Treatment did not fix me, nor was I forced to go, and thank God for that. Before you get all sideways, let me explain. I truly wish being dipped into the treatment water would’ve cured all my problems, erased my past life, and put me on an equal playing field with the rest of the world. That would literally require no effort on my part, and I’m all about the path of least resistance. The truth of the matter is recovery takes work, and if I think that I deserve to have the pleasures of life bestowed upon me after a 28-day stint – then I’m setting myself up for a trap door of pain. It’s really simple – If I run a mile into the woods, then I’ve got to run a mile out. It took years of destruction, isolation, and withdrawing from society to even begin to think about trying to change my lifestyle, so why wouldn’t it take time to rebuild my life for the better? It took a certain amount of pain to bring me to my knees, but once it did, I realized that I had become a slave to alcohol and drugs, and more importantly, within that darkness I found light.
In this moment I’m extremely grateful to my mother and grandfather for the simple reason that they were willing to let me die. Now, that statement might shake you to your core a bit –arousing judgment or a sense of “how could they?” Think about it for a second. My family had done everything for me – got me out of trouble, took care of me financially, paid off the drug debts, tried to get me into treatment –yada, yada, blah, blah, blah. They were so busy trying to protect me from the outside world that nobody realized I was self-destructing. I had become my own worst enemy. The fact is that “me” will always catch up with “me,” and there’s not a thing in the world that will stop that train. We’ve all heard the phrase “love you to death.” My family almost loved me to death. The moment they took their stance against my destructive behavior, drinking, and overall outlook on life is the day my life changed – though I had no clue at that time. They put the ball in my court; they forced me out of my comfort zone and allowed me to experience my journey. A journey that nobody had control over, not even myself, but I had to go through it order to experience the life I have today. People always ask me what are the biggest driving forces in your recovery and the answers can vary, but there is one constant, one vivid memory that I’ll never forget. My mother was standing in my driveway. I had broken her. I only remember what she said, “Brock, I don’t want you to die, and I really hope you live, but I’m done.” I didn’t see my mother for several months after that until I made the phone call that landed me in that treatment center, which would ultimately lead to today. When I look back at that moment now, it has little to do with the drugs and alcohol, but more to do with growing up, accepting responsibility, and being humble enough to ask for help. For that, I’m forever grateful.
Who am I, to get in front of any pain that someone might have to go through to learn a valuable lesson?
Thanks, mom. I love you.