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Hi,
My name is Justin Avery. I grew up in Granby, Connecticut, a small town,
a real small town. I started smoking weed, drinking, and doing hallucinogenics
in high school. It seemed like that’s what everyone did, and seemed
innocent enough at the time. It was only the beginning of a progression
that all addicts go through.
I
moved to Philladelphia in October of ’95, after graduating high
school, and was quickly introduced to hard drugs. I fell right into
the lifestyle. Dealing, staying up for days on end, going to bars, having
a lot of fun actually. But crack got me by the back of the neck and
slowly but surely shortened its leash. I started using pills, mostly
benzodiazapines, to balance myself out. The combination lead me into
a fast downward spiral. It took me about two years to hit my first bottom,
and had my first try at quitting.
I
called my parents to the rescue and moved back to Granby to clean up.
And my progression toward recovery started, my first hint that I might
have a problem. So
I stayed home for a few months and stayed away from hard drugs, but
kept on smoking pot and drinking. It wasn’t long before I left
to go live with my uncle in Preston, Connecticut. He had been in recovery
for 10 years, and needed help with his painting business. I had been
working as a painter in Philladelphia, I couldn’t think of a better
opportunity. Little did I know he had relapsed.
It
just goes to show you how powerful this disease is. That someone with
10 years in recovery could relapse and bring me into his world knowing
what position I was in. Denial is a very powerful thing.
After
using for a few months with him, and getting caught back up in the insanity,
I decided it was time to run again. I tried hitchhiking home late on
night, drunk, and strung out. I got arrested and ended up getting a
ride from my aunt, who has since been in recovery.
My
parents were there for me again, took me in and tried to help. But there
was nothing they could do but support me. God knows I needed it, it
was only a couple of months before I left to go cross country with a
couple of friends of mine.
It
was a great trip. Again I stayed away from the hard stuff and just stuck
to pot and drinking. I stayed in California for a few months, but eventually
ended up in Seattle with my brother. The first thing I did when I got
off of the bus was cop crack.
It’s
amazing how an addict can find drugs no matter where they’re at.
I had never been to that part of Seattle before, but managed to find
what I wanted within an hour. Again the progression kicked in, and within
a few months I was back to smoking crack regularly, drinking far too
much and too often, and doing whatever else came into my path. Eventually
I was introduced to tar heroin. I
had done heroin here and there over the years but never liked it all
that much. But tar couldn’t be sniffed or smoked easily. The only
way to do it was intravenously, so I did, something I had not done up
until that point.
After
months of shooting dope and smoking crack I had enough… again.
I woke up almost every morning crying because I knew I would get sick
if I didn’t cop, but didn’t want to use anymore. I spent many
a day sick at work only to get high at night and start all over again
the next day. So I decided to get help. But I wasn’t going running
to mommy and daddy this time. I wanted to do it on my own. So I decided
to go through the department of social services. But I had a full time
job and an apartment. So they didn’t want to help me. I cut my
hours down to less than twenty a week at work, and my girlfriend was
basically paying all of the bills anyway, so after a month I was eligible,
got my case worker and got put on a list. I had to call every morning
to maintain my spot, and finally after about three weeks I got the opportunity
to go to detox. I lasted three days in the detox and got moved down
to the first floor to wait for a bed to open up in a rehab facility.
I attended my first NA meeting, got scared by the message and left that
afternoon.
It
was another step towards recovery, but I wasn’t ready.
Over
the next year I managed to become a full on active addict.
I
learned that it was easier to maintain with dealing full time rather
than trying to work. I learned to lie, cheat, and steal to get high.
I learned that shooting anything was better than doing it any other
way. I managed to lose just about everything I had gained in my 23 years
of life. My possessions, my self esteem, my pride, my morals, my ethics.
I lost the people who loved me, and any love I had had for myself. I
lost everything. So again I had enough, and asked my mom and dad for
help. They bought me a plane ticket home, and took me in for the third
time for the same reason. They helped me pay for counseling, and through
that got me to go to NA meetings. I didn’t run away this time.
I listened, and started to grasp the full capacity of my disease of
addiction. But I started using again, spiraled downhill fast and hard,
and finally, finally reached my breaking point. I wanted to die. I remember
coming home high and broke down, and sitting on the floor in front of
my parents telling them I would be better off dead. It was probably
the saddest moment of my life. I was ready to quit. Or so close anyway.
I
went to my second detox and lasted until the night before my discharge.
Four days. I had an upsetting phone conversation, and that was all the
excuse I needed to go use one last time. Me and the guys I left all
told each other it was just "one last time". I had said that
a million times but this time ended up being the one. I had a terrible
night. I went from 4 days clean, to a new bottom in a matter of hours.
I slept in a park and woke up the next morning in a lot of pain. I ended
up in the hospital. And back home later that day. I felt like I was
half dead.
I
had a dream that night that someone was beating me up. Beating me over
and over and over. I wasn’t fighting back, but they weren’t
pulling any punches. Finally I was down on the ground, the man leaned
over and kissed me on the cheek and said, "You’re too sweet".
And the beating was over.
I
woke right up feeling overwhelmingly good. Felling high actually. Like
I was on the cleanest dope I had ever done. But I wasn’t on any
drugs. I was visited by something in my dream that finally woke me up
to what I had been putting myself through for years. I wanted to live
again. I wanted to be free of drugs, and of the lifestyle I had for
so long.
I
was frantic and crying, but managed to find a bed in Alliance treatment
center in Avon, Connecticut. I stayed for a twenty-eight day program
there and loved it. I loved the groups and the meetings. I loved learning
about my disease and what it was all about. I was a mess when I got
there, but each day I felt a little better, a little stronger. I finished
the program and moved back home for a few days, waiting to get into
an Oxford house.
I moved into one in West Hartford, and have been here over five months
now. It's the best thing for me and my recovery. I have freedom and
responsibilities like I would if I lived on my own. But I share them
with five other people in recovery. I always have people looking out
for me and someone to talk to that can relate to what I'm going through.
I am very lucky to have the group of guys that I live with.
I have a full time job today where I am trusted. I am slowly building
back the trust of my family, which is something that I came very close
to completely destroying in my active addiction.
Most importantly I have narcotics anonymous, without which none of the
other things I have now would be possible. I attend anywhere from six
to ten meetings a week, which can get tiring. But not nearly as tiring
as maintaining a drug habit. I've met a beautiful network of people
in recovery who love and trust me. I have learned and experienced more
from my years of using than some people will in their entire lives.
I am grateful to have lived through what I did. I have an opportunity
now to give back to society what I have learned and hopefully help someone
else to not have to go through what I did. And that is where CCAR comes
into my life.
I have a hard time getting as involved as I would like to between NA
commitments, Oxford house commitments, work, and life in general. But
with time I know I will get more involved. As my personal recovery gets
stronger, so will my need and ability to give back what was so freely
given to me. That's what it's all about, making the world a better place
by making available the resources and tools of recovery.
Because of having so much taken away from me by drugs I have an inflated
gratitude and respect for life and the things it has to offer. I love
my life today and with diligence and an ongoing positive mental attitude
I will never need to use drugs again. I will never need to lie, cheat,
and steel to get what I want again. I will never have to want to die
again. I will never have to be miserable again, unless I choose to do
so.
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