It’s not easy being a Human who struggles with addiction. My addictions were something I thought I had control over. This couldn’t have been further from the truth. In early August 2020, I was able to recognize another dysfunctional pattern of my addiction to alcohol as I was about to lose another relationship. I chose to quit alcohol on August 5, 2020. Forever.
What I didn’t choose to quit that day was the addiction to substances and chaos.
Alcohol never positively served my life or journey. It only created chaos. Creating chaos was a way for me to feel in control. I thrived in chaos. My time in public safety allowed me to feel in control of chaos but it was never enough. I didn’t have the tools and resources to deal with the chaos I was trying to control, so I created more chaos through my use of alcohol. This chaos would lead me to some of my darkest days and to even lose complete control. My darkest days included criminal investigations, career and self-destruction, isolation, and suicidal ideations. I used alcohol because it was socially acceptable and sometimes even promoted.
I didn’t only have an addiction problem; I had a trauma problem.
The world around me made me think I could drink my trauma problem away. I came to find out that until I dealt with both, shit would keep coming out sideways.
Until I started dealing with the trauma problem, I’d continue to have the addiction problem.
The day I resigned from my roles in public safety was the day I’d start my addiction to cannabis. For a while, before August 2020, I was coping with both alcohol and cannabis. I still hadn’t accepted or sought treatment for the symptoms of PTSD that I was experiencing. I just continued to numb the symptoms with more alcohol and cannabis.
In May of 2022, I was formally diagnosed with ADHD. Looking back, I wondered how I managed the symptoms for most of my life. I’ve realized that I managed them through addiction to substances. I coped with these symptoms by using copious amounts of caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol. At this point, I had removed two of those coping mechanisms, alcohol and nicotine. It began to make more sense why my progressive levels of dysfunction led me to seek some treatment with a doctor. Recognizing my past addictive behaviors, and with the guidance of a phenomenal doctor who specializes in ADHD, I chose to try other routes before attempting prescription stimulants. Even with this intent, my symptoms continued to progressively get worse.
In late 2023, through the progression of PTSD and ADHD symptoms, things continued to get worse. After attempting prescription non-stimulants, nootropics, and therapy, I returned to the doctor when I recognized extreme executive dysfunction. My work performance, life, and relationships started to spiral out of control and become unmanageable. After many meditation and prayer sessions, I felt the only next step to regain some control and attempt to manage my unmanageable life was to give prescription stimulants a try.
Here’s what happened next.
The first day, I got 8 hours of work done in 3 hours. I had energy again, the drive to complete tasks in a timely manner, and the executive function was returning. I felt like my brain was finally working again. I immediately hated how I felt in my body. My addictions began to take over. I combated the feelings inside of me by increasing my cannabis use, and conscious use became unconscious. I was using all day, every day.
Next came anger outbursts and more unmanageability. I couldn’t control my emotions or reactions. Everything became a bigger deal than it needed to be. This affected every part of my life, but it really began to impact my role as a father and husband. Two things I actually, truly cared about. The addictive parts of my brain kicked in even more. They convinced me that I was in control and managing. After all, I was prescribed stimulants and cannabis.
That’s the thing about addiction, it deceives you.
It tricks you into thinking you’re being rational and managing and that you’re in control.
I was out of control, and my life became unmanageable.
As much as I tried, I couldn’t get the people I loved and cared about to agree that I was okay. My roles continued to decline. I became separated in my marriage, separated from seeing my kids on a regular basis, and was asked to leave the house and not return. And rightfully so.
The only thing I was truly in control of was creating more hurt and chaos.
For the first time in my life, I became homeless. And the addictive parts of my brain continued to take over. I tried glamorizing things like living out of my car and tent camping. I bought a Planet Fitness membership not to work out and heal my body but to have a place to shower and park if I couldn’t find a spot to camp for the night. I spent almost a week isolated in a cabin, trying to regain even a little bit of control. One night, I met a sheriff’s deputy while trying to camp. It was humiliating knowing I was on body cam and being recorded while attempting to talk about my struggles with addiction and PTSD. And it was one of the things I needed most to recognize how unmanageable and out of control I truly was.
While in the woods and at the cabin, one of my best friends sent me a website. He said, “I want you to check this place out. And if you want me to reach out to them, just say the words.” He also said, “If you want to go here, you’ll have to admit to having a substance problem.” Looking around the cabin, by myself, away from home and recognizing the destruction and chaos I had created, I said, “I think it’s pretty clear now that I have a substance problem.” The website was for a residential treatment facility in Bandera, TX, which I’d never heard of. And after a minute of scrolling their website, I knew that’s where I needed to be. Before I knew it, my brother and I were on the phone to start my treatment journey.
Warriors Heart is a Residential Treatment Center (RTC) located on a 500+ acre ranch in Bandera, TX, that specializes in dual diagnosis for PTSD and Substance Use Disorders. What makes this place even more unique is that it was designed specifically for the military and first responder population—a community of Warriors. For the first time, I began my healing journey for PTSD and substance use disorder (SUD). I completed a 42-day residential treatment program. I gained the tools and resources that I needed years ago.
I began to feel the freedom I’d been seeking.
I found out what my baseline was without substances. A baseline I hadn’t known since I was at least 14 years old. I learned and began to trust myself that I was able to live without the use of substances. I still had some dark days, but when I did, I had phenomenal support that showed me resources to help me navigate them.
I no longer had to mask the feelings inside me.
Canadian author Ann Voskamp stated the following, “Shame dies when stories are told in safe places.” I continue to see and feel this. I shared my trauma and addiction stories and processed both negative and positive core beliefs in front of a small group of my peers. Peers who shared similar experiences. I shared stories that very few humans in my life knew about. I shared authentically and was heard, felt, and seen. My shame dies more and more when I share these stories in safe places. I’ll never be completely healed. And that’s okay. I can continue to do the work I need to do to return to my true, authentic self.
My true authentic self doesn’t require the masks of shame, guilt, embarrassment, and addiction.
It requires Love.
I’m a human who struggles with addiction. I’m a human who struggles with PTSD. I am a human with neurodivergent traits. I am not broken. I am a unique human. These struggles brought me back to my true, authentic self.
Being my true, authentic self is — The Freedom I Seek
A Goodbye Letter to MY Drugs of Choice
Dear Cannabis and Adderall,
It’s time for me to say goodbye. For a long time, I believed you were helping me cope, navigate, and manage the complexities of my life.
Cannabis, you were my tool for conscious relaxation, a means to ease my mind and find a sense of peace amidst the storm of PTSD. You allowed me to feel in control, to connect with a deeper part of myself. But I realize now that you became more than just a tool; you became a crutch. A part of me thought I could handle you and keep you in balance, but things shifted.
My use went from conscious to unconscious and unconscious behaviors followed close behind.
Adderall, you entered my life at a time when I was struggling with executive dysfunction, when simple tasks felt like mountains to climb. I didn’t abuse you or step outside the boundaries of what was prescribed, but I didn’t like how you made me feel. Yet, I kept taking you because I felt like I had no other choice, that without you, I couldn’t function. I relied on you to get through the day, to push past the fog in my mind. And then, to balance your effects, I increased my use of cannabis.
I was stuck in a cycle, a constant attempt to find equilibrium between the two of you.
I can see now how my attempt to control you both was misguided. I thought I was managing, but I was masking my struggles, avoiding the deeper work that needed to be done. The more I tried to balance you against each other, the more I felt things slipping out of control. The effects were subtle at first, with a little more anxiety and a bit less clarity, but soon, it became clear that things were coming out sideways. My life, my emotions, my sense of self — all distorted by this cycle I was caught in.
I want to take ownership of my life again.
I want to find a path forward that isn’t clouded by the influence of substances. I want to learn to manage my PTSD, my executive dysfunction, and my day-to-day life in a way that is true to who I am, without relying on you. I acknowledge that there were moments where you both served a purpose, where you felt like a necessary part of my journey. But now, I see that it’s time to let you go.
This is not an easy decision, and I don’t make it lightly. I know there will be moments where I miss you, where the temptation to return to the familiarity of your presence will be strong. But I also know that the freedom I seek, the healing I need, cannot be found in you. It must come from within me, from doing the hard work, facing my fears, and finding new ways to cope and thrive.
So, I say goodbye.
Thank you for the role you played in my life, but I’m ready to move on, to heal, and to grow in new, healthier ways.
I’m choosing myself now.
I’m choosing to face my challenges with clarity and courage, without leaning on you. It’s time to step into the next chapter of my life, free from the cycles that have held me back. It’s time for me to reclaim my power and my peace.
