User:SiouxieBushman692
An Owl’s Nest Recovery Community Message of Hope
I used to joke that alcohol abuse is when you spill your drink. Or that an alcohol problem is when you run out. A friend of mine in high school used to laugh at the AA meeting held in the basement of our church and he would say as we walked by the room, waving his hands wildly in the air, “I can’t control my drinking!” We didn’t think it could be as serious of a problem that you couldn’t stop drinking.
There are many times while in active addiction that I thought I had lost everything. I had hit rock bottom. Heck, toward the end I had to jump up to touch bottom. All of my problems, however, were of my own making. I had brushes with the law and had been arrested. I had to hire lawyers. I spent time in jail. I didn’t have an alcohol problem. I had a “Me” problem with an alcohol solution. A few instances stand-out in particular and in hindsight I should have noticed that my using was not “normal” by today’s standards; whoever makes that distinction.
I went through my drug phase but always had problems when I drank. I would finish the treatment program and think this time would be different, but inevitably I’d relapse. After some persuasion I would try to get sober again, but I would end up drinking shortly after getting some clean time. I would stay sober for a few weeks or a few months, but that was all. My desire to stay sober would give way to my desire to drink. It was a classic case of the angel and the devil perched on each shoulder, trying to convince me to do things their way. I would always give in to my addictive thinking and my mental obsession to drink and tell myself that this time was going to be different.
Fast forward fifteen years and seven rehabs later and I find myself in a completely different mind-set and approach to sober living. I became a resident of the Owl’s Nest Recovery Community in Florence, SC and things started to change in my life. Prior to my arrival at the Owl’s Nest Recovery Community, alcohol completely ruled every aspect of my life. I was homeless for years and had lost everything. I didn’t care about anything but my drinking – not my appearance, my family, having a job or a roof over my head. I didn’t have a license or a car. I didn’t have a bank account or anything to show for it but the clothes on my back and a few shopping bags of dirty clothes. I resisted all attempts at help and didn’t give a damn if I lived or died. I wasn’t living on the street; I was dying on the street.
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