NOT ME. FROM THE USA. I am one month short of being 29 years Clean.
Twenty-eight years ago the worst thing about me was that I couldn’t stop using drugs—and stay stopped. My DOC was cocaine, but I was a garbage head; I would partake in whatever was going around, especially if it was free. As a reasonably attractive, thirty-something woman whose motto was I work hard so I deserve to party hardy, drugs were easy to come by. And alcohol, being legal, was the socially acceptable, standby attitude adjuster.I had known for many years that I was addicted to drugs, but I wasn’t ready to do anything about it until my family was forced apart, police and social services were meddling in my affairs, and I was worried about losing my two children. At first, even this was insufficient to cause a change in my behavior. However, within a short time I found myself alone, locked in my master bathroom, free-basing, and not enjoying it at all. In fact, all I could do was cry! This was the beginning of the end for me.My previous attempts at staying clean, usually prompted by severe sickness or humiliation of some sort, always ended with me convincing myself that because I stopped for a period of time and because I had a good job, a nice home and car, I was now in control. Or I’d get drunk, think about using, and go get high. Even though I wasn’t ready to admit I was an alcoholic, I had the desire to stop drinking in order to stay away from my DOC. This was good news when I walked into my first AA meeting; it meant I belonged even though I was uncertain if I was an alcoholic.