"My Story"
I learned this from a blog I lurk at regularly. It is a place for me to put in writing for myself and those close to me to see.
This is the beginning......
As for the whole debate of addiction (is it environmental? or is it hereditary?). I haven't got a clue. I have seen people from extremely functional families be low-down, gutter type addicts. I have seen people from very dysfuntional families riddled with addiction go on to be very successful, non-using type people. So which came first? I don't have the answer.
For me..... I think there were many life experiences that prepared me to turn to something outside of myself to cope with pain.
In the beginning, I am told I had a carefree life made up of a successful father and a stay at home mother. That all came to a crashing halt that fateful day, July 1, 1977. My father was violently taken by a single truck accident. No witnesses, no indication of why it happened. Suddenly, I was a member of a single parent family on the verge of poverty. My mother chose alcohol as a way to cope and it wasn't long after that she was struggling just to keep us (her and I) together.
I have small glimpses in my memory where I remember being lined up near a fireplace with 5 or 6 other children dressed in our finest Sunday clothes. I am told this from a time when I was in a foster home. From this time I also remember feeling different from those children, isolated and alone. (This is the beginning for any addict, isn't it?)
Run concurrently with this memory is a happier time with my grandfather, picking raw, fresh potatoes and squirting them clean. Then pop... right in my mouth, no salt, nothing. Pure heaven I'd call it. I remember sitting at my grandparents table and being told to eat all on my plate or it would be breakfast, getting forked for having my elbows on the table and laughing at my cousin as he sat across from me. I am told this is where I went after foster care. I remember a happiness but still an unworthiness. Almost like I wasn't quite good enough to feel happy (This is the beginning for an addict, isn't it?)
In the beginning my hero, my father was taken from me. There is no thing that can replace that emptiness. No amount of chemical could fill it, no amount of therapy has cured it and even today in recovery.......the loss is evident. I have just found a new way to cope.
Stay tuned for more.........if you're interested.
I learned this from a blog I lurk at regularly. It is a place for me to put in writing for myself and those close to me to see.
This is the beginning......
As for the whole debate of addiction (is it environmental? or is it hereditary?). I haven't got a clue. I have seen people from extremely functional families be low-down, gutter type addicts. I have seen people from very dysfuntional families riddled with addiction go on to be very successful, non-using type people. So which came first? I don't have the answer.
For me..... I think there were many life experiences that prepared me to turn to something outside of myself to cope with pain.
In the beginning, I am told I had a carefree life made up of a successful father and a stay at home mother. That all came to a crashing halt that fateful day, July 1, 1977. My father was violently taken by a single truck accident. No witnesses, no indication of why it happened. Suddenly, I was a member of a single parent family on the verge of poverty. My mother chose alcohol as a way to cope and it wasn't long after that she was struggling just to keep us (her and I) together.
I have small glimpses in my memory where I remember being lined up near a fireplace with 5 or 6 other children dressed in our finest Sunday clothes. I am told this from a time when I was in a foster home. From this time I also remember feeling different from those children, isolated and alone. (This is the beginning for any addict, isn't it?)
Run concurrently with this memory is a happier time with my grandfather, picking raw, fresh potatoes and squirting them clean. Then pop... right in my mouth, no salt, nothing. Pure heaven I'd call it. I remember sitting at my grandparents table and being told to eat all on my plate or it would be breakfast, getting forked for having my elbows on the table and laughing at my cousin as he sat across from me. I am told this is where I went after foster care. I remember a happiness but still an unworthiness. Almost like I wasn't quite good enough to feel happy (This is the beginning for an addict, isn't it?)
In the beginning my hero, my father was taken from me. There is no thing that can replace that emptiness. No amount of chemical could fill it, no amount of therapy has cured it and even today in recovery.......the loss is evident. I have just found a new way to cope.
Stay tuned for more.........if you're interested.
posted by freedom14 @ 2:25 PM
1 Comments:
Keep telling the story... you won't be disappointed in what you will learn about yourself, and about life itself!
While circumstances vary, you will find that many of us share components of the same core... it's wonderful to know that there are others who may not have shared your experiences, but they do share the same emotions from their own experiences....
I'll be reading!
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