It Isn’t Easy, But It’s Possible.

I was an awkward, shy teen. I had always been told everyone is good at different things, but as far as I could tell, I wasn’t good at anything. Schoolwork was tedious and confusing. Physical activities such as sports were embarrassing. I had some friends, but I never really felt that intimate connection that comes from true camaraderie. It was also about that time that I became very interested in girls; it didn’t help that every time I tried to talk to one my throat would close up.

I felt as though I needed something to help me unwind. So when a friend of mine suggested that we “borrow” a couple of beers from his dad, I was ready to oblige.

Drinking seemed to make everything else make sense. When I had alcohol in my system, my awkwardness appeared to evaporate. I found I could make other people laugh, and they actually seemed to enjoy being around me—but only when there was drinking involved. So I made drinking a way of life. And although my grades continued to plummet, I did manage to graduate high school (barely).

But as I grew a little older, I found that things were changing. Now, when I would drink, it wouldn’t be while I was surrounded by friends who seemed to be having a good time; it was generally while I was alone. I was working at a call center, and the first thing I would do when I got home was grab a drink and try to relax. The problem was I eventually got to the point where I couldn’t relax unless I had a beer in my hand. I started sneaking alcohol into my lunch at work. I knew I had a problem, but I was sure I could handle it myself. “Just one more day, and then I’ll make a change and set everything right.”

But that day didn’t come.

The day that did come was the one when one of my coworkers noticed alcohol on my breath and told my supervisor.

I found myself without any steady income. I’d work odd jobs just so I could get money for more booze. For a while, I was with a woman who had struggles of her own, and through her I began experimenting with other drugs.

Within a few years, I had stopped working at all. Any money I got would go directly toward alcohol, pot, or methamphetamines. I was wasting away, and in my brief moments of clarity, I began to look forward to finally coming to the end of it all.

It was my sister who saved my life. She is two years older than me, and we’d always been best friends as children. Somehow, despite the fact that I’d cut off all communication with my family, she tracked me down to my crummy little basement apartment. She told me how much she loved me and how worried she was about me. She and her husband invited me to come and live with them. They told me they would help me get back on my feet—but I would have to promise to give up the drugs and alcohol.

I’m glad she found me when she did. I had no more pride, nothing to lose. To me, my sister looked like an angel come from heaven.

But the promise I made to her was something I just couldn’t keep. Within a few days, I began to slack off on my job search and started spending all my time (and the money my sister had given me) getting back into my old habits. My sister wasn’t stupid; she wanted to believe the elaborate lies I concocted to explain my actions, but she knew what was really going on. So she gave me an ultimatum: “Either go to drug rehab and get clean, or go back to the gutter.”

It may sound harsh, but it was what I needed to hear. My sister, who had never given up on me, was telling me she had reached her limit; she wouldn’t enable me anymore.

It awoke something in me. For the first time in years, I felt a desire that had nothing to do with getting drunk or high; at that moment, the only thing I wanted was to make my sister proud of me.

My road to recovery was not an easy one. Some of the hardest hours of my life were spent in agonizing withdrawal at the rehab center, but through it all I had the love of my sister and the other members of my family to keep me going. Rehab broke me down to nothing, and then, slowly but surely, it began to build me back up.

I’ve been clean and sober now for over a decade. I have since gone back to school, where I met a lovely woman who, despite my defects, was willing to take my hand in marriage. I now divide my time between her, my job as a substance abuse counselor, and my contributions to Drugrehab.org.

Even years later, I still can’t say I’m cured of my addiction; I’m not sure many recovered addicts can. The truth is, I will probably always have that desire to return to the chemicals that nearly destroyed me. But, with the help of loved ones, I have learned to conquer those urges. I have found hope, healing, and recovery. It isn’t easy, but I am living proof that it is possible.

Hyrum Taffer is a drug counselor and freelance writer working with http://www.drugrehab.org. Through his personal experience (and a lot of research), Hyrum hopes others can benefit from his writing.