December, 2014 was a Christmas I will never forget and one which has ultimately changed the direction of my life forever. I never believed in the power that one choice could have until a domino effect beginning from a drunken episode turned into a nightmare that eventually became a gift in this addict’s once meaningless life. I can see now how even a big mistake can have positive consequences. I was adopted when I was six years old at a time when my biological parents had already gone their separate ways. For a time I was living with my grandmother Louise on my father’s side, who at the time lived in Colorado Springs. It was only years later when I dug through legal documents detailing the complex details behind my birth parent’s relationship that I came to understand why everything happened the way that it did and how these events shaped my life early on.

I was born in Medford, Oregon September, 1993 and was only two months old before my father Robert managed to win custody of me from my mother who at that point was a drug addict with a lengthy criminal record. What happened and who did what exactly can only be narrowed down by court documents from many years ago but depending on who you ask, the details of their story and how everything transpired would likely vary greatly. I lived with Louise for a couple of years before she became too ill to care for me any longer at which point I was put up for adoption.

I remember how scared I was that my grandmother whom I adored and was the closest thing to a mother that I had known fell ill. She was at least in her sixties with failing health but I remember her as the kindest, purest soul on the planet. A devout Catholic who attended church three days each week. I remember for a period of time afterwards going into a temporary home with a very loving family that introduced me to video games and neighborhood friends sometime after grandma’s health crisis took place and became bonded with the other children who lived there. I don’t remember how long I lived with these people but in the mind of a young boy, it seemed like it could have been anywhere from a few months to a year roughly.

For reasons unknown they also put me up for adoption and a short time later, I was adopted by an elderly couple in their fifties, Dan and Kerry. These were the parents who ended up raising me. They gave me a life I could never have had with either of my biological parents, Robert and Mary. I should also mention that Mary had two daughters; one she named Molly and then a younger sister Jenna. Molly is four years older than me and Victoria is our younger sister, probably in her mid twenties as I write this. I am the only male sibling out of the three of us. Dan and Kerry took me to church and preschool, where I met my childhood best friend Zack. Zack and I became and stayed friends through high school until we eventually lost touch, but we had many good times together. From an early age I wanted to know who my birth mother was so my parents set out to find her and eventually around ten years old I met her for the first time. I remember she was smoking cigarettes and looked very roughed up with crazy hair. Even at my young age I could pick up on the fact that this person must be on a dark path and was not in a healthy state of mind. Everything from her tone of voice to her appearance and mannerisms conveyed the state of being a lost soul. It would be at least a decade before I would find out that at the time of meeting Mary, she was high on drugs and not in her right mind.

Over the years I kept in touch with my mother through letters and phone calls. Eventually her life seemed to get gradually better as she would get into a new relationship and seem to have her life together again. Mom did not know where Jenna was and had put in considerable time and effort to locate her, even hiring a private detective to find her. Keith, Jennna’s biological father was granted custody of his daughter early on and took her away from our mother. At some point I met my older sister Molly and we kindled a strong friendship where we would become connected on facebook and talk on the phone almost nightly. We had a few things in common and I came to really care about Molly as a sister and a friend.

One night early in my high school years I received a phone call from my sister telling me that our mom had been arrested for drugs. Supposedly she had decided to take a ride with a friend of hers who according to Mary, had drugs in the passenger’s side of the car that she didn’t know about. They ended up getting pulled over by the police and both women were arrested. The result of this was that my mom went to prison for a few years which obviously devastated both my sister and I. It wouldn’t be until I was around twenty-one or so that she would be released and Molly and I eagerly monitored our mother’s status through the prison website, excited to get the news that she would be free once again!

A day came when our mother Mary was released and we were both overjoyed to each receive a phone call from her, letting us know about her conditions for release and parole. As one might imagine phone calls between the three of us increased in frequency as we did some much needed catching up and re-establishing a connection. Then some incredible news came; our sister Jenna was found through mom’s hired private detective and we were able to reconnect with her again after so many years of searching. For a time everything seemed to be going as well as it could have.

I can’t remember whose idea it was but someone-either myself or my mother suggested she come to visit me during Christmas of 2014. So preparations were made and a date was set for mom to come visit me at my parent’s house. It was surreal for me, like an impossible dream finally materializing into reality. It was supposed to be a joyous occasion. A major highlight of my life that I would remember forever, but unfortunately I would ruin everything as an incident would occur that would be the beginning stages of a drug and alcohol addiction of my own taking place. Essentially setting the stage for a journey of pain that would also be a path of growth.

I was around twenty-two years old in 2014 and had enjoyed being legally able to drink. I do not know at what point it became a problem for me but as I look back it seems more obvious to me that I had a thirst for poison that was very different from what most experience. I used to mix different beers, vodkas juices and sodas drinking in my parent’s basement. I would become sick, wait for a few minutes for the symptoms of nausea to pass and then repeat the process again after vomiting. I chased and craved the feeling of being drunk. It did not ever seem to last as long as I wanted so I would continue.

Mother Mary arrived in Colorado sometime in early December and my parents and I picked her up from the airport. Anticipation and nervousness was at an all-time high but the mood quickly shifted back to excitement as we continued to express our happiness at being reunited again. Over the next few days, I drove my mom to some of my favorite places including a record store called Independent Records and then on one particular day, decided to treat her to lunch at my favorite restaurant called BJ’s, a big pizza joint with a wide variety of food options. One of my favorites being their deep dish Chicago Pizza, which I ordered often.

I remember ordering my usual pizza with a Long island Iced Tea. She ordered a non-alcoholic tea with her meal. As the meal progressed, I slurped down one Long island Iced Tea after another. By the time I started drinking the third one I was already feeling fuzzy and disoriented. Words started coming out of my mouth and I felt so energetic. Then I remember hearing my mom cry. Then I remember coming up short on money and not being able to pay for our meal and finally I remember my parents coming to pick us up. It all happened so quickly. It was like clips from a film with large segments of time missing in between. I had no understanding of what happened in between each “clip”. Sometime later that night, I remember waking up on my bed in my parent’s basement, hearing them talk about what happened in the kitchen above. Meanwhile, I could hear my mother in the backyard sobbing with her back turned towards me as she stared at the fence while I was looking outside of the basement window facing the backyard. I remember laying there more nervous than I had ever been in my entire life!

Scary as it was I knew I had to keep listening to the conversation upstairs to try and get some clues as to what had happened and what I had just done. I remember wanting to sneak out of the house without being seen or heard and never address any of it. I didn’t know what had happened but I knew it wasn’t good at all. Never in my life had I wanted to be someone else, somewhere else doing something else than at that point in time! Of course I could only postpone the inevitable confrontation for so long as eventually they would come down to have a conversation with me, so I did the only thing I knew what to do which was pretend to be asleep.

After being shaken I realized I could not effectively keep up the ruse, so I opened my eyes not quite ready or willing to face the nightmare I had just created for myself. I don’t remember everything that happened that night. I do remember apologizing more than I’ve ever apologized for anything in my entire life. I remember my mother being inconsolable and not knowing what to say or do. She was originally supposed to stay for another week but in light of this incident, she packed up and made arrangements to fly back to Texas the following day. She requested very strongly that I not come with my parents to the airport to drop her off. I also remember before she left having the most uncomfortable conversation of my life between my mom, my parents and myself where I lost control and harmed myself with a razor blade in front of them. Predictably everything continued to go downhill from there.

In the days that followed I would find out that I went off on a rant at my mother for not being there for me throughout my life, talking about how she had missed my high school graduation.

Any relapses I’ve had with the exception of one were with drugs and not alcohol. In February of 2015, I crossed paths with someone in the neighborhood I grew up in that I didn’t know very well but had met in childhood through mutual friends in early adolescence. It took a few minutes of conversation to connect the dots and realize that we knew each other from years ago from having hung out with some of the same people. This person named Chris was a heroin addict and offered me a chance to try a shot of the drug for free. I tried it and was instantly hooked and wanted more. From that day I started hanging out with Chris and met some of his friends who introduced me to other drugs and eventually I became a meth addict and came to prefer meth over any other drug. I did not care for drinking much though, even when it was offered during the few years I was on drugs.

After heavy pressure from my adoptive mom Kerry to start attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings, I begrudgingly caved knowing that the price to pay for non-compliance would be very heavy. I ended up going to rehab twice; once in Orange Country, California and a second time in Ventnor, New Jersey. Eventually I started making friends in the rooms of NA but was not fully ready to quit my habit. I went through periods of sobriety. Sometimes a week or a couple of weeks but it took time for me to commit.

My life has changed considerably for the better over the years but I have never been able to repair my relationship with my mother or either of my sisters, especially my older sister. A few days after the incident I nervously messaged my sister Molly on facebook intuitively knowing she had almost certainly heard about what had happened and she went off on me before blocking me and we haven’t had any communication since that time. I’ve had periods of time here or there when I would begin to repair the damage done with my mother, but my resentment towards her for telling my sister about what happened has never gone away and the pain that I’ve felt after experiencing that rejection feels impossible to overcome or accept. The shame and the guilt I felt from what I had done was so immense. I didn’t need Molly’s forgiveness I just wanted her to at least listen to what I had to say so I could have a chance to express my regret but was never even afforded that. It felt like the greatest betrayal of my life that someone who I thought cared about me could so suddenly drop me like a bad habit with such apparent ease.

Each attempt I have made to make amends with my mother has ended in disaster because my own anger is so intense that I can’t seem to go more than a couple of days without insulting her or swearing at her out of anger. I am deeply conflicted about this relationship; on one hand I love my mother and want to be close again on the other my wounds from the past are deep and I want reconciliation that is satisfactory to me, which would include my sister becoming willing to talk to me again and admit that it was not helpful to pick or choose sides when she was not there at the time of my drunken tirade.

Molly’s relationship with our mother is very different from my own. She had more opportunities and more time and overall more communication with Mary than I ever did. They are very close. I feel like it is a “special club” in which I will never belong or be invited or accepted into. I hope one day I can let go of my resentment and find a way to move on from the sadness associated with these broken connections.That maybe one day I can find forgiveness in my heart and have enough strength to see my part in everything without focusing only on the faults of others. In that sense I feel like I see a piece of my mother inside of myself. Now and again my mind tends to wander towards the past. About the disaster I created and how it will never be fixed. More recently I’ve shifted my focus to being grateful about the before times, when everything was fine. To be grateful for what was rather than to stay stuck in never ending grief. I suppose that is the only silver lining in direct relation to my mistake. However, my journey into addiction has lead to me changing my life completely and has put me on a path of success!