Welcome to Whiskey & Milk LLC! This is my first ever blog post so bear with me. My name is Adam Clarke, I'm 29 years old, and my sobriety date is 7/26/18.
A little over 4 years ago, I brought myself to a place where hope no longer existed. Happiness was but a thing of the past. The place where goals disappear, dreams come to die, and the place where every recovered alcoholic or addict I've ever met has had to reach before they could find recovery.
I had to find my "bottom."
For me, It was almost exactly 7 years from my first drunk and my first high, but the signs were there before I ever used a substance. As a child of divorce, with an alcoholic father who has yet to find a sufficient substitute, my childhood was laced with trauma however I got a uniquely split view of the world. My mom can best be described as "Betty Crocker." She cooked, she cleaned, she sewed, she baked, and most importantly she always made me feel loved. My father, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He cooked up schemes, cleaned out people's bank accounts, baked up half-cocked scams, sewed chaos wherever he went, and never made me feel as though I was enough.
Thankfully I did have some sense of stability because my mother was granted full custody, but that didn't stop my father from consistently adding trauma to the mix. He embezzled from my grandparent's business, cheated on my mom repeatedly, knocked up his secretary then proceeded to marry her 31 days after my parents divorce was finalized.
Chaos was ever present.
Countless nights I cried myself to sleep as I held onto my little brother. Crashes and clangs of toys being thrown, a metal pot hitting the wall, drowned out only by the screaming and cursing coming from downstairs.
I was sexually abused by a young boy in their house. Nothing about that house ever felt safe.
As I grew older, my father began to travel for work and the chaos slowed. I found healthy outlets, such as youth group, outdoor activities with friends, and making music. Life quieted down for a while. I excelled in school, did excellent on my ACT, and almost had a full ride to the University of Tennessee. My future looked bright from every angle.
My first night at UT I got blackout drunk. The second night there I blacked out again and smoked weed for the first time. That night ended with me falling asleep in a club, getting escorted back to my dorm, then with me puking down both sides of my lofted bed coating the wall and the floor. After a first experience like that, any normal person would come to the conclusion that maybe drinking and drugging isn't for them. Not me. I was off to the races. I may get into more of the "war stories" in future blogs but I'll give you the quick version here.
I failed out of UT that first semester with a 0.0 GPA because I couldn't make it to class. After coming clean to my parents about my behavior, I enrolled in Jackson State Community College where I proceeded to achieve a 0.0 GPA for the second semester in a row. Then for the third semester. Then I took out student loans to move back to Knoxville and attend community college there, but it turns out you have to actually apply for school if you want to be enrolled. So I partied on my loan money until my parents found out. Moved home again. Filled with shame and remorse, I offered many honest apologies followed by solemn oaths to change my behavior. Reluctantly my father helped me re-enroll in UT. With my new found resolution I felt ready to win this semester. I ended again with a whopping 0.0 GPA before dropping out, moving home again, and finding a job.
During this period of schooling I'd been kicked out my my Mom's house, then my Dad's house, then my grandparent's house because I simply could not stop using.
I began working as a server then a bartender for the next 4 years. During this time I had turned 21 so the bar became my regular hangout place. Over time I began to slowly add substances to the mix. If you can name it I've probably tried it and I've likely had an issue with it as well. It started with booze and weed. Then came the psychedelics, then the Adderall, then cocaine(which brought me to try meth unknowingly), then came the opiates. My Kryptonite.
One Saturday morning, I was hungover, working on no sleep, fighting the spins, and completely unsure how I was going to make it through this 12 hour shift. A coworker gave me my first hydrocodone and I was off to the races. My hangover was gone. All of the sudden I felt like a million bucks. It seemed innocent enough at first, What's one pill gonna hurt? It's a prescription. It came from the pharmacy.
Well one pill in the morning became one at morning and one at night. Then it became two for breakfast and two for dinner. Then it was two for breakfast, two for lunch, two for dinner. Then it became three each time and before I knew it, I was completely physically and psychologically addicted. One little pill became a $100 a day opiate addiction in a few short months. I reached a point where I couldn't go 8 hours without an opiate or I would begin to withdrawal.
The day came when my supply dried up. I was heavily connected in the drug world and usually found no problem sourcing what I "needed" but this day was different. Nobody had anything. Then it was two days in a row. Then on the third day one of my dealers offered me a hit of that "boy." I was ignorant. I had to ask what he meant.
HEROIN.
BLACK TAR. CHINA WHITE. THE ONE THING I TOLD MYSELF I WOULD NEVER DO.
BUT THE PAIN GOT ME.
THE WITHDRAWALS WERE TOO STRONG.
I bought $20 worth of H and snorted the tiniest bit. I wasn't sick anymore. Matter of fact, I felt like a million bucks. Better than I had felt in month. This right here was it. The solution I'd been searching for. I've been spending so much on pills but this $20 of H just lasted me three whole days. I would've spent close to $300 on pills in that same amount of time. All I could think about is how much money I was going to save.
Within 7 months, I was spending $200 a day on Heroin. I was abusing discount codes at work to improve my cash tips and eventually stealing directly from my grandmother. It turned me into a complete monster. My sense of right from wrong was obliterated, my conscious gone, and any hope for a better life was dead.
But that's the thing about reaching a "bottom." When there is nothing left of me, God can take all the space he needs. I couldn't see it at the time, but hindsight has showed me just how quickly God started working when I started getting honest.
I got caught stealing from my grandmother and for the first time in the better part of a decade, I was completely honest. I came clean about all of my alcohol/drug abuse, I came clean about my theft, and most importantly I had become willing to ask for help. The moment that I expressed that slightest bit of willingness, God started to make moves.
I was flown to a treatment center outside of Dallas, Tx called the Treehouse. Normal cost for 28 days in out of state treatment would've been $51,000. My entire cost was waived. A plane ticket to get me there was paid for. My job was completely understanding(actually they were glad because they knew how bad I needed it.) Every little thing quickly fell into place and I found myself bumming cigs on the front porch of the Treehouse in Scurry, TX less than 48 hours after I got honest. I'd been trying on my own for so long and all I had to do was ask.
28 days at the Treehouse followed by IOP, getting a sponsor, thoroughly working the 12 steps, then continuing to carry the message of recovery has absolutely transformed by life into something completely unrecognizable to me.
GOD DID FOR ME WHAT I COULD NOT DO FOR MYSELF.
So now its my job to carry that message.....