In recovery they say that an alcoholic or drug addict will hit rock bottom before admitting they have a problem. Rock bottom is what wakes us up when we hit the floor. I think the same holds true for any hurt, habit or hang up.
The sad part about hitting rock bottom is that in this particular battle, when we arrive at this point, the troops have usually bugged out and we’re sitting alone in the trenches facing the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.
I was a one-woman battalion for what seemed to be a life time. I hit rock bottom in March of 1996. I was what professionals call a “functioning addict.” I didn’t abuse drugs and alcohol to get high. I abused them to stay normal – subdued. There were years of chaos and trauma that required suppression. I switched between addictions – drugs to alcohol – and back. Inside my heart and mind, I was a landmine just waiting to detonate.
No one knew about the abuse, but they certainly knew that there was something amiss. My behaviour and my perpetual melancholic disposition were battle scars that were impossible to hide. Instead of a cluster of stars I wore a badge that read, “Handle with Care.”
I was completely self-absorbed and my night vision goggles didn’t function well in the light of day. I remember that day as if it was yesterday – March 17, 1996. I walked into the office of my company’s Employee’s Assistance Program manager. I don’t think she could have ever prepared herself for the words that came out of my mouth when I entered her office: “If you can’t help me right now, I’m going to go home and kill myself.”
One hour later: Imagine the sound of an iron gate dividing a long, marble floored corridor slamming behind you as you are being confined to the Crises Unit at the local mental hospital. It was still all about me. I remembered a promise I had made to God about a year earlier and wondered if this was my punishment for breaking it. I was laying on a gurney in the ER room watching the nurses slide a board under the mattress of my bed. I watched the doctor lift the paddles and prepare to shock me as I tilted my head in that surreal moment, I noticed that my heart rate was reading over 200 beats per minute. I prayed, “God, if you get me out of this, I’ll never do drugs again.” He got me out of it. I reneged on my promise. Now, here I was – a year later - this time sitting on the edge of a hospital bed wondering wasn’t that rock bottom enough? Did I really feel the need to outdo myself? I wanted to make another promise but I had broken so many – I had a lot of nerve, just not enough to make the commitment. I didn’t really think He was talking to me any more anyway.
What would my children think? What would my ex-husband think? What would my friends and my employer think? What would my enemies think? I felt as if my skin had been peeled off my body. I was completely exposed and there was no turning back now, even if I wanted to. The iron gate was locked.
Sometimes when you think you’re at your bottom, you’ve only begun to scratch the surface. The battle continues in tomorrow’s post.
“In Him, we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of Him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of His will,” (Eph 1:11).
