Tag: songs

Nobody Grows Up Thinking They Want to Be a Junkie. Including Me.

I was looking through some old photos recently and I came across a picture of myself and my brother, circa 1988. A favorite picture of mine, no doubt.

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I was three, he had just turned four and we owe those fabulous dual bowl-cuts to our wicked step-mother. More on her later.

I’m the brunette, he is the toe-headed blonde in the Osh-Kosh overalls. His hair mellowed out as he got older, not as white, but always very light. Believe it or not, I was born sable-haired, It’s long and black to this day. And my mother always loved my hair. A summer of constant sunshine streaks my freshly clipped locks.

We spent every second we could in the sun, especially back in those days. Unquestionably an outdoorsy family, from hunting and fishing the dense woodlands of Pennsylvania to surfing and sunbathing the sandy beaches of the Jersey Shore. A cherished, picture-perfect childhood.  

We are Irish Twins, my brother and I. Something my mother never let him or I forget. And how could we? With all the jokes we dodged about our parents having zero patience in the bedroom, it wasn’t exactly something I bragged about. And being 10 months apart only fueled our incessant competition. As we got older, we’d feud about the petty things…. Who was a better athlete? Which one of us was smarter…funnier…had more to offer this world. Who did our parents like more? Who was more popular? And on and on it went.

In this picture we had our little arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. We were looking to our right, towards our father, while sitting on the stoop of a trailer house in Holmdel, NJ. Just a coupl’a kids. Elsa, the woman my father divorced my mother for (step mom, aspiring photog, home wrecker, evil alcoholic, and other not so kind descriptive words) snapped pics.

I don’t recall what I was thinking about then, but I’m almost positive that it was not, “When I grow up, I wanna be a junkie.” Pretty sure big bro never mentioned that he was rolling that idea around his little toddler mind.

Unfortunately, those two bad haircut babies, in that photo, became addicts. Heroin mainly, but let’s be honest: we’d devour anything we could get our dirty little hands on. The Irish Twins with unlimited future possibilities ended up dependent on drugs. Lots of ’em. Stuff I never thought I’d even see in my lifetime entered my body in some way. It stunned and shocked us both, and I’m certain that’s the norm for anyone who’s life gets flipped by the atrociousness that is full-blown addiction.

Mine started in 2015, when I had just entered my 30’s. Four years after I had obtained my bachelor’s degree in nursing. I was successful, working happily at a women’s clinic, living my dream as an RN.

My brothers drug history dates back to post HS graduation era. 2004. He was just 19. You think I would have learned from the horror of my brother’s chronicles, but I didn’t. Honestly, I didn’t know the truth about what he was going through until way past the point of panic. He was private and in denial by the time I understood what was really going on with him. Credit to his friends for their honesty and attempts to help genuinely him, on so many occasions.

And I was as steadfast and stubborn as it gets. I never thought addiction would even clip the corner of my life, let alone saturate it thoroughly. Not me, not ever. But it did, and as a tough kid I am embarrassed to admit it absolutely kicked my ass.

By now, you’re probably asking yourself if we had addiction in the family, as most folks pinpoint that as the direct correlation between parent and child addictive traits. And we did, but it wasn’t drugs. And honestly, we were taught not to believe in that shit.

Never a notion or contemplation of desiring a death wish. Not aged 3 or age 30. And unless you’ve personally and physically gone through it, it’s impossible to truly understand. That’s the truth. So, if you’re not intimately aware, and you haven’t experienced it yourself, try not to pass misunderstood judgement. Please. The sad reality of my story is that if it can happen to me, it can happen to anybody. And it does, every single day. To unassuming folks who think their mental toughness is unmatched. I’m the unfortunate proof that tests that theory and fails, miserably.

This is the idiosyncratic story of someone who fell on black days but bounced back into a sun shower. It’s my comeback story. A true underdog saga. An exercise in futility where fortune favored the brave. The odds weren’t just stacked; they were clustered, bundled, and massed! An adventure with a triumphant ending, currently. Addiction is always just one bad decision away. That’s no BS.

I’ve survived scoundrels and villains, the worst of the worst. I’m a felon, forever. I live with a fractured heart and have seen more than my share of tragedy. Thanks to it all, I’m more tenacious, resilient, humbled, peaceful & powerful for it. I live by The Golden Rule, “Treat others the way you want to be treated”, and one simple mantra “Not Today, Maybe Tomorrow”. It’s simple but has been extremely effective.

Recovery, currently, is truly sublime. A reality that seemed hopelessly unattainable (and I do mean Hopelessly) has become happily achievable, thus far. On this day. The road here has been an unforgettable, unbelievable journey, and that’s quite an understatement.

This is the wild journey of a kid from Jersey who beat the odds, and proved that tough times don’t last, tough people do (sorry for the cheesy motivational quote). My goal to help anyone in the struggle realize that this too shall pass, no matter how hard that is to believe in the moment. It’s a relatable story, a crazy journey, and I hope I you feel less alone if you’re living this reality.

We were all kids once, hopeful and innocent with wide open futures. Many of us, unfortunately, have been touched by some type of hardship. Broken home, drug or alcohol abuse in the house, abuse of the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual variety. I know that when we look back at the pictures of our childhood, none of us asked for or anticipated these hardships. And the same can be said for those who came before us – our parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins…they all have a photo at the age of purity, and in that picture none of them are consumed with thoughts of their current alcoholism, future abuse from their loved one, mental illness, war wounds – hidden or visible, homelessness, poverty, rejection, bullying, indiscretions, or just hard times.

We all have a story. We have all endured and persevered. We were ALL kids once.

And this is mine. 💙

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