Matt's Story Part 1

[Matt R.]

I guess since this forum was my idea, I'll start.

My life began at a VERY early age in 1985. I was born here in Harrisburg, PA and have lived here all my life. My earliest memories are of my dad taking me into bars at the age of 3. My dad was an electrician and an alcoholic. My mom was a nurse, and a codependant. I remember verbal fights over my dad's drinking, and his sob stories of "I'll change." He played his role well, and never followed through with his never ending promises of change. He went to rehab a short while, only to return back to the bar and haze of alcoholism. In 1990, my mom and dad separated while my dad went to treatment. Meanwhile, my mom and I moved in with my grandmother. My grandmother took over the role of raising me. My mom was a hardworking nurse who I didn't see as much as I wanted to when I was younger. After a month of living with her, my mom, my adopted brother and I moved into an apartment, just the three of us. Shortly after, my dad got out of treatment. Dispite her gut feelings, and my warnings(I was only 7, too) my dad returned to live with us. Within a few months, he had a stroke and became paralized on his left side. He had limited mobility, and an arm that stuck out uncontrolably. At that point, my dad's doctor told him, "If you take so much as a single drink, you will die." So, my dad did what any die hard alcoholic was...Sought help from AA. His experience with AA was that "They're all different. I'm not like them. They're all sick...but not me." After the stroke, my dad remained on a fear-driven miserable dry-drunk for the next 8 years. At about 4 years, my mom couldn't handle it anymore, and they divorced. For about 3 years, I only saw my dad on rare occasions...such as holidays and once for my birthday. I remained living with my mom and brother. My brother was 10 years older than me, so we never related on any emotional or intellectual level. I always wanted to be a part of, but never could be. My summers I spent with my grandmother while my mom worked as a nurse. At that point in my life, I was somewhat normal. When I started school, immediatly I felt different. Like everyone else was given something that I wasn't. I always felt awkward, that no one wanted to be my friend. Up until the 4th grade, I never really had friends like everyone else in my class. In 4th grade, I had one friend. He was the other kid that felt like he was different, awkward, and didn't fit in. Go figure. I had problems in school. I never cared, even in 1st grade. I knew the material, but never cared enough to apply my knowledge. After 4th grade, I was enrolled in a private school. There, all of the teachers took a liking to me. I was well-behaved, charming, and adorable...so they said. They couldn't seem to motivate me though. Even there, I didn't fit in. I was different. I was awkward. I wasn't cool like everyone else. I always felt like everyone was 10 times better than me...Thus beginning the cycle of low-self-esteem.

In 6th grade, I attempted sports. The first was baseball. That never worked. I wasn't very athletic, didn't fit in, and wasn't like the other guys. I sat on the bench most of the time. After that, I tried football. Same story. I wasn't as big as everyone else, so I was of no benefit to the team. Dispite attending practice religiously, they never put me in the game. The only good thing that came out of football was that my dad began to take a slight interest in me. I can remember he began taking me to practice, and waiting for me until the end. Mind you, he was still sober at that point. Being reunited with my dad brought somewhat of a spark into his life. We began seeing each other more, and going camping.

When I turnd 12, my dad couldn't manage on his own anymore...dispite being sober. So, he moved in with my grandmother(his mom). Shortly after that, he gave in to the disease and began drinking again. It was at that point that we started going camping together. He could get away from home, and drink till he passed out with no worry of my grandmother knowing. He didn't drink alone. He included me right with him, at the ripe age of 12. From the beginning, I drank until I spun. I drank until I couldn't hold anymore. From the beginning, there was never just one. Once I had a few beers in me, I didn't feel so awkward anymore. I didn't care what anyone thought about me.
At that point, I didn't crave alcohol. I was a problem when drunk, but didn't seek it out. I only drank when it was available.

Shortly after that, around the age of 13, I found that you could drink a bottle of Robotussin and have a GRAND OLE time. I found out about DXM through the internet. I was in a chat room and remember guys saying "No, you have to start on a lower dose and work up to it each day." For whatever reason, using a chemical every day appealed to me. Being numb and euphoric was attractive. I began using that off and on, and really enjoyed it. I never used with anyone at that point. I used home, alone, on my computer. I can remember loving to be tripping my ass off chatting with people online, and I remember feeling "cool." Finally, I was a part of something. Something that in the end, nearly killed me.

In July of 1998(I was 14) my father had a second stroke that sent him into a six day coma. His brain swelled beyond repair and he laid unconcious in ICU for 6 days. I woke up one morning and my grandma said "MATT! Your dad is on the floor!" I walked back to his room to find him laying on the floor kicking and moving unvoluntarily. I was in shock. I didn't know for sure what had happened, but I was scared.
As the paramedics carried him outside, he opened his eyes, and looked at me, for the last time. It was a look of "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you." My grandma and I followed them to the hospital, and watched him lay in the ER kicking and grabbing at everything unvoluntarily...while unconcious. It was terrifying. I had no control over any movement. I was in shock.
Six days later, my grandma asked me to decided whether or not to keep him on life support, or to let him go. I can remember talking to the doctor, crying hysterricly asking him if there was any hope for survival. He told me that his brain had swelled too much and if kept alive, he'd remain in a coma. I made the decision to let him go. A day later, he passed away.

Thus began my active addiction. Two years before that, I was volunteering at a local camp for mentally handicapped children and adults. I was due the week that my dad passed to go work at the camp. His funeral was on a friday, and camp began Saturday. Dispite being a wreck, I went and worked anyway. The first night there, the counselors and I were hanging out after putting the campers to bed. We walked down to the baseball feild and one of the other counselors got out a joint. That was the first time I smoked pot. I never got high the first few times, but smoked as much as I could. I felt a part of something. I felt unique, but in a good way. That entire week, we drank and got high every night after the campers went to bed. Once I got my first high, I was hooked. I couldn't abstain for even a night. The nights when I had to, I was miserable.

That same summer, I discovered my sexuality. I discovered that I not only liked girls. I discovered that I was bisexual. My first sexual experience was with another guy who was two years older than me. I can remember enjoying it, and being very attracted to him. Once again, I was different. I had a uniqueness. But at that point, I was proud. I could break away from what society thought and was becoming rebel.


More will follow....