Mentally, my addiction has wreaked havoc on my mind. I am
ultimately responsible for EVERYTHING going wrong. I am ultimately at fault for
EVERYTHING going wrong. I used pain killers to not have to think about life, so
now that I am not using, I have to think and I don't know how. The small,
everyday things - like brushing my teeth and showering - I am unable to
remember to do those things. Then, because I see the "normal" people
doing those things without issue, I start to pick on myself, telling myself
that I’ve gone retarded even though I have advanced degrees in education, a
high IQ, and a VERY large vocabulary (and, I know how to use it). I almost feel
like Rain Man – great at counting cards and toothpicks, but absolutely
dis-abled to do anything else.
Spiritually, my disease has driven a wedge between me and
God. I feel so distant from Him that I sometimes wonder if He’s there at all.
Now, I know and have faith that God is there, waiting and wanting to help me
out of my sticky situations. And, not to negate that statement, but I struggle,
not with whether He CAN help me, but with whether or not He WOULD help me. It
is all this guilt and shame I have carried around with me for SO many years. That
is something I need to work through – figuring out what I am feeling, where it
came from, heal that, and grow.
Emotionally, my disease has caused me to be emotionally void.
I remember as a young girl – around six or seven – I began hiding my feelings
from people. A 6th grade boy bullied me on the school bus. Each time I would
bring something home from school – artwork, a paper I was proud of, anything
like that – he would take it, tear it up, and throw it on the bus floor. I remember
deciding that I would not show any pride or excitement about my things so he
would stop tearing them up. What else I remember is beginning to exchange those
feelings of pride and excitement with feelings of anger and fear. I did NOT
want to get on that bus. I did NOT want to face this boy. I did NOT want to
tell my teacher or parents about it for fear of being made fun of at school for
being a tattletale.
Just writing these things
down – looking at each aspect of me individually – is beginning to paint a
picture of the underlying addict behavior that began LONG before I picked up my
first drug. I guess the statement that the healing comes through the steps is
true.
