The bridge
I was listening to Glennon Doyle’s podcast, We Can Do Hard Things, and she was talking about how years later she’s still so grateful to be sober. She said that she sometimes thinks “Act sober” and then she thinks “Shit, I am sober!” I nearly stopped in my tracks during my run, because this happens to me often when something triggers a memory from my drug addiction days. Like I said before, it feels like a completely different life and person. These memories can take me right back to the people, places, smells and feelings of that time.
The night I stopped using heroin I was literally swept off my feet by my dad and shoved into the car, where my mom also sat. I had been running from my parents, and others, for days while they looked for me, terrified of what they may find (or never find). I had been to detox, rehab and AA. When I relapsed, I tried hard not to be found. I was on the streets night and day, walking all day, sleeping under bridges. I was so fucking tired, both physically and mentally. I was also so tired of myself for everything I was doing and putting others through. I called someone from AA and told her where I’d meet her. I don’t know what I thought would happen once I met up with her. I honestly don’t know why I called her. Today, I’m glad I did, because she called my parents and told them where I’d be.
Alone, I started walking. I had to cross a bridge, over a large river, where I was supposed to meet her. As I crossed this bridge I stopped. I didn’t see a way out of the life I had been living. I didn’t even recognize myself. All of the hopes and dreams I had of my future seemed unattainable and so far from where I stood. I had never felt so hopeless and low. I was certain no one loved me and wanted nothing to do with me. Even I wanted nothing to do with myself. I wanted everything to end. It seemed really easy, I could just jump. It felt like an out of body experience, me watching myself standing on that bridge, thinking about ending my life.
The next thing I remember is being jolted and jerked off my feet and into a car. This was a lively area with lots of bars, restaurants and shops. I have no idea how he saw me or had his car in the right spot at the right time. I don’t even remember starting to walk again, from where I had stopped on that bridge, or how I made it to them. Something greater than me did that, I truly believe. I could have easily ended things that night but somehow I kept walking.
For me, the next many days and months were filled with hard decisions and actions in an effort to course correct my life. I stopped using heroin, for good, after that relapse. A huge accomplishment. It’s also something that doesn’t happen for the majority of addicts. The stats are low for overcoming a heroin addiction. They either suffer with it their entire lives, it kills them, or incarcerates them. Still, despite the ability to kick the habit, the shame had rooted and was spreading like wild flowers.
That area, where I grew up, lived as an adult and then visited my family and friends, would bring about emotional flashbacks. A street, that bridge, a park. I visited all of those places again. With friends, family and even with my child. The shame, embarrassment and fear would always surface up to my throat while I desperately tried to shove it back down. That’s what trauma feels like to me. Yes, those things didn’t happen to me. I did them. It’s still a form of trauma though, and it took a long time for me to accept this and start to heal from it.
It’s similar when re-looking at my experiences growing up. It’s easy for me to compare my suffering to others, and, in that case, I certainly had it easy. I think many people can relate to feeling this way. The change, for me, was looking at the messages I received that shaped my thoughts and feelings, and, in turn, my responses and behaviors. For me, it’s not about blaming anyone. Everyone around me did the best they could do. But, I received messages as an individual and interpreted things in my own mind that turned into beliefs. Some of those beliefs served me in some ways for a long time. Some of those beliefs were pure survival beliefs. Digging into these beliefs has been validating in ways and has connected dots I’d never connected before as it relates to many of my responses and behaviors.
I’m incredibly grateful to be where I am today and to be free from the grips of that addiction. I’m happy to have the ability to tell my story, even if it helps just one person.
If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction or suicide, reach out for help.