Sixteen years ago - November 4th, 2008 - the US financial crisis was in full swing. Stock markets had been decimated by Wall Street excess, real estate markets were facing the hard truth of the exploitation cheap money lent to unqualified people to make purchases they could not afford. It was a regular sight to witness lawns filled with furniture, and to hear stories of investments tanking rapidly. The winds of change were also felt - a young black man was about to eek out a career politician in an election cycle focused on hope, change, and a need for guidance through our troubled times. On November 4th, 2008 I voted before going in for treatment. A small push for change, holding on to fleeting hope, and a desire to do something 'normal' for a change.
The drugs scene was in a precarious place as well - MDMA was out, and heroin was in. Soldiers were deployed across Iraq and Afghanistan, facing unspeakable trauma in their young lives, and bringing home a taste for cheap opium to numb the pain. At home, civilians had been eagerly fed a diet of the 'non-addictive' Oxycontin, and a generation had matured with easy access to cheap opioids from Big Pharma and the Cartels - entities whose moral compasses positioned themselves within arms reach across a blurry line of 'legal' and 'illicit'.
On November 4th, 2008 I was entering detox for the last time. What began as an curious exploration of cheap heroin only 4 years prior, had resulted in my loss of basic capacity to hold a job, manage my bills, maintain stable relationships, or access a safe place to sleep. I had lived in my car, and on couches for several months, and only a few weeks before had found my friend dead from an overdose. After letting me crash at his apartment as a temporary solution to my homelessness, I spent most days out stealing cheese from the supermarket to return for cash across numerous locations. Coming home after a couple of days out, I found my friend grey and stiff under his computer, his iTunes still playing music from the night before. Listening to the police contacting his parents in the early morning that October night, I knew that it was only a matter of time before that phone call would be about me.
The following week, I had secured a bed in detox, only to discover that during the time I'd been homeless, my Medicaid coverage had lapsed as I'd failed to recertify by answering a few questions and mailing it in. After contacting a representative, I was quickly told that I'd be able to start using my insurance again, at the beginning of the following month. I had 4 weeks to slog through, managing a habit and the trauma of finding my friend, with very few people who still let me spend time with them. Entering detox for the last time felt like I'd barely finished a marathon before the ground below me would have opened and swallowed me whole. Society around me felt like it was on the precipice, akin to my own life.
In the 16 years that have past my journey has been marvelous at times, challenging at others, suffocating, and liberating. I completed two masters degrees (social work, and public health) as I wanted to be of service to others like me, while understanding the broader systems that we interface with. I became a licensed clinician, I've developed programs, I have taught graduate classes, supervised public health and social work students, given interviews, and sat on advisory committees. I oversee prevention for a city, and I'm looking to explore doctoral work in public health.
In the 16 years that have past, I've had 3 major relationships blossom and wither, often due to my own struggles with being authentic, and my propensity to act instead of being. I struggled with being truly vulnerable, even in the most intimate relationships I was a part of. I have also fostered my own recovery from these patterns, developing an openess to self-reflection and critique - learning to apply the concepts taught to me through the 12-steps, to the struggles I would face years later. I'm married now, happily so, and I continue to work on those parts of myself that calcified during my years of addiction and avoidance. I have spent years in and out of therapy, both individual work and couples work, and many more years providing therapy for others.
In the 16 years that have past, I have rebuilt a connection with friends and family, becoming a trustworthy person who invests in those relationships, and aspires to invest more than he asks. I have worked to help friends and strangers cope with their struggles, and to share my own journey with others like me, so as to try to inspire hope and a sense of possibility for others who may struggle. I have watched as fentanyl decimated our generation, with methamphetamine riding its coattails. I have lost more people than I can count, and many more that I probably don't even know about.
I write this because it was people who had been through this that told me that I could. It was people who had been through it that showed me what I could do with my life if I embraced recovery as a perspective. It was also others who told me that recovery doesn't have to look a specific way, that my journey was my own as were the choices I made. I have found guidance through psychedelics, and I've found the benefits of bike-riding. I fill my life with friends and hobbies, and I engage in my community. I talk openly about who I am and what I've been through, at work or in class, to managers and supervisees, to doctors and therapists, to people I meet in my day to day life, and to strangers on the internet.
I apologize if this post is rather long - but I wanted to share a bit about what the past 16 years have been for me. Here's hoping that the next 16 are remarkable in their own right.
The drugs scene was in a precarious place as well - MDMA was out, and heroin was in. Soldiers were deployed across Iraq and Afghanistan, facing unspeakable trauma in their young lives, and bringing home a taste for cheap opium to numb the pain. At home, civilians had been eagerly fed a diet of the 'non-addictive' Oxycontin, and a generation had matured with easy access to cheap opioids from Big Pharma and the Cartels - entities whose moral compasses positioned themselves within arms reach across a blurry line of 'legal' and 'illicit'.
On November 4th, 2008 I was entering detox for the last time. What began as an curious exploration of cheap heroin only 4 years prior, had resulted in my loss of basic capacity to hold a job, manage my bills, maintain stable relationships, or access a safe place to sleep. I had lived in my car, and on couches for several months, and only a few weeks before had found my friend dead from an overdose. After letting me crash at his apartment as a temporary solution to my homelessness, I spent most days out stealing cheese from the supermarket to return for cash across numerous locations. Coming home after a couple of days out, I found my friend grey and stiff under his computer, his iTunes still playing music from the night before. Listening to the police contacting his parents in the early morning that October night, I knew that it was only a matter of time before that phone call would be about me.
The following week, I had secured a bed in detox, only to discover that during the time I'd been homeless, my Medicaid coverage had lapsed as I'd failed to recertify by answering a few questions and mailing it in. After contacting a representative, I was quickly told that I'd be able to start using my insurance again, at the beginning of the following month. I had 4 weeks to slog through, managing a habit and the trauma of finding my friend, with very few people who still let me spend time with them. Entering detox for the last time felt like I'd barely finished a marathon before the ground below me would have opened and swallowed me whole. Society around me felt like it was on the precipice, akin to my own life.
In the 16 years that have past my journey has been marvelous at times, challenging at others, suffocating, and liberating. I completed two masters degrees (social work, and public health) as I wanted to be of service to others like me, while understanding the broader systems that we interface with. I became a licensed clinician, I've developed programs, I have taught graduate classes, supervised public health and social work students, given interviews, and sat on advisory committees. I oversee prevention for a city, and I'm looking to explore doctoral work in public health.
In the 16 years that have past, I've had 3 major relationships blossom and wither, often due to my own struggles with being authentic, and my propensity to act instead of being. I struggled with being truly vulnerable, even in the most intimate relationships I was a part of. I have also fostered my own recovery from these patterns, developing an openess to self-reflection and critique - learning to apply the concepts taught to me through the 12-steps, to the struggles I would face years later. I'm married now, happily so, and I continue to work on those parts of myself that calcified during my years of addiction and avoidance. I have spent years in and out of therapy, both individual work and couples work, and many more years providing therapy for others.
In the 16 years that have past, I have rebuilt a connection with friends and family, becoming a trustworthy person who invests in those relationships, and aspires to invest more than he asks. I have worked to help friends and strangers cope with their struggles, and to share my own journey with others like me, so as to try to inspire hope and a sense of possibility for others who may struggle. I have watched as fentanyl decimated our generation, with methamphetamine riding its coattails. I have lost more people than I can count, and many more that I probably don't even know about.
I write this because it was people who had been through this that told me that I could. It was people who had been through it that showed me what I could do with my life if I embraced recovery as a perspective. It was also others who told me that recovery doesn't have to look a specific way, that my journey was my own as were the choices I made. I have found guidance through psychedelics, and I've found the benefits of bike-riding. I fill my life with friends and hobbies, and I engage in my community. I talk openly about who I am and what I've been through, at work or in class, to managers and supervisees, to doctors and therapists, to people I meet in my day to day life, and to strangers on the internet.
I apologize if this post is rather long - but I wanted to share a bit about what the past 16 years have been for me. Here's hoping that the next 16 are remarkable in their own right.
