Honesty
The big lie some of us (the addicts, alcoholics, and problematic users) tell ourselves is that alcohol or drugs will make it all better. We hold a belief, whether it’s conscious or not, that substances will take away our pain and hurt. We act as if alcohol is some magical elixir, capable of pulling us out of whatever stuck place we’re in and transporting us to where we need to be.
In all honesty, these are the big lies my brain still tells me.
I reach for the lie, wishing I could pull it over me like a blanket.
I still have my baby blanket—I keep it close by, a comforting reminder of my childhood. Growing up, I called it my B. The vibrant pink color has faded now to a dusty gray. It is weathered and worn—covered in stains and holes—cut in half from when I wanted to bring it to my dad’s house. There was a time I couldn’t let it out of my sight.
When I was five or six years old, I bravely told my mom that I didn’t need B anymore, handing it to her and ordering her to get rid of it. I was growing up and big kids didn’t need blankets, only babies did. I marched off with my head held high, fully believing it was in my best interest to give up my baby blanket and grow up.
Later that same day, I ran into my mom’s room crying hysterically and wanting my B back. I needed my blanket and couldn’t sleep without it. My soul felt tied to it. Was it in a dump somewhere, strewn between banana peels and fish bones?! Was it gone forever? I couldn’t fathom the loss.
My mom shushed and calmed me, letting me know that she never planned on getting rid of it. She had placed it in a storage box for safekeeping. It would always be there whenever I needed it. I appreciated the sentiment but demanded B back, deciding then and there to never part with it again.
At the beginning of my adult life, alcohol and drugs took the role of my blanket. It’s scary to admit that at times I still don’t know how to part with them.
My addict brain tells me that anything and everything can be fixed with a fix, the way it once told me that nothing in the world could hurt me so long as my blanket was wrapped around me.
I know this is not the truth. I can see it for the loud lie it is but that doesn’t make it any quieter in my mind.
I understand what sobriety and recovery do for my life—what incredible, beautiful things they have already done for my life. I also understand what active addiction will do to me and where it will end. It should seem like an easy decision then, shouldn’t it?
But as I wade through the thick sludge between what my life was and what I want it to be, the peril of relapse haunts me.
I’m attempting, with these words, to be completely honest. To share all the vulnerable, ugly, shameful bits of me.
I am honestly scared, honestly worried I am not making any progress, and honestly embarrassed that I still believe in that big lie.
Maybe the louder I am about how difficult sobriety has been and still is, the quieter that lie will become, until eventually I can’t hear it all.