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What is it like to recover?

December 9th, 2007

Author with personal experience - Kara

Recover from what, you say? Recover from a thirteen year addiction to drugs and alcohol. At least, on the surface it appears that way. It’s easier to say I’m recovering from an addiction than to admit I’m actually recovering from the damage I inflicted upon to myself. You see, when I say addiction I’m placing the blame on the drugs and alcohol when the responsibility lies within the choices I made. Yes, I did have an addiction. I won’t deny that. But it’s gone; it’s in the past. The symptom has been removed. And what’s left is: ME.

I worked my way into being sick. I wasn’t sick or an addict at the age of twelve yet by twenty-five my choices had manifested into a full blown self-imposed illness. This sickness, this illness dominated the way I learned to live, to function, and to ride the rollercoaster of life. I had a crutch that blocked the growth of a teenager, a college student and an early adult because I chose that path.

Inadequacy is one feeling I recover from. Missing out on so much has left me with a fear that I am behind the people who are my age socially, cognitively, and emotionally, etc. I must furiously adhere myself to the customs and ways of those around me. I look. I watch. I listen. I take notice of all. I question myself. What have I lost that must be regained? What do I need to learn that I never did before? What must I let go in order to be normal member of society?

Identity. I became my addiction. It defined every single aspect of my life. I believed I was born to party. Even as my addiction escalated and I desperately wanted to sobriety, my identity was concrete to my addiction. Now I�m in the process of recovering my identity, of walking away from what I thought was me. I am learning who I really am. The drugs are gone. The alcohol is gone. It’s just me. It’s just me that’s left with the choices and the coping mechanisms I employed for thirteen years. They are changeable. I can learn new ones, right? Day by day, I put one foot in front of the other and rejoice in each small step. Identity. It sure is important. And learning who I am is life altering.

The past. Enough said, right? I must shift through it while maintaining a healthy distance for I can’t stay there. But I’ve got to retrieve my past hurts and deal with them without the drugs, without the alcohol. I seek life. I need closure. I must allow the heartache to heal by acknowledging its pain and move forward because of it, not in spite of it. I cannot fear the past nor let it reign freely in my new found life. Many apologies. Many apologies. Many apologies. I confess: my love for the addiction was greater than my love for you. Tears are shed. Amends are made. Some accepted. Some rejected. Some hurts indelible. I accept what’s given and press on while dealing with guilt and shame that attempt to silence me. At some point, I will forgive myself.

Recovery for me isn’t about the drugs and alcohol; it isn’t about the addiction I kept. It’s about removing the symptom so I can see the problem. The problem wasn’t my intake of drugs/alcohol. The problem was me. The problem was the choices I made. The problem was my broken way of life me sick. Inadequacy. Identity. Death. Death. Broken relationships. And more death. I can’t even say those were the problem. My inability to deal with them was. Life and feelings. Feelings and life. My recovery is about learning to feel the emotions I experience and cope with the day to day activities of life as they arise. My recovery is learning to love myself and accepting that I am not perfect. I will make mistakes.

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