My name is Karen.  A wife of 32 years. A mom of two.  A business owner.  Possibly your child’s soccer coach or girl scout leader.  A volunteer for many organizations.   And I am an addict….

This will surprise many who know me.  You?  An addict?  But you have a beautiful house, a loving family.  You seem to be so successful?  Newsflash – an addict does not always mean a homeless junkie you see on the streets.  That guy with all the tattoos or the girl standing on the street corner.  An addict is a person who needs to get outside themselves, hide their feelings, deal with life by putting a drug or drink in them to cope/to function.

My abuse didn’t begin until well after a bad car accident at 24 yrs. old that resulted in injuries that could not be treated.  I was prescribed opioids for the constant pain.  I took that fist pill and felt calm.  Like I had a few beers without the hangover.   I rarely took them.  But it always felt good when I did.  Fast forward 13 years.  I noticed extra energy when I took one. Company was coming, and I needed the energy.  And that’s when my disease, which had been lying in wait, decided to appear.

Addiction isn’t a disease some say.  “You made a choice.”.  You would be right.  I chose to follow my doctor’s advice and treat my pain the only way the experts knew how.  BUT, because I have the disease of addiction, I couldn’t stop at one or two.  If I honestly look way back at my teenage/college years, I had trouble stopping drinking at times then.  But all college kids drink, right?  No big deal.  Until it was.

I am one of the fortunate ones.  I didn’t lose everything, and my active addiction only lasted a few years.  But in those years, I lost my family’s trust, ruined our finances and missed most of the first few years of my daughter’s life.  I left it up to my seven-year-old son to watch/feed his sister while I hid in my room from everyone.  Fourteen years ago, my emotional pain was great enough, my life was ruined enough, that I decided to get help.  Walking into the recovery center alone was the scariest day of my life.  I didn’t know if I would be able to go home or would have to stay for 30 days.  The thought of leaving my babies tore me to pieces.  But I knew if I didn’t get help, I would lose them. Luckily, I was able to do outpatient with the suggestion of joining a 12-step fellowship.  I went to that first meeting and felt like I was home.  The love and support and hope filling that room was overpowering.  These “junkies” and “crackheads” made me feel more love than I have ever felt in my 39 years.

I took suggestions, I listened.  I learned that I wasn’t alone and that my brain is wired differently. That I think differently than “normal” people.  And by working a program, I learned to love myself and accept myself for who I was.  I discovered a peace and serenity I never had in my life before.

And then after about 6 years, I was “cured”.  That’s what my disease told me.  No more meetings, no more network.  Eighteen months later, no more clean time.  I still remember where I was when I picked up that one glass of wine.  “Alcohol wasn’t part of my story”.  Lie.  “It’s never been a problem”.  Lie. Oh, this disease is insidious.  Very quickly, everything became a problem. Gone was the serenity I worked so hard for.  Back to living life in a haze and hating myself more and more for it.  And those same children that I ignored long ago and ignored again?  They saved my life. They called me up on my crap.

I now have 3 ½ years free from active addiction.  I did what I had been taught.  I humbled myself and said, “I can’t do this alone”.  I reached out.  And thank God, several hands reached back.

Life is not a bowl of cherries. This past year has been the hardest of my life.  I watched two family members slowly die.  Helping to care for both.  BUT I reached out. I was never alone.  Someone was always there to be strong if I couldn’t be.  Using is NOT a choice for me today.  And I thank my Higher Power every day for that.  I have witnessed several people dying from this disease in the past few years.  My heart breaks as I now write this for a dear friend who buried her husband today as a direct result of the disease. (He was “normal” too.)

I write this in the hopes that someone will read this, relate and get the help they need.  You don’t have to be miserable and hate yourself anymore.  You CAN find that wonderful person inside of you.  It’s not easy and takes A LOT of work sometimes.  But it is so worth it!  If my friend could see the devastation left behind, maybe he would have reached out a little harder.  Because it’s not just you that you are hurting.  RIP, MB.