“I was ready and willing to do whatever it took to get to the other side of addiction”
“I was ready and willing to do whatever it took to get to the other side of addiction.”
Hi, my name is Steve, and I’m an alcoholic. I’m also a father of four amazing children, a husband to a wife who has a career as an Executive for a Healthcare Innovation company, and I am the Director of Sales for a start-up tech company. I began my journey of recovery and commitment to sobriety on August 24, 2018, when I entered a medically assisted detox as well as treatment at Hazelden Betty Ford. I have now been sober for 14 months and am proof that recovery works.
Growing up, I had a fairly normal childhood, or at least what seemed normal to me. In High School, I was voted the high school homecoming king and, eventually married the high school homecoming queen. I was the lead percussionist in All-State Band, the recipient of a full-ride college scholarship, and an all-around “good guy”, most would say. The transition into the world of adulthood was relatively smooth out of college, as I was able to land a sales job and a 6-figure income out of college, earning my stride in the world of sales. That occupation afforded me plenty of opportunities to attend happy hours and cut loose on the weekends.
While my life was taking shape, my father, 60 or so years young at the time, was dying a quiet, lonely death from the disease of alcoholism. That disease took my father’s life, in a hotel room, shortly after the birth of my first son. I was asked to, along with my brother, retrieve my father’s belongings that were in that hotel room a few days later. What I found that day redefined terror, sadness, and active addiction.
The sight of my father’s blood staining the carpet, the mattress, and the walls. The smell of the rotting cheeseburger in the microwave. The sight of countless bottles of Johnny Walker Red, Old Golds and garbage bags full of Bud Heavy’s littered the room and poisoned my brain.
My father, whom I always deeply loved, was tired of running. Tired of trying to submit himself to a program of recovery that he struggled to take a single step in. Undoubtedly, he didn’t want his sons to find him this way. No addict ever wants to be an addict. However, this disease will take you for as many rounds in the ring as you are willing to utter another breath. If it means dying a slow death in a roadside hotel and using the last of your finances to purchase cigarettes and alcohol- a true addict wouldn’t question whether this was reasonable or not.
I wish that day I would have truly meant what I said to my brother, “l never want to be that guy, that father, that person.”
I was so deeply sad for the loss of my father. My worry for him ended, my sorrows began, and so did something else.
This was the beginning of my active addiction.
Guilt. Shame. Sadness. On the exterior I looked calm, likely due to the benzos that were now coursing through my veins, soothing the pain and anxiety that tortured me. My newly found psychiatrist would meet with me once a month, ask a few questions, and then write me the next script for these newly found pills that stopped the insanity of debilitating panic attacks. After work, I laughed next to other men in suits, now drinking scotch and whiskey on the rocks to help numb the pain and anxiety, as beer would no longer do it. I had my life dialed perfectly to control every feeling and every fear that was inside of me, and it worked, until it didn’t.
At this point in my grief journey, I started to feel what I thought could be alcoholism and I was deeply afraid. So, naturally, I wanted to gain control and show that I could overcome this on my own – this type of behavior only seems logical to an alcoholic in denial. It was a Monday, I was sober, and I dressed in a suit for the occasion. I pulled up in my Lexus to valet parking at the hospital. I asked the attendant how much would the check need to be written for if they had a bed for me in the hospital’s rehabilitation facility. Of course, I wanted a private place in a“nice” place. One with good coffee, good food, and a place to work out. Shit, why not throw in a good view and a deck off of my room. Reluctantly, they took me in. Three days later, I would voluntarily check out of the facility and return to my job the very next day. had deals to close and I reassured them that I didn’t have a problem. I wasn’t like these people. The man that I last visited before leaving told me, “You’ll be back.” I smiled, and said, “I’ve got this. I’m not like these other people. These people have problems. I’m just here for preventative reasons– to ensure that I’m taking precautions.” He smiled back, saying nothing. He knew damn well that I should be admitting myself and going through an intensive in-patient detox. I was hooked to the pills that I clenched in my hand as they provided me all of the relief to shut out the outside world and he knew that. I may have known, however, I sure as hell wasn’t going to give up that easily. I had more fight in me and more pain for those around me. I had my ego, my fears, my insecurities, and my little bottle of pills.
When I returned to work, I pledged not to drink. I wanted to prove to myself and to those around me that I didn’t have a problem. Lord knows, I didn’t want to deal with it. So for the next few years, with my head down, I went to work- 6 a.m. to 6 p.m with calls and meetings around the clock. All of the large commission checks, nice house, nice suits, nice job etc. were no match for the next round of addiction. It was waiting in the wings, teeth clenched and salivating to knock me down. FULL BLOWN, as they say. My marriage had been failing for years and I was unwilling to deal with the inevitable which was divorce and all the misery that went along with that. My performance and mental presence at work was slipping and I was desperately searching for an easier and softer way. I prayed and begged to make it stop. What I didn’t do, was to admit to anyone that I had a problem. I thought that doing that would be giving up control and admitting that I was now like those same people that I walked away from in the hospital years earlier. With some clarity, I was able to proceed through divorce in a court of mediation. I knew that I needed help and I am extremely thankful for a person I met who eventually would be somebody that I call both my best friend and my wife. She saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. She loved me when I couldn’t love myself and she knew I needed help. I couldn’t admit to her that I was an alcoholic and that I was addicted to pills, but she knew in her heart. So did I.
If you were to fast forward through the next 12 months, what you would have seen is what some people would consider to be insanity. Sobriety, mixed with emotional volatility, mixed with amazing life events followed shortly after by relapses. When in active addiction, pills and booze now made my thinking extremely self-destructive. What worked to cure my anxiety was now walking me down a similar path as my father. The final days before I entered rehab were spent alone, in a hotel room, drinking, and sleeping on a tear drenched pillow. I was angry and I was tired. I had hit my bottom. I was ready and was willing to do whatever it took to get to the other side of addiction. My sister came to me and while I was spewing on and on about everybody and everything that had done me wrong, she said what nobody else could say to me. In a gentle voice, she said, “Steve, you need help.” I began to cry tears that had been building in me since my father’s death. It was as if the floodgates had been lifted and my emotions poured out, all at once. At that point, I admitted complete defeat- I had no fight left in me.
Three days later, my wife Melissa and I were on our way to Hazelden Betty Ford. I wasn’t sure if I would be employed when I got back and, at that point, it didn’t matter. My life was and my marriage was on the line- Melissa was 4 months pregnant and I had 2 stepdaughters and a son. I had family on the line and I was tired of losing. The next 28 days were the first steps that I took towards sobriety. I spent 3 days in the medical ward in a hard detox for the pills, 7 more under close medical supervision while beginning the in-patient treatment. I began to live again and I’ve never felt as alive as I do today. I am forever grateful.
Sharing this story in public was something I would never want to do. I didn’t want to be known as a failure or perceived as weak in the eyes of my peers. What I’ve found, rather, is that there is strength in sharing. The more I’ve been able to talk with people in the business community, the more they open up with me about their own struggles. Being vulnerable is a scary thing. I want to make that less scary for people. Without those close to me and those around me in treatment, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to heal.
I wish not to close that portion of my life, but rather, to move on. I want my recovery and healing to help others. To do that, I need to focus on today and what’s in front of me. I have been provided with the opportunity to live a very fulfilling life.
Today, my son Theo is 9 months old. Today, my children know me to be a good man, a good father and somebody who enjoys dance parties around the dinner table. I offer my time to speak at Hazelden Betty Ford to the newcomers in the auditorium, as well as other rehabilitation facilities. When I look out in the audience, I see myself.
My name is Steve and I am UNCrushed.
