ON SOBRIETY | Vol. 1

PRELUDE
I recently announced on my Instagram that I’d reached 90 days sober. This is part of a much bigger story that I felt might be worthy of sharing. I can’t help but think that it will relate to a few others that might appreciate it or even need to hear it.

THE BACKGROUND
I have been challenged with addiction for my whole life. A notable number of my immediate family are affected in the same way, in and out of rehab facilities, nasty opioid addictions, or on a good day going to a meeting.

Getting sober isn’t new to me.

I took a trip to rehab when I was twenty-six years old. I’ll be thirty-five this year.

Luckily, the trip was self-induced. I hadn’t totaled my car, gotten arrested, lost my job (not at that point at least), or hurt anyone physically. I was a human with a void of emotional awareness with an above-normal dose of narcissism. I had deep pockets for depressive episodes and a rapidly growing cocaine addiction that kept me awake for most evenings long enough to see the morning sun. I drank vodka to even things out and would eventually pass out, alone. My drug and booze consumption was mostly done by my lonesome unless you count BenG, my dog. He’s got some stories, I’m sure. I’m preserving you, dear reader, and painting these events with a broad brushstroke. I’ve no intent on celebrating this era like romantic war stories. The “fun” days were long past. I was hellbent on a path of solitude and denouncing the morals imparted by a loving, Christian upbringing with one eye barely open, the other squinting while I tediously rolled a dollar bill.

I tried to keep this daily cycle alive for as long as I could. There was wreckage left behind. Relationships, friendships, professional arrangements; stood no chance. Yes, I owe several apologies and explanations to this day, guaranteed.

Most days I would wake up and swear to myself I’d clean my act up and make better choices. “Tonight is the night.” “No booze and no blow. I can do this.” I swear I said that every day for months on end.

6 am. I call my mother, Wendy. “Mom. I need to go to rehab.” I’m sobbing. I had given up. I was depressed beyond my own safety.

I was at a detox facility within a matter of 3 hours.

I spent twenty-eight days in rehab. I initially had agreed to five but they convinced me to stick around. I then decided to move to a halfway house in Wilmington, NC to continue my sobriety and avoid falling into old habits or encountering places or people that might trigger a relapse. I found a job, went to meetings, kept clean and sober for eight months. Again, this was in 2013/14.

I’ll fill in the gaps in the coming weeks.

- Blake Pope

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