Bruised Fruit Hiding the Truth 12

Bruised Fruit: Hiding the Truth #12

Addiction is like a power outage in your house. Suddenly, everything goes dark. The breaker trips, and you're left in a world of predators—freaks who move like drooling wolves, circling an injured elk, waiting for their chance to take you down. These people and their poison find their way in through cracks in the window, under the door, or even riding a ray of sunshine or a speck of dust. They are always watching.

A little paranoia can be healthy—it's in our DNA to survive. But when you can step back, even for a moment, and look at your addiction from a distance, the monsters become easier to spot (and steer clear from). For me, it's like working at Hunter Mountain.

Just yesterday, I was on top of that mountain, looking out across the Catskills. But today, from the valley below, the whole thing feels different, more evident. When you are consumed by active addiction, it's like you're in the valley, looking at sobriety from far away. But when you're sober, you are present, looking over all the destruction you've caused. That's how I try to see my addiction—far enough away to understand it, even if I can never escape it completely. Just because I am a recovering drug addict doesn't mean my addiction has gone away. It remains with me forever.

If you let it, addiction will destroy everything and everyone you hold dear. Sometimes it feels like it's woven into your DNA, but not always. Some of us are the black sheep—the only ones in our family consumed by fear, numbing ourselves from reality. Friends and family watch with sadness and irritation. You become a thorn in your own side, bleeding yourself dry.

No one can save you. If you want to figure out this game of life, you must fight for sobriety—assertively, cleverly, and sometimes ruthlessly. My family sees me, a middle-aged man, struggling in quicksand, sinking. Financial woes surround me, and I'm up to my neck. As I've said before, sometimes you must let everything crumble before you can pick up the pieces, brick by brick, to rebuild.

I've been wandering this life like a zombie, feeding my addicted mind with toxic chemicals instead of raw brains. Sobriety doesn't erase your problems. In fact, it makes them sharper. But in the clarity of sobriety, you learn to navigate them better.

When addiction takes over, it's like the darkness after the breaker trips. You stumble blindly, bumping into things you'd avoid if you could see. The darkness swallows you whole—wolves howling, predators closing in. I've lived in that darkness for so long that now, in the light, everything feels raw, bright, and overwhelming.

But the darkness, for all its horror, can feel like a cocoon—a womb of sorts. Facing the light takes courage. I've been a coward, hiding from the day. That's changed now.

For many people with an addiction, the breaker trips over and over until we're tired of stubbing our toes on unseen obstacles. When we finally see the light, it's blinding and painful. But that harsh light softens if we stay the course, build healthy habits, and make careful choices. We begin to see mountains for the molehills they really are.

Writing these columns has been a lifeline. Walking around high school basketball games, camera in hand, I wonder if my readers recognize me. I hope my words have helped someone—just one person would make sharing my darkest truths worth it. I am not a victim of my own choices; I was a willing participant in wrecking my life.

These columns have been healing, but they're also a reminder. If you think your child is immune to addiction, you haven't been paying attention. If I had never touched a drug, I might never have known the beast that lived inside me, waiting to be unleashed.

I want to thank my editor, Matt Avitabile, Elide Bell of Mountain Top Cares Coalition, Nick (my recovery coach), my community, and everyone in the NA rooms who reached out to me and continues to do so. To my family: I love you, even though I've felt abandoned. That's something I need to work on, and I will.

I still have work to do. It has been weeks since I have been to a meeting. It's easy to make excuses—"I'm too busy"—but I always found time to poison myself. Always. I know I will not be successful if I continue to procrastinate.

Today, I've been clean for over four months, one day at a time. If you need help, please get in touch with Mountain Top Cares at www.mountaintopcarescoalition.com, attend an NA or AA meeting, email me at oppenmax@gmail.com, or call me at 518-788-7050. Stay safe out there.