To those who knew my secret, after this, it is no longer one.
To my dear friends that encouraged me through the hardest times of my life, and to my dear family who never knew at all, here I am exposed and ready to tell you the whole story.
Finally, the therapy has begun on my path to soberness.
To begin, first things first: public admittance of a problem. So, with that stated, to my Mom, Dad, Grams and Gramps, and all of those who never knew, including you, the reader, whom I will more than likely never meet or hear from, I am an addict.
I’m sorry I hid the fact that I was having problems, but this is my self-help therapy: writing out my confession for the world to see – including the lies I’ve kept hidden within. I’ll start by saying I’m sorry I disappointed you all. The repercussions of my actions may be dire, but I have to get this off my chest. Whatever consequences may happen in the end, I’ll accept.
At this point, celebrating nine months clean and sober, I never thought I would be sharing my story with you, my family whom I love, and anyone else I come across on my path as I traverse in this life.
I was 17 and stupid, and for a night of fun I smoked weed for the first time. I figured, “ah, no big deal, I won’t be an addict, you can’t, “it’s pot!” I thought it would be a one-time thing, not like I would use it regularly or anything. So I lit up, took a deep breath, filled my lungs with the smoke from a flavored cigar blunt and lost all control for a few hours.
Wow, I sure was misguided in that thought.
Next thing I knew, an ice cold aluminum can was in the palm of my hand – a Four Loko – an energy drink with 12 percent alcohol volume was slowly being sipped down the same tube the smoke did. From then on, I wasn’t sure what was next for me.
Getting cross-faded (which is being high and drunk at the same time, for those readers who have no idea what the slang terms of the unfortunate street users are) was absolutely amazing. Sitting there in my friend’s living room without a care in the world and not even sure if I could walk a straight line – let alone walk at all – wasn’t crossing my mind. But the next memory of that first night’s high wasn’t the most pleasant one. My head hovering over the toilet as I spewed my guts upon her bathroom floor, leaving the mess for her and her family to clean up. Mom, you should remember this night, picking me up at around 11 p.m., saying I ate a bad orange. You saw through that lie, but never did anything about it.
After that night, the next year and a half is mostly a blur.
I remember using on and off, but when I realized I went without ganja or booze for nearly two months, I needed to end the habit for good. I burned so many bridges doing this, after burning so many blunts and cigarettes and chugging endless bottles of booze with those very same people.
All I know now, after nine months of slow and pain-staking sobriety, after two close call relapses, one of those times going as far as buying a “dime sack” (approximately $10 worth of weed) and another Four Loko, which became my drink of choice, awaiting my opportunity to screw my life back over. One phone call encouraged me enough to not smoke or drink anymore.
This short recognition is to those who were willing to help me through the hardest moments of my life, specifically Felycya and her fiance Sean (congratulations, by the way you two), being one of the strongest supporters of my sobriety, my dearest “Seester”.
To Erinn and her young daughters Ashlyn and Chloe, a close friend who even physically slapped me around, brought me back to church and to the program I stood by for prayer and encouragement, and all the others I don’t have space to mention. Everything you ever did for me, I love you all for putting up with me. I’m sorry for the bullshit I was putting myself through, and thanks for telling me no when I needed it most.
I sit back now, trying to remember those endless nights, but I can’t recall much. In an ironic manner, I thank God I don’t remember. I don’t want to know what I did for that kind of money to support that kind of habit. For all I know, there are crimes with my fingerprints at crime scenes I don’t remember ever being at.
That thought scares me much, but it is one I am debating on searching out more information.
My Seester, Felycya, wrote me several letters of encouragement, which I hope she continues to do; it was one of the only things I hold so close to my heart, besides my sobriety coins. Those letters show her heart and what she saw in me through all of this: “.I just wanted to tell you that I’m so proud of you, Ryan. Six whole months clean and sober! I knew you could do it. You are such a strong person whether you choose to believe it or not.” I never truly did, not until my last near relapse, which I described earlier.
I know some of you reading this are wondering why it became a one-time thing to a year and a half long addiction. Well, in short, it was depression. Weed took my mind to a new place, one I thought it would never see without a drug circulating my system. It became my anti-depressant, just like beer and alcohol did.
In the end, I wanted to say this for two reasons.One is obvious, to finally admit I am an addict. Even though I was only an addict to such a minor drug, it is still an issue to so many across Bakersfield – let alone the world. If you’re disappointed that I wasn’t a cocaine or meth addict, then that’s on you for putting your hopes up and tearing apart others that are. I have been praying for all of those who need help, with anything from weed to meth, from booze to sex, there is one person that cares and hopes you come out strong-willed, not only for yourself, but for others as well.
I am not a Martin Luther King, Jr. trying to inspire a nation under one cause, but if I can inspire one person to make that very difficult decision to sober up once and for all, then my work here is done. If you’re searching for a place to start, find a local chapter of Narcotics Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, or whatever addiction anonymous you may need to be apart of, or simply do what I did, find a church that offers drug counseling of some kind.
In closing, this is what finally made me realize what I was doing for myself, an untitled poem written by my Seester said it all and more. I hope you may find that final push to get the help you need.
“To My ‘Brudder’:
He’s at the end of his rope,
Hanging by the thinnest thread.
Choking back the tears,
remembering all they said.
He’s lost all hope,
not knowing what to do.
Slowly he’s giving up,
without even wanting to.
He tries to ease the pain
but nothing seems to get better,
It always ends with a fall.
Falling down farther and farther,
so far, so fast.
He wonders when it started,
how long will it last?
He tries out new things,
drugs and alcohol are key.
He’ll get his payback,
one day they’ll all see.
But something isn’t right.
nothing changes for him.
He still hurts.
He knows the trouble he’s gotten in.
This isn’t what he wants.
He knows what this means.
He wants to stop it all.
He wants to come clean.
He smiles to himself,
and throws it all out,
and with all the pain and trash,
he throws away all doubt.
He’s a new soul.
He’s a new spirit.
His life will change,
He knows. He feels it.
He’s got the hope he lost.
He’s looking toward a happy ending.
His broken heart, is slowly mending.
I love you, Ryan,
Your Lil’ Sis,
Felycya”