Sober Since
Seventeen
By: Jan P., Little Rock,
Arkansas
When
people find out that I got sober at 17 and have been continuously
sober for 15 years, they can hardly believe it. Some people even
wonder how a 17-year-old girl could possibly have the kind of
alcohol or drug problem that would require sobriety. Well, let me
tell you...lots do.
I
got high for the first time when I was 13. It was innocent enough;
a friend came by the house with a joint and some beer, and we did
it. For me, it was instant love. I had never felt that good in my
life. After that, I got high whenever I had the chance. It was as
simple as that. By the time I was 17, getting high was the most
important thing in my life.
The
funny thing is, I had a pretty good life. My parents were
divorced, and I seldom saw my father, but I had a decent
relationship with my mother. I had just about everything I
wanted--a car, nice clothes, spending money, etc. I even had a
boyfriend. So I don't think I was hiding from anything; I just
loved the feeling of being high.
During
my junior year in high school, I smoked pot on the way to school
every morning and during lunch every day. I smoked pot and drank
alcohol--at least a little bit--almost every night. Every once in
a while, I scored coke, speed, or ecstasy.
One
night, a guy had some coke, and he said he would share it with me
if I would get naked with him. I said, "Why not?" After
we did the coke, we had sex. It was so easy, and I didn't feel
guilty or remorseful or anything. Before I knew it, I was sleeping
with guys for drugs and money. I did not feel like a whore. I just
thought of it as the barter system.
I
turned up pregnant about a month into my senior year. I planned to
get an abortion, but I kept putting it off until it was too late.
I talked to a counselor at an adoption agency. She convinced me to
quit using alcohol and drugs until the baby was born. She didn't
put any pressure on me to do anything else.
I
told my mom about my situation when I was five months pregnant. To
my surprise, she didn't freak. In fact, once she quit crying and
blaming herself for being a bad mother, she said that she would
support me in whatever decision I made. That was the first time
that the idea of keeping and raising the baby crossed my mind. At
eight months, I decided to do that.
I
gave birth to Nikki on August 11, 1985. She was beautiful and
healthy. My mom and my friends rallied around me. They all came to
the hospital to see me and the baby. I felt happy. And one of the
reasons I felt happy was because I knew that I could start getting
high again. I decided not to breast feed for that reason. When we
got home from the hospital, though, I put off getting high for a
few days, even though pot and alcohol were both available. I
remember thinking that we needed to get settled before I started
using again. At first, I gave myself a couple of days. Then it
stretched into a week. Then two.
I
ventured out on my own for the first time when Nikki was 18 days
old. I went over to visit a friend who I knew beyond any doubt
would have some good smoke. Sure enough, after just a few minutes
of chit chat, she rolled one and fired it up. I hesitated for a
moment, but it was only a moment. I think I got stoned on the
first hit. As before, I loved it. We spent the rest of the
afternoon laughing and talking over beer and weed. I was flying
high. I almost forgot about Nikki.
I
got home about 10:00 PM. My mom was furious, and she let me have
it. For the first time in my life, I cursed at her and told her to
shut up. I stormed off to my room, and when I slammed the door
Nikki woke up and started crying. I picked her up and tried to
comfort her, but it didn't feel right. It's like, I couldn't hold
her right. I couldn't connect with her like I normally could. I
didn't have that warm, sweet feeling for her that I had grown to
love. I don't know how to explain it other than to say that it
just didn't feel right.
At
first I felt angry and impatient. Then I started crying. I called
my mom. She came in and took Nikki, and as soon as she did, Nikki
quit fussing and went back to sleep.
Mom
sat down beside me on my bed and put her arms around me. That's
when I really cried. Then we talked. We talked for three
solid hours. It was the first time we had ever talked like that or
connected in that way. I was surprised to learn that she knew a
lot more about me than I ever would have guessed. She knew about
my drinking and pot smoking, though not to its full extent. She
said that she had never confronted me about it because she lacked
the strength and confidence in herself to do that. She had,
however, studied up on teenage drinking and drug use, and she knew
a lot about it.
I
asked her what she thought I should do. She said that she thought
I should do one of two things: Either give Nikki up for adoption
and play out my wild streak, or keep her and become a responsible
parent. And the latter choice had no place for alcohol and drugs.
I knew immediately that she was right, and to my surprise, it was
an easy choice. I chose Nikki. I thank God for that decision.
I
reluctantly agreed to check out AA. I attended a few meetings, and
although I did not like it, I remained willing to go if that was
the only way to stay sober. Then I talked to an assistant pastor
at my mom's church. He knew about AA, and we talked about AA's
spirituality compared to the church's religion. He suggested that
I give the church a whirl, either in addition to AA or in place of
it. I chose the latter. And it turned out to be a good choice for
me.
I
didn't immerse myself in the church, but I did get involved. I
joined a couple of groups--one for young adults and another for
mothers, and I did some volunteer work. My faith in God grew
stronger. I met some terrific people, both young and older, none
of whom used drugs, and only a few of whom drank alcohol. I
started dating again. I got a part-time job. I studied for and
passed the high school equivalency exam. Then I attended trade
school, got a real job, and saved some money. My faith in God
continued to grow.
Just
after Nikki turned four, she and I moved out of Mom's house and
into our own apartment. I was 22 years old. I was a responsible
parent. I was a good mother.
Through
all of these life changes, I relied on God and the church for
guidance and support. When I got scared, I prayed and talked to
trustworthy people. When I thought about getting high, I prayed
and talked to the assistant pastor who had brought me into the
church. When I felt depressed or lonely, I increased my
involvement in volunteer work.
About
a year after Nikki and I struck out on our own, I met a wonderful
man on a church retreat. He was 27 and had been sober in AA for
two years. We married one year later. He showed me AA in a
different light than I had seen it at age 18. I gradually became
"a member" of AA. I took my first AA sobriety chip on
August 30, 1989, the fifth anniversary of the day that I made the
decision, sitting on the edge of my bed with my mom, to be a
responsible parent instead of a teenage alcoholic and drug addict.
So
now I'm 32. Nikki is 14. She has grown up with two sober parents
who love her dearly. To my knowledge, she does not use alcohol or
drugs. My husband and I still attend AA. All three of us are very
involved in the church. I truly love my life. I thank God every
day for my exceedingly good fortune, which I call faith.
For
me, AA and the church combine beautifully to give me the support I
need for sobriety and for spiritual growth and change. I have
heard other sober people say that they find the church
incompatible with and unsupportive of AA. I have found just the
opposite. A friend of mine summed it up nicely just the other day
when he smiled and said, "Well, I guess Truth is Truth,
regardless of where you hear it."
Jan
P.
|
