In my early 20s, I went out with a nice guy. Over dinner, he shared that he was on Zoloft for depression. I recoiled. For starters, that’s not first-date material. Secondly, I was rife with judgment. I didn’t want to date someone with a mental illness.
Years later, my husband and I were newlyweds living in Albany, GA. I came home from work one night to find David sitting by a pyramid of empty beer cans. He had lost his job and plowed through the better part of a 12-pack. “Great,” I thought. “I married an alcoholic.” (I hadn’t.)
In both cases, I was looking in a mirror. Drenched in denial, I refused to recognize my own reflection. I bought into society’s stigma of mental illness and addiction and wanted no part of it.
People living with mental illness and/or addiction know they aren’t alone. Plenty of celebrities have come forward with their diagnoses. Earlier this year, NBC’s Carson Daly shared his struggle with debilitating General Anxiety Disorder. Actress Jada Pinkett Smith has revealed her history with depression and suicidal ideation. Additionally, in 2018, TV journalist Elizabeth Vargas revealed her battle with alcoholism and her dual diagnosis of depression.
We commend these folks for their honesty, but wonder about the ordinary people in our lives. How many of them face anxiety, despair, obsessive thoughts, compulsive behaviors, suicidal ideations, an inability to focus, and/or addiction to drugs or alcohol (clinically referred to as substance use disorder, or SUD).
A lot, especially during the pandemic. But too many still feel alone — shame and isolation exacerbated by stigma. I know. I’ve been there.
I had a great upbringing with plenty of love, support and opportunity. By all appearances, I was a happy kid, teen and young adult. Convincing as it was, my positive exterior didn’t aways reflect my internal reality.
I felt different, uneasy in head and heart. At times, the wires in my brain moved erratically, spinning in different directions at varied speeds. Occasionally, I’d short-circuit, crying hysterically and finding relief — and release — in a flood of tears.
Don’t get me wrong. I often felt genuine joy in my heart and still do. But for years it was at odds with emotive forces I couldn’t comprehend. Our brains are just a fraction of our total body weight, but when there’s mental illness, the “glitches” in that complex organ threaten our entire well-being.
When I went off to college, I discovered alcohol; its effects, immediate and transformative. Alcohol washed away perceived inadequacies and anxieties. I could finally exhale. Out from under my parents’ watchful eyes, I could drink as much as I wanted. And I did. From the onset, alcohol had an unyielding grip on me. I called it “partying,” but I was really self-medicating, numbing my nerves and soothing my spirit. I got sicker with every “dose.”
The daughter of an alcoholic father, I was no stranger to addiction. After several blackouts, I knew where I was headed. I made my first call to an 800 helpline sophomore year. They told me to go to 12-step meetings. “No way,” I thought. I had hoped someone could fix me. So much for that. (Fortunately, many schools have since started collegiate recovery communities on their campuses.)
The cycle of insanity worsened. So did the hangovers. Consumed by guilt and plagued by headaches and nausea, I repeatedly promised God, myself, and later, my husband, that I’d stop.
But I had long since crossed a line. I no longer wanted alcohol, I needed it. A baffling compulsion to drink overpowered my fading resolve to quit.
Drinking dominated my life. As a TV reporter in Huntsville, AL, I was driven by adrenaline throughout the day. But by late afternoon, I obsessed about my next drink. I couldn’t wait to get home, where I’d drink two bottles of wine most nights. On weekends, all bets were off. I eventually quit trying to control my intake. My elevator was plummeting.
In 2002, after 15 years in the throes of this progressive disease, I hit my bottom.
One evening, my husband, visibly irritated, said, “I’m sick of you getting drunk every night. For no reason.”
“I am too,” I admitted.
My response surprised us both. In a God-given moment of clarity, I surrendered, crashing through denial, fear, shame, anger and self-loathing. Everyone’s “bottom” is different. For me, there was no DUI, job loss or divorce. Just emptiness, hopelessness and defeat. For nearly half my life, alcohol was my solution. That night, my drug of choice quit working.
I looked in the mirror again, this time softening at the reflection. Finally, I felt compassion, not contempt, for the woman staring back at me.
In that moment, I knew I couldn’t live another day with alcohol, but how could I possibly survive without it?
I pulled out the yellow pages and found a treatment center in Nashville, TN. My words were slurred when I made the call, but my mind was clear: I was an alcoholic and I needed help. I checked into Cumberland Heights on June 21, 2002.
That decision set me on a life-changing course. My 3-pound universe was about to undergo a transformation. But the wires wouldn’t settle and sync overnight. There’s no cure for addiction or the mental health disorders with which I would later be diagnosed. But I’d be okay.
My journey of recovery and self-discovery was just beginning.
Thank you for being transparent. You’ve blessed many
Thank you, Kelly!
Thank you for your honesty. It’s a rare family in today’s world that isn’t affected in some way. You are a blessing!
Thank you, Vicki. I agree. So many of us, and our families, are affected.
I have always admired you Karen, and now that has changed….I admire you more than ever…My son had a similar situation and has recovered. I had a brother that was not so fortunate and he died at 42. It is a sad and destructive situation. Congratulations on your journey and I look forward to seeing you. All the best to you!
Thank you for sharing that, Charlie. I am so happy for you and your son. It is a gift. And I am so sorry about your brother. Truly. I look forward to seeing you, as well.
I have more respect for you than ever. Thank you for sharing this. We all have our stories – yours is powerful. Thank you so much. Reta McKannan
Much appreciated, Reta. You are correct. We all have our stories, and I try to remember that. Thank you.
I’ve always known you were a deep person and now, thank you for telling us why. I’ve always admired and looked up to you. I loved working with you at the YMCA. You inspire me. God bless.
Thank you, Suzy. Oh, I loved working with you, too, and I remember when you started your writing journey. Thank you again.
Reblogged this on SUZY PARISH and commented:
Karen writes a poignant story that ends with hope.
Thank you, Suzy. xo
Courageous. Your vulnerability and honesty will save other’s lives and normalize the journey ❤️9
Thank you, Amy, for taking the time to read and share. I can only hope and pray…
Congratulations on your sobritety and thank you for sharing your very personal story. I know it’s a life long battle that isn’t easy to win. My 1st husband tried to fight that battle without success, so I understand. God strengthen you every day and walk with you through your journey. You are a beautiful woman who I admire and am inspired by. Continue doing your good work.
Thank you, Karen, and I am grateful for you.
Thanks for your transparency, Karen. You are an amazing person and inspiration to us all. I am honored to call you my friend.
Thank you, friend. Much appreciated.
So brave of you to share that story. I’m full of admiration, and full of respect for you. I knew the story, but was still touched. ❤️ Thank you to God, yourself and David. Hug from both of us 😍😍
Tusen takk, Liv! I love and miss you and send hugs back.
Thank you for sharing! You are a beautiful lady inside and out! We have all fought our demons in whatever shape or form it might occur.
I certainly think the world of you, your talent, drive and professionalism! You have done great things for Huntsville and it’s people . You are a good person and I’m proud to call you my friend!
Fight on and stay safe!
Thank you, friend. For all.
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