A lot has happened over the last few years it seems, and the stretch of decades seem like one period of drugs and drama after another. Only with an impartial look at the past have I correlated the drugs with the drama, and seen my hand definitively creating much of the chaos. As I have begun to integrate myself into one, I have also been able to separate myself from that tenebrous addict that dwells within, and see firsthand the damage that it has done.

I distinctly remember during inpatient rehab feeling a deep, dark part of me pulling away, and with it came the realization that I needed not 'rehabilitation,' as this implies a return to a previous state of functioning. I needed habilitation, as I never really learned how to live, to behave in society, as I started drinking and drugging in my eleventh year of life. After I left inpatient, I felt like a rabid, feral animal, and I wanted no one to touch me, as it felt like I was a bundle of raw nerve. Even now, I feel myself shy away from the gentlest of human touch, avoiding the most basic of human connection.

When my son was born, almost a year prior to my first treatment experience, I did a plethora of research on child development. In those early months, I would read to him while breastfeeding, and I learned much information on the importance of love, affection and interaction in infants and children. Although I have never been an affectionate person, I have given my son unrestrained love, and showered him with affection, and he is now a very affectionate and loving four year old that never shies away from taking my hand, hugging me, or even jumping on my back so that I can give him a piggyback ride. I have discovered that his primary language is physical touch, and this is how he communicates much of what he is thinking and feeling. It is amazing that an adult, one who has been to hell and came out stronger, has learned so much from the little boy that was so graciously given to me from God.

In this gift, I have come to believe that God can restore me to sanity, that I am not infallible as I had always believed, and I see His hand in everything that has happened. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, and that first step is one I know well: that I am powerless, and that my life, indeed I, am unmanageable.