Drugs of choice: I fear that you are on the verge of claiming another victim that I love. Although I have most often witnessed the death, destruction and mayhem brought about by alcoholism, the attributes of addiction can be seen across the wide array of substance abuse options – methamphetamine, heroin, cocaine and the rest.
Each person seems to get pulled into the vortex of the substance(s) most attractive to them. Addiction is like a heat-seeking missile, quickly zeroing in on the individual’s “drug of choice” which will inflict the most potent brand of harm.
After the seduction, there’s usually a honeymoon…a time to enjoy the good feelings from that drug of choice. At first, there are relatively few repercussions. Then comes a tipping point, followed by a slow but inevitable decline, often measured in years. As the downward spiral accelerates, the pattern becomes more and more difficult to break, except by some combination of happenstance, luck, grace or divine intervention.
Sometimes the addict has a clear recollection of that tipping point—the very first time he or she experienced the truly magical quality of the substance. Somehow it can make everything better—banishing all the pain and fear and wrapping a warm blanket around the shivering, suffering soul.
My mother, who had 35 years of sobriety when she died, told me about the exact moment when alcohol addiction established a beachhead in her being. Fifteen years would pass from that point until the day she quit drinking.
She had just undergone the experience of having a premature baby, my little brother Richard, on September 7, 1957. He lived for a few hours, and my heartbroken parents laid him to rest in a cemetery near the hospital where he died, in Charleston, West Virginia.
About a week later, Mom was alone one evening, buffeted by thoughts and grief beyond my ability to imagine. A neighbor stopped by to see how she was doing and invited her to come over for a drink. She accepted, and afterward she felt better. Mission accomplished, addiction launched.
Her disease grew, but very slowly – like cancer or a staph infection, feeding itself in a secret hideaway. That helpful quality of alcohol—easing pain, soothing worries—eventually became a clenched fist to trap her. She was in its grip and doing its bidding, until one day when the chokehold broke momentarily. She woke up in her car and didn’t remember how she got to where she was—on the side of a narrow winding road overlooking the Delaware River. The self that was able to recognize what had happened was horrified, and the shock broke the grip of addiction just long enough for her to run for her life.
It is unfortunate that many addicts must undergo such an experience. They must choose to stop using or die. It is even more unfortunate that for some, dying feels like a better choice than stopping. The disease is that strong.
In many 12-step meetings, the group “takes a moment” near the beginning of each meeting—a moment of silence for all those who are still suffering.
Pausing in prayer and reflection feels right to me now, after too many years of feeling that helpless rage and frustration simmering like lava in my chest. Not giving up, not walking away in anger and disappointment, just taking a moment. This moment is for you—the loved one I see clearly in my mind’s eye but do not name.
