Stories of Recovery
Christine's* Story of Recovery
I was a nice girl from a nice family. This wasn't supposed to happen to me. Of course, addiction doesn't happen to you all at once. It creeps up on you, barely noticeable; with steps so small you never even see them. Step one was in junior high. Friends. Music. Drinking beer in the woods. I was young and having fun. Pot was a short step away. Everybody was doing it. There was no dramatic moment when I first tried it. No intense anti-drug TV commercial moment. Just a friend handing me a joint. I didn't even flinch. I loved it. Step two passed without a thought. The steps got faster after that but I still didn't notice them. By the time I was a junior in high school my boyfriend was the high school dealer. I remember we used to joke, "That's why they call it high school." We were cool. And when he gave me my first few lines of coke, well, I thought it couldn't get any cooler than this. College came and though the boyfriend was gone. My appetite for coke wasn't. As I got older the parties got better. Friday nights extended to Saturday nights extended to Sunday mornings but I could still hold it all together. I graduated and got my first real job. Out on my own. First apartment. Same old habit. I didn't know it was a habit. It was still just fun.
I did coke on my wedding day. But by then I was secretly doing it every day. Didn't everybody? It truthfully didn't seem the slightest bit odd to me. Now I had a good job, a nice husband and two years later, a beautiful baby. There was nothing wrong with me. I was taking care of everyone like I was supposed to, living up to everyone's expectations. I could balance it all. And for while I did. The next few years got away from me. Hassles at work. Fights with my husband. What was wrong with these people? It was always their fault. Never mine. One day my boss told me she was letting me go. Something about not being reliable, blah, blah, blah. They were all jerks anyway. After the car accident Frank blew up at me. "It was an accident", I screamed. "And it was only Vanessa's collar bone.!" Two days later Frank left and took Vanessa with him. I wish I could say that was rock bottom. But rock bottom wouldn't come for another four years. That memory is too private to reveal here. Even now.
The reason I came to Hanley Center is because Frank told me that was the only way he'd ever let me near Vanessa again. So I came. I wasn't exactly a willing participant at first. I was leery of these places with their feel good mumbo-jumbo. My defenses were up. This wasn't the first time someone told me I had a "problem." I used to think, "You know what, maybe you have the problem." It's incredible how drugs warp your thinking.
Recovery wasn't easy. All those years putting my nose to a mirror and I never bothered to look at myself. That's what the people at Hanley did for me. My counselor in the Center for Women’s Recovery, got me to really look at myself. Where I'd been. How I'd gotten there. What I had done to my life, my relationships, my marriage. Descending into the pit took many steps. Ascending from it would too. Being in a recovery center like Hanley – designed specifically for women – was a godsend for me. The women were there for me. They didn't judge. They listened and understood. The journey we took together was tremendously painful but in the end, amazingly cathartic. To say Hanley Center saved my life would be a lie. "Saved" is past tense. I'm an addict and I'll always be one. Hanley saves my life everyday. Things are better now. I'm out in the world. I'm getting back on my feet. I work the program and use the tools that Hanley Center gave me. I actually feel good about myself. I've got a job again with nice people. And today I'm seeing Vanessa. Hanley Center did that for me. How can you ever really thank someone for that?
* names have been changed
