People get sober in all sorts of ways. Sometimes they just quit on their own. Sometimes they go to rehab. They show up in 12-step rooms, ashrams, churches and their parents’ basements. There is no one right way—something we’ve aimed to show in our collection of How I Got Sober stories. While we initially published these as either first person essays by our contributors or as interviews with anonymous sober folks, we eventually began to realize that there were other stories to tell: yours. This is our reader spotlight and this, more specifically, is Becky J.:
(We’ve broken Becky’s story into two parts; check back next week for part two.)
Click here to see all of our How I Got Sober stories
What is your sobriety date?
September 13, 2001.
Where did you get sober?
Richland, Washington. I lived across the state in Olympia during the worst of my active addiction. When I started to realize I was running out of options, I decided to move back to the town where I grew up.
When did you first start drinking?
I remember sneaking beers around the age of 11. The first time I was really drunk was the summer I was 13. I did my very best to make it a regular thing after that.
How would you describe your life before you quit drinking?
It was a total fucking mess. I dropped out of college to be a full time bartender and party girl. I had been stealing money from my employer to support my drug habit and was about five minutes from getting fired and evicted from my apartment. My boyfriend had just checked into rehab. My Volvo was held together with duct tape and guitar strings. That’s just the surface stuff.
What was your childhood like?
It was odd, but not in a bad way. On the outside, it probably looked fine. I was never abused; my basic needs were met. I had great clothes and went to nice schools. I got good grades without really trying and was good at sports. It’s a funny misconception that middle class kids, especially those from two-parent families, have stable childhoods. Our home actually had a lot of dysfunction. My older brother was really sick—physically and mentally—and that consumed my parents’ time and energy. There were also both very career-driven and focused on their own goals. As a result, I felt very isolated. I always say my first drug was fantasy. I loved to read and would get totally lost in stories. I hated my reality. I was bored and lonely most of the time, so I would create alternative scenarios and convince myself they were true. I loved to tell lies and go to great lengths to convince the people around me that they were true.
Do you remember the first time you thought you might have a problem?
I got caught drinking at school when I was 14. My best friend and I stole liquor from our parents on a regular basis and brought it to school in Snapple bottles. We would leave campus at lunch and buy Super Big Gulps, then fill them halfway with booze and sip them the rest of the day. I think our parents started to get suspicious, then one of us spilled our drink in class and a teacher realized it was alcohol. The school and parents got involved and my friend had to go to rehab. I managed to talk my way out of that, but I had to go to a drug and alcohol counseling class one period a week for the rest of the school year. It occurred to me then that other kids didn’t drink the way I did, but I didn’t see it as a problem. I just got better at hiding it and sought out older friends who liked to party.
How did your drinking escalate?
I drank and used everything I could get my hands on for 10 years. I always needed more—it didn’t matter what it was. I never drank like a normal person; I was extreme. I really believe I was born an addict and once I got that first real buzz, I had no control. When other kids were chugging beers, I was chugging vodka. When the people at the party were smoking pot, I was tripping on acid and sneaking off to snort coke. When I started hanging with people who thought it was okay to snort coke, I was the one shooting up heroin in the bathroom.
How did you rationalize your drinking?
At first, I told myself that I was just young, wild and free. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest in the 90s. I was super into the indie music scene (the people who weren’t there called it “grunge”) and the drinking and drugs were a big part of that. It was easy to rationalize and glamorize the behavior—even the hard drugs—when so many people were doing it. After a while that excuse stopped working (even on myself) and it was just obvious I had a problem. By then, my friends were dying from the drugs and the lifestyle. I was so wrapped up in the disease that I just stayed stuck in a spiral of self-loathing. I hated how I was living, so I used more to numb out, so I hated myself more, so I used more and so on.
What do you consider your bottom?
The summer I was 24, I was a bridesmaid in my friend’s wedding. She and I worked together at the same bar and hung out all the time. We discovered we both had a history with heroin and we started getting high together a few months before her wedding. It was so gross. I remember thinking how stupid she was to get married while she was strung out on dope. She was living this lie and masquerading as a normal girl, going through the motions of being a happy bride while sneaking off to shoot up with me at every opportunity. I felt so superior that I was only hurting myself.
So, the wedding day came and I got this frantic phone call from the bride asking me to pick up some white knee high nylons on my way to the church. She had bad track marks and the makeup wasn’t cutting it that day. She decided to make 1980’s style fingerless gloves to cover her arms. It was ridiculous. We were hiding out in a church bathroom, getting high before the ceremony and trying to fashion these ugly gloves. I remember feeling so grossed out by her and then realizing I was also disgusted with myself.
I left the reception alone and went to score drugs in my bridesmaid dress. My shoes were uncomfortable, so I ditched them. I have a clear memory from that evening of standing in front of a convenience store, barefoot in my formal dress. I was high and drunk, with bloody sores on my arms, eating chocolate donuts. It was probably the first food I had all day. In that moment, some part of me looked at myself as an outsider and felt so sorry for that girl. It was my moment of clarity.
Check back next week for part two.
Photo courtesy of Becky J. Used with permission.
Click here to see all of our How I Got Sober stories.
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