Hitting bottom created an opportunity...

Six months after my 21st birthday, I went to a Thursday evening party. At some point, it was suggested I go home. When I refused, I was escorted to the edge of the property.

Walking home alone, angry, and clearly intoxicated, I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. As I admired one of many identical apartment buildings, I slipped into my last blackout. Coming to on Saturday, the embarrassments and dangers of Thursday night began whispering in my head. I decided to dump them down the drain. I emptied my liquor bottles, quitting drugs and alcohol for good. No detox. No treatment. No community support. Problem solved.

Except I cried for two years as white-knuckled denial took hold.

Seventeen years later, life circumstance and a Hydrocodone IV in the emergency room sent me into drug-seeking obsession. My plan, hatched over several months, was to begin drinking again until I could find my drug of choice. From there, it didn’t matter what happened as long as I was numb. Again, a whisper deep inside told me this was dangerous.

And maybe not normal.

One night at 3am, I wandered, asleep, into the dark kitchen. The smell of cognac woke me as the bottle hit my lips. That was my last drink. I never made it to the drugs.

The next morning, I asked for help. I quickly entered treatment, found community support, and began to let go of denial.

You can also read the intro, part two, and part three to this series.