Reunions are supposed to be joyous occasions. Meticulously planned and looked forward to for weeks. Maybe even a special shopping trip is made after work to pick out a new and flattering dress. Seeing old faces is supposed to bring back treasured memories and spark reminiscent conversations. Nostalgic feelings for an old crush may even emerge, reddening one’s cheeks the way they’d flush in the hallway after exchanging glances years ago. Whispers of idle gossip inevitably find their way to each circle of constants regarding the appearances and current circumstances of past classmates.
Reunions are not supposed to occur because of the tragic and
untimely death of a bright and beautiful young soul.
Instead, only tearful nods of acknowledgement are passed
while each mournful attendee waits to say goodbye to another one gone too
soon. Now the memories discussed are not funny tales to tell. They have become
all we have left, like the remnants of a burned down home- a locket or heirloom
discovered in the torched rubble. But unlike the opportunity to pick up the
pieces and rebuild, a life can never be restored. The destruction has robbed its
victim of a future.
Nothing more cowardly than a thief.
And that’s exactly what addiction is- a thief. Stealing the
ones we love. Hijacking the irreplaceable light in their eyes and kidnapping
time we can never get back, all while laughing like a victorious and monstrous
villain.
I was fourteen the first time I experienced premature death
due to substance abuse. I can still remember what I wore, how I felt, the thick
and heavy cloud of unspeakable despair surrounding me. The endless flow of
tears and the question “But why God?”
on everyone’s lips. Two young men with the world at their fingertips met their
demise in a drunk driving accident. I will never forget that day. I cried
harder than I thought physically possible. Although I could not fully understand
the gravity of the situation, it was still overwhelming, frightening, confusing
and exhausting.
But still I thought- that
will never happen to me.
But it did almost happen to me. I’d drink myself into oblivion,
playing Russian roulette each time I drank. I was on my way to hitting a tree
head on before my second DUI arrest. Had it not been for my arresting officers
speedy tactics to get my attention, I would not be here today.
Had I not been so fortunate, I can imagine the morbid
scenario of a different outcome. My mother inconsolable. My father lost and
bewildered. The rest of my family shocked that their smart and seemingly normal
family member would be driving drunk. My friends wondering if there was something
they could have done or said that night. My parents, sister and friends all blaming
themselves for not getting through to me the countless times they tried.
“If only we had tried harder, done more, forced her to stop. If
only.”
And then there’d be the uninformed chatter of acquaintances
and ghosts from the past.
“She was such a sweet girl. I don’t know
why she needed to drink like that. Why didn’t anyone try to stop her? She came
from such a caring and loving family, you think she would have stopped for
them.”
But the bitter and
unwavering truth is that nothing and no one can stop an addict from using. They
have to want with every fiber of their being to stop. To give it up for good
and do whatever necessary to get sober. They are the only person who can get
themselves clean.
When I was in the throes of my alcoholism, Jesus himself
could not get me to put down a drink. He could have appeared to me in my
colorfully decorated dorm room, adorned with shot glasses and posters of my favorite
pop stars, sat his Supreme, white- illuminated behind right down on my twin bed
and plead his case to no avail.
“Danielle, my child. You have a bright future but you must
refrain from drinking. You are hurting yourself and the ones who love you.
Please get help.”
“Wow. I really appreciate your concern and making the trek to
Earth just for lil' old me Jesus, but I’m fine, really. Now if you’ll excuse me,
I need to get going. Happy hour starts in 15 minutes.”
Addiction, like any disease, is a formidable force. Abusive drinking
and drugging are not hauntingly romantic or intriguingly dark. They are not a
tool to inspire creativity or something to cross of a bucket list. They are
flesh eating demons that leave no brain cell untouched. If they aren’t strong
enough to claim your body, they will settle for your soul.
Most addicts and
alcoholics I have come to know are some of the most genuine and passionate
people you will ever encounter. They feel so deeply and are affected so
fiercely by the troubles of this world that they welcome a way to numb the pain
and silence the noise. And once the poison invades their body, it is a constant
struggle to reverse its effects and take back control of the mind. A brilliant
mind being held hostage and whispered lies by its captor. Lies that assure with
absolute certainty “You need me. I am all you have. You will never survive
without me. I love you.”
I have learned in my
recovery that I can only help someone who wants help. Though it does not lessen
the heartache of seeing someone suffer, I know they have to be ready. They have
to hit their rock bottom. Dismally for many, rock bottom is eternal rest.
Like Amy Winehouse, Cory Monteith and so many others, their
deaths are even more baffling and hard to accept because of the progress they
seemed to be making. Doing so well only
to give in to a familiar impulse, this time more deadly than all the rest. Too
exhausted to keep fighting the war, they wave a white flag of surrender and
succumb to the enemy. Believing that the work it will take to achieve a life of
peace and happiness is too burdensome and impossible a task. That they’ve done
too much damage and are too far gone to deserve a real chance at life.
My heart breaks into a thousand jagged pieces when I think of
the all the decent, intelligent and innocent people whose lives have been claimed by addiction.
“Innocent?” you may say. “But they chose to use in the first place. They chose not to get help.”
No one on earth can say they haven’t made a poor decision.
Done something they aren’t proud of and wish they could take back. But unlike a
questionable one night stand or betrayal of a friend, alcohol abuse and drug use don't momentarily suffocate before quickly dissipating like a cloud of
smoke. They are a slow burn whose flames are never truly extinguished. Whether you
submit or overcome, a hint of their existence will always be there.
For those on the other end of addiction- the loved ones of
someone sick and suffering-there are resources available in your hour of need.
Al-Anon/Alateen are divisions of Alcoholics Anonymous designed to provide support
for family and friends of addicts and alcoholics. It's main objective is to aid in the understanding
that an addict's use is not your fault and countless others share in your struggle.
Take advantage of this free resource. It will help you more than you know.
Do not let the deaths of these people be in vain. Learn
something from their misfortune. From the tragedy of a life taken too
soon.
"When the past dies, there is
mourning, but when the future dies, our imaginations are compelled to carry it
on.”
~ Gloria
Steinem
And that’s exactly what I will do- keep their memories alive.
Never forget the smiles they put on the faces of others and the kind words they
imparted. I will remember all of the good and decent things they have done in
this world, never letting them be overshadowed by the monster of addiction.
This post is dedicated to Emily Friend and Amanda Wells. Rest in peace my
darlings.<3
**Take what you like and leave the rest**
such a beautiful, perfect post. <3
ReplyDeletethank you Toni <3
ReplyDelete