[Dedicated to C. Greaves, counselor, who could confidentially say, “I tell people what they already know, but have hidden from themselves.”]
As a young adolescent, I found myself to be the class joke. Overweight, awkward, tall and acne-ridden, I was prime material for that role. I suppose one could speculate that my classmates chose me because I absolutely showed the despair that I felt.
Tormented from the time I boarded the morning bus until I stepped off that yellow, rolling nightmare each afternoon, you can imagine how my heart ached. Eyes perpetually on the ground, shoulders stooped, I was a failure, a misfit. I was alone.
The beginning of addiction
Time marches on, yet those feelings lived on in my gut. High school days were the harbinger of a resilient me… consciously deciding one day that I could fight my angst with alcohol and pot. AND, with that self-injurious decision came friends—students of, “Hey-let’s-get-wasted-ology.” I found the means that boosted my self-esteem and soothed my internal woes.
That was a beginning. Drugs and alcohol opened a door that allowed me access to sex, popularity, and my definition of a freedom from all those ignorant tormentors. I used, and used, and used some more. Yes, that was a beginning, the beginning of a lust affair—an affair that, years later, would haunt and consume me.
Addiction crept up on me casually, slowly. But, one day well into my adulthood, I found myself an addict in crisis as I tried to parlay a sense of normalcy. I couldn’t and I didn’t. Losing all the goodies; a husband, a child, a career, a home, I didn’t know how to stop. Time does march on and I added ill health to that list of consequences.
There was only one way out
Being bullied was, of course, only one factor in the script that had its finale in addiction. There were scenes of trauma, and familial discord in my playbill. Only one person could change the dialogue though, and that was me.
Rehab, AA, NA, a therapist, and personal fortitude were all characters that came to my rescue. I pen this piece having almost two decades of sobriety. I pen this piece knowing that there are many factors that led me to hell, but that the evil one no longer chases me.
(And, I never hesitate to state my take on bullying.)
Author: Katie H. is a writer, recovering addict, and mother based in Connecticut.