I would like to release you from your guilt and thank you for never giving up on me. I want you to understand that my choices had nothing to do with you. I did not care how you felt and I did not even think of you as I pushed drugs into my veins, you were not a second thought or even a third thought for that matter. My addiction was about me there was no room for you or anyone else in my addiction. Considering your feelings would have been like shooting water in my veins.

You are my Mom and I didn’t care about how my drug use made you feel. I know it hurt you and I still did it. I did it because it was about my life’s journey and me; it was my chosen path to dealing with my pain in life. I was not dealing with pain inflicted by you, so how could it be about you. You might ask, “What could I have done?” The simple answer is nothing, you did what was expected of you, and you did what most mothers do not have the strength to do. You stood back and let me use, you let me live, and you let me control my own destiny and most importantly you loved me…the real me, the addict in me and I never questioned your love.

You are one of the lucky Moms; I have lived to write my story. I have chosen to be the cause of my life and not the effect of it. I am going to live through my addiction in spite of what my daily cravings tell me. It took the death of Alisa for me to start thinking about you and after her death and seeing the pain and sadness that is still in your eyes today. I started thinking about you. I could not let my addiction, my selfish need for a higher state of consciousness be the cause of more pain in your eyes. I could not selfishly usher you to the gravesite of another one of your children, if I am to die, let it not be because I never considered your feelings and how my actions affect your life.

You are my mom and I love you! Your heart is now safe from my inevitable self-destruction.

I remember the first time I shot-up like it was yesterday. My nose was sore from snorting and I was not ready for the party to end. I had a friend that I knew who was already shooting up, so I called him and asked him to teach me how to do it correctly. At the time, he was my only other friend that was using I.V. drugs and he was more than happy to have a “partner in crime.” We would sneak off together and do a shot of meth, while hiding in a closet or bathroom just far enough from the prying eyes of our friends that would have shunned us for such a street-level choice.

I soon learned that my skills as a veterinary technician were going to be most beneficial to both of us. We lived in a shirtless, hardly- clothed environment in Florida and had several friends that would catch on quickly if there were not a certain level of skill involved in our hitting of the veins. My friend was impressed with my skills as a meth nurse and I explained how hard it was to hit the back leg vein of a cat. My vet skills transferred nicely to my becoming a master at finding an accurate hit on our comparatively enormous human veins.

I do remember one time going too low on my own arm and blowing a vein. The result of my missed hit was the most interesting bruise I have ever seen on an arm. Luckily, I was gay and the bruise was explained away as a mishap with a candleholder. I know, lame excuse right? I told my friends that I fell and one of the hurricane candleholders in my house stabbed me. They bought it hook, line and sinker…I think? At the time, it was good for some sympathy. Now it is only good for a laugh, a bit of self-reflection and an “Oh my!” - I was such a “crack head.”

To me shooting up was such a cleaner and longer-lasting high. I remember in certain social settings I would be offered a “bump” (drug term meaning a dose) and I would cringe at the awful burning sensation that was about to consume my nose. I never found a classy way to ask the person if I could take the bump in the bathroom and shoot it up. So, I would snort the bump off the end of a pen cap or, if I was partying with the “high- class set” the bump would be delivered off the end of a specially made bottle with an attached spoon.

I became such a snob about snorting meth. I had convinced myself that shooting-up was the only, and best, way to do meth. People who snorted it were in some way wasting a good hit. It was helpful to my psyche to feel superior in my delivery choice and, let’s be honest, that is the only difference. We were all drug addicts. Shooting up drugs has been labeled the lowest of the low in the drug world. Now for the truth, whether a smoker, shooter, or a snorter, a drug user is a drug user regardless of the delivery method. The delivery method is just a personal choice of how you choose to poison your body.

I live in Mineral Point, Wisconsin a town of 2600 and I was moved here kicking and screaming. I never understood the allure of a small town and I was sure that living here was going to be torture at its finest. My partner (Jason) grew up in a small town in the Midwest and after living in Florida and then moving to Madison, he found Mineral Point and decided that he/we had to live here. I was not interested. He would come home from a day trip, touting how magical a town Mineral Point was and how great living in a small town would be. All I could think of was, “Not on your life! Where would I shop?”
 
If I had only known then just how big of a role this small town and the people in it would play in my sobriety, I would have moved here years ago. I found in Mineral Point some of the best and most genuine friends I have ever had in my life. Keith Huie, Sandy Scott, Judy Sutcliffe, Tom and Kathie Kelly, Julia Dailey, Justin and Jessie Potterton, Cierra Wallace, Kendall and Stuart Brokopp, Ken and Geralyn Wallace and the entire Red Rooster breakfast gang are just a handful of the people that have truly made a difference in my life.
 
I worried about confessing my addiction to people that in my eyes might not be able to understand my struggle. I worried that I would become the subject of town gossip and be labeled as “city trash” bringing city problems to our small town. I soon learned that everyone became the subject of town gossip and it was very much an equal opportunity gossip mill. The gossip mill didn’t care whether you were a drug addict, the town tramp, or just the person that did not keep a tidy yard; you were going to be gossiped about and subject to the occasional glance of disapproval.
 
My normal routine of waking up and doing an injection of meth was soon replaced by breakfast and hearty conversations at the Red Rooster Café with a group of people that had no idea that they were getting me through the most difficult two hours of my day. I found solitude in my interactions with the disarming morning breakfast gang and soon began to look forward to seeing them… and being at the epicenter of the town gossip mill. I got all the dirt on the happenings in town and, most importantly, I got through the cravings, not by sitting in rehab, but by being surrounded by what I consider to be the greatest asset of Mineral Point – its residents.

In this small town that I once thought of as the ultimate end to my ability to be labeled a city guy, I found refuge from what ailed me the most, a fight with drug use that had already consumed more than half my life. Who would have thought in a town of 2600 people that so many of them would not only take interest in my journey, they were more than happy to become a part of my journey in the most loving and sincere manner possible, and became a part of my chosen family.

I am coming up on five years of sobriety and I just wanted to acknowledge the small town of Mineral Point, my home, and the unknowing battle ground for my recovery. Thank you for embracing me and helping me to find a place to call home.

When I say I offer no judgment on people that are currently using…I am simply saying that harsh judgment and ridicule have no place in the journey to rehabilitation. Being a drug addict can be an overwhelming admission and fear of judgment can often times lead people to hide behind their addictions and not seek help. The most feared addict should be the one hiding in the closet doing drugs or the one found dead with a needle in his arm and a tourniquet laying next to his body being viewed by a shocked family that didn’t know their beloved family member was a user.

Some people preach that admitting you are an addict is the first step. In some cases, that is true, but to who are you admitting your addiction to and does this person have the tools to hear it, accept it and move forward into truly being a loving and supportive role player in the process of your rehabilitation. I caution, choose wisely the receiver of your admission, some people are not cut out to be a part of your journey.  

Rehabilitation is about the realization that your time has come, you are at a cross roads in life, you have to decide if your drug use has gone beyond the party and has now become a way of life. In most cases, the recreational user becomes the daily user and the daily user is begging to become a statistic. I will be the first to admit that I had a blast doing drugs and in most cases I was still having a blast when I quit doing drugs. I did not quit because I hit rock bottom, I quit because it was time for me to move forward in my journey.

Recovery is about what you can become and not what you currently are…there is light at the end of the tunnel.