in darkness.
For the first time, I had light.

I landed an amazing job—helping others.
And, funny enough, my experience with addiction actually helped me.
I never saw that coming.

My relationship with God blossomed.
For the first time since childhood, I felt Him.
He had my back.
He gave me the courage to leave everything behind.

The blessings kept coming.

But I was lying to myself.
Or maybe, at first, I just didn’t see it.

Because alcohol was never my drug of choice.

At least, not until I stopped using amphetamines.

Alcohol Becomes My Drug of Choice

At first, I drank for fun.
With my brothers on game nights.
With my friends.
Always for fun.

But when I moved here, I started drinking more.
I now know I simply replaced one drug with another.
Alcohol for Adderall.

I don’t know how long it went on—more than two months for sure—but I drank every single day.

I even learned that Mohawk vodka costs exactly $3.67 after tax at the liquor store around the corner.

I denied my problem for a long time.
But at some point, I admitted it to myself.

And around that time, I met Brian.
My soulmate. (Cheesy, I know. But it’s true.)

We had our first argument after I asked him if I could drink that night.
That was the beginning of my wake-up call.

The Present: The Realization About My Pain

Fast-forward to now.

I have been drunk twice in the past five months.

I no longer drink every day.
But I also know why: because I am on pain meds.

Hydrocodone.
An opioid.
My new best friend.

You can’t drink on pain meds.
And I am in too much pain to risk making them ineffective.

That’s why I stopped drinking.

I moved to Michigan and got clean because I had no access.
I stopped drinking because of my back pain.

The ironic thing?
Opioids are addictive.

I used to tell myself, My drug of choice has always been uppers, not downers.

But alcohol is a downer.
And I got hooked on that.

So what’s stopping me from getting hooked on this?

Hi, my name is braindeaddxx. I'm here because I want to share my story about addiction.
#MightyTogether #Anxiety #Depression