At a certain point in time, I was just a regular suburban kid. I loved video games, watching cartoons, eating cereal, riding my bike with my friends, swimming, and catching bugs. My family loved me, and I felt it. I remember riding in my grandfather’s old pickup sandwiched between him and my grandma in the front seat, my “Nan.” I remember the way it always smelled like stale cigarettes and linen at their house out in Avondale. I remember riding in my father’s boat out at Lake Pleasant, the wind whipping my face as we sped along, the spray misting my face as we hit the wake at high speeds. I remember having pool parties and BBQs at my aunt’s house. I remember church every Sunday. Every single one of these memories is fond to me. I enjoyed being a child, and when I reflect back, I can’t think of it as anything but excellent, in every way shape and form.

By all accounts it was idyllic. For the life of me, I can’t identify any one single moment where things took a turn for the worse. Sure, there were some warning signs, typical: low self-esteem and poor self-worth. Feelings of anxiety that seemed to emanate from nowhere in particular.  General social discomfort. Genealogical history of addiction and mental health issues (let’s be honest though who doesn’t have any of these to a certain degree, really). There was no proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back that led me on a journey the likes of which myself or my family could ever have anticipated. So, what made me different? Why did I react so absurdly and differently than others before me who experienced similar circumstances when exposed to chemicals?

There were times in my life where I thought about this concept regularly. It even consumed me at certain points; what made me this way? Why am I like this? Why can’t I accept love, accept myself for who I am? Why couldn’t I simply exist without feeling the need to numb myself in every second of every single day? I saw other people all around me throughout the entire world who lived freely. What made me so different from them?

There’s certainly something to be said about formative experiences when it comes to drug addiction and mental health issues. Modern medicine has proved this. Abuse and trauma can absolutely influence our lives in severely negative ways and endow us with incredibly poor and unhealthy coping mechanisms. And what I’m about to state here doesn’t discount that in any way.

But for me, in the end, the answer to my question was simply this:

It didn’t, or doesn’t, matter.

That’s it. The whys mattered little. I was exposed to all different kinds of information that explained the science behind the brain disease I suffered from. It was helpful to know, certainly interesting, and it was presented to me in a way that made sense. But all the knowledge in the world never kept me clean. It never released me from the turmoil and chains that bound me to my own personal prison. Cartwheeling through the troughs of my gray matter for ten years provided me with zero answers. In fact, I’d say it was actively harmful to think that much, and still is. Something like 90% of my thought processes were negative. For all those years spent suffering, my own brain was never for a moment able to “out-think” my issues. I had to find another way.

That way for me, ultimately, was total reliance and surrender to a spiritual way of life. To God. To His humble servants, the good men and women who came before me who did His work, and demonstrated that to me in a practical, solution-oriented way. Through Him, I learned to ask for help. Through Him, I was able to make small beginnings in loving who I was, despite my faults. Through Him, I was able to find the strength to carry on and clean up the wreckage of my past to the best of my ability. Through Him, I was able to let go of the whys and embrace action. Through Him, I gained a second lease on life.

My human brain, when wracked for the answer repeatedly, never gave up its secrets. It most likely never would have, despite my best human efforts. Unlocking those became less and less of a concern for me as time wore on and I walked this new path. Someday, when you’re ready to let go of the pain and frustration, they could mean little to you, as well.

Choose Life.

God Bless,

Sean – In Recovery

You can read, comment and ask questions for Sean to address in his blog on the PAL website, home page – www.Palgroup.org