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If I stood in front of you and told you that I’ve been sober for a year. Would you clap?
Would you applaud me for my accomplishments? Would you get me the most bedazzled cake after 365 days of sobriety?
Probably.
Now, what if I told you that I have been sober for 72 hours, 72 of the most gut-wrenching hours, where I watched the hour hand slowly tick by? Sometimes, swearing to God that it was going backwards, not forwards, because why the hell would the universe punish me more when all I wanted to do was get sober?
What if I told you that I had contemplated exiting four times in 72 hours?
I’ve picked up my demon and seriously searched for my will to live so many times this past 72 hours, but I didn’t.
I didn’t give in to the temptation of being numb.
What if I did this alone while having tears of pain stream down my face, and no one was there to give me even a sliver of cake?
Would you cheer me on then? I doubt it.
What if I told you that day 365 was nothing?
I didn’t want a cake.
But day three of those 72 hours of gut-wrenching horror was the hardest day.
Day three was the day I needed someone to get me a cake.
Actually, what I needed was someone to stop and say, “Hey, what do you need?”
My God, what I would have given to just have one person stop staring at me like I was some worthless junkie who didn’t even deserve a second of your time.
Somewhere along the way, someone has told you that until you’ve made it 365 days of sobriety, there is no celebrating.
But what if that method doesn’t work for you?
What if you are your higher power?
What day would you eat the cake?
Correct me if I’m wrong, but if you ask an addict—whether that addict be active, recovering, newly sober, 17 years sober, or five minutes sober—they would tell you that all they needed was for someone to listen to them without judgment.
Someone who sees them, hears them and provides them with exactly what they need.
I bet if us “addicts” were given the chance to be seen every step of the way through our journey, we could change the lives of so many more individuals who are suffering in silence.
By sharing our stories and bringing light to the darkness.
The only way to battle the war on drugs, homelessness, and mental health struggles is to fight it head-on. Bring awareness to these crises, bring awareness to the darkness that is robbing our youth of the beauty this world has to offer.
What better people to raise awareness of the dark side of addiction than the ones who have truly lived through it all?
Our community needs to give us “drug addicts” a chance, a chance to see the beauty again, a chance to have stability, consistency and purpose—a chance to be members of this community.
Our community needs to recognize the strength of the individuals who are fighting battles in silence that everyone shames.
Amanda Mead
Squamish
