I’m an addict in recovery.   For a long time I didn’t see it that way.   As long as I could stop using for a while I thought I was all right.  I looked at the stopping, never the using.  As my addiction progressed, I thought of stopping less, and less.  Only in desperation did I finally ask myself, “Could it be the drugs?”

Addiction isolated me from people except when I was getting, using and finding ways to get more.  I became hostile, resentful, self-centered and self-seeking.  I cut myself off from the outside world.  Anything not completely familiar became alien and dangerous.  My world shrank and isolation became my life.  I used in order to survive. It was the only way of life that I knew.

Even though I used, misused and abused drugs, I didn’t consider myself an addict.  I kept telling myself, “I can handle it.”

Some of the highs felt great, but eventually the things I had to do to continue using reflected desperation.  I was caught in the grip of addiction, forced to survive any way I could.  I manipulated people and tried to control everything around me.  I had to have drugs, regardless of the cost.  Failure and fear began to invade my life.

One of the aspects of my addiction was my inability to deal with life on life’s terms.  I tried drugs and combinations of drugs to cope with a seemingly hostile world. I dreamed of finding a magic formula that would solve my ultimate problem – ME.

I fell into a pattern of selective thinking.  I only remembered the good experiences. I justified and rationalized things that I did by telling myself it was to keep from being sick or going crazy.  I ignored the times when life seemed to be a nightmare.  I avoided the reality.  The higher mental and emotional functions, such as having a conscience and the ability to love, were sharply affected by my drug use.

I became accustomed to a state of mind that is common to most addicts.  I forgot what it was like before I started using.  I forgot about social graces.  I acquired strange habits and mannerisms.  I forgot how to work.  I forgot how to play.  I forgot how to express myself and how to show concern for others.  I forgot how to feel.

While using, I lived in another world. I experienced only periodic jolts of reality or self-awareness. At first, I was using in a manner that seemed to be social or at least controllable.  I had little indication of the disaster that the future held for me.  At some point my using became uncontrollable and anti-social. This began when things were going well, and I was in situations that allowed me to use frequently.  This was usually the end of the good times, and I always ended up doing time.

Knowing what my life can become if I use again isn’t what stops me from using.  It’s what I heard at an AA meeting one day while in prison.  It went something like this:

“I know I still have one more high in me.   You know, one more fix.  That will be there until the day I die.  It’s real easy to get some dope if I want it and get high.  So, I know for certain that there’s one more high in me. But what I do not know for sure is – whether there’s one more recovery in me.” 

That struck home with me because I just didn’t like drugs, I loved them.  I’ve hit rock bottom this time, and I am fortunate to be alive, but with each passing day, the desire to use is less and less.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  John Saenz is a talented writer and artist. He is serving a Life Sentence in Texas and can be contacted at:
John A. Saenz #1113101
Ramsey Unit
1100 FM 655
Rosharon, TX  77583

Other Posts by John Saenz.

I was somewhat relieved when I got locked up – I needed some rest.

As I lay in my bunk, I resigned myself to the pain as heroin withdrawal made its appearance.  The powerful pull of addiction would have made me pull the door off the hinges if I’d had the strength, but I didn’t.  I gave in because I was tired of fighting.

Then came the crippling sensation that a huge hole was being punched through my chest, excising my vital organs and leaving ragged, unhealed gashes around the edges that continued to throb and bleed despite the passage of time.  Rationally, I knew my lungs must still be intact, yet I gasped for air, my head spinning from the effort that felt as if it was yielding me nothing.  My heart must have been beating, but I couldn’t hear the sound of my pulse in my ears.  My hands felt blue with cold.  I curled inward, hugging my ribs to hold myself together.  I scrambled for numbness and denial, but it evaded me.

Yet, I found I could survive.  I was alert.  I felt the pain – the aching loss that radiated from my body, sending wracking waves of hurt through my limbs and head – but it was manageable somehow.   I could live through it.  It didn’t feel like the pain weakened over time, but rather that I grew strong enough to bear it.

Whatever it was that happened that day – whether it was past memories of withdrawal or the situation I found myself in – I came to an understanding of what I wanted for my future.  It woke me up.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what to expect in the morning.  It was a new beginning…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  John Saenz is a talented writer with a smooth, honest style, and I hope to share a lot more of his work.  He is serving a Life Sentence in Texas and can be contacted at:
John A. Saenz #1113101
Ramsey Unit
1100 FM 655
Rosharon, TX  77583