Thoughts Of Going Home

The countdown begins; I’ve been at addiction rehab for a whole 9 weeks, and only had 3 to go. I was starting to worry about practicalities, such as where I was going to live and how I was going to support myself.

When I went into treatment, I handed over the care of my children to their father and asked him to move back into the family home to provide them with stability. I’m extremely grateful that he stepped up to the plate, however in doing so I rendered myself homeless. It would hardly have been appropriate for me to stroll back in and announce “thanks for your help, but I am well now, so you can go”! After living in cloud cuckoo land for so long, it was vital that I stayed in reality and that meant facing the pain of my consequences. The relationship I has with my children’s father was understandably broken down beyond repair; my only hope was that we could both set aside our differences and remain focused on the children. I had much to prove, and whilst some may not understand the decisions I have made, it is the bigger picture that I was and still am firmly fixed on. I realised that my thinking was still far from stable, I felt weak and like a child, trying to find my place in the world. My recovery has to come first and at that moment in time I still had a very long way to go.

The thought of returning back to the area of where I originally lived did not appeal, one day, but not at that point. I felt I had to get myself strong and well first. The town where the rehab was was alive with recovery. There were 12 step fellowship meetings daily and always someone to talk to for support. I made the decision to spend 6 months to a year there before moving back to my home town. Everything had changed, but it had to, I wasn’t surviving as it was.

In one of my earlier blogs I touched on the fact that I had realised that the problem was not alcohol or pills, but me. I had to change, and that meant, for me, having a strong network of recovery to support me in the early days. No way did I want to revert back, or mess things up again. I needed stability and so did my children. Who knows if I made the right decision, it certainly wasn’t easy, I could only be guided by the experience of others and my feelings at the time. My biggest fear was relapsing and messing everything up, I had to be sure I could be stable and that would take time and hard work.

I had realised that the problem was not alcohol or pills, but me.

Having made the decision to stay local to the treatment centre, myself and two others agreed to rent a house together. We had all spent 12 weeks together and got on and were focused on staying well. Still it was a risk and I had fears about whether it would work, but I felt I had very few options available to me. I had no desire to move back in with my parents, I left home at the tender age of 16, to experience life. In hindsight an appalling move on my part. Too much freedom equalled too much drink and drugs and even at that age, chaos and mayhem seemed to follow me everywhere. A lot of bad things happened in my latter teenage years, and I am sure none of them would have happened had I been sober and had my wits about me. Alcohol, drugs and my desperate need to be accepted, dragged me in to a heartless world of crime, violence and abuse. I have no doubt that a lot of what happened during these years had fuelled my addiction to escape life. I was now in the unenviable position of having to learn how to live in the real world, and unfortunately there was no manual available to show me how!

Next: A Journey Through Rehab – Week Eleven