opinion

How a 9-year heroin addict got clean





Jay Armstrong, an Independence resident, is a comedian who travels the country performing at comedy clubs, recovery events and even prisons.

I received a tremendous response to the piece I wrote on the importance of all parts of the community working in concert to battle the growing heroin epidemic ("How to recover from heroin" Feb. 10). For the most part, the messages fell under two categories:

•"Thank you; someone needed to say it."

•"What can I do for my loved one who is addicted?"

To those families reaching out for help I've had to reply with a heartbreaking "I don't know."

The best I can do is to tell you how I recovered. This is my experience, and I apologize if it doesn't sit well with you or your belief structure. I want to be clear that I did not "figure out" how to get clean and sober. Nothing I did was my own, original idea. I ended up in a place where I was beaten by my addiction into a state of willingness and open-mindedness.

I grew up in the rural suburbs of Independence. The adopted son of a couple of Southern Baptists. My parents didn't drink, they didn't take drugs, they didn't smoke cigarettes. My parents were good people and they were the best parents they knew how to be. I did well in school until I discovered drugs and alcohol. I was constantly told I had a lot of potential, and I was placed in special programs for gifted children. By all appearances it would seem that I had a better than average shot at a successful life.

Something inside me was different, though. I was constantly filled with fear – fear of human interaction, fear of failure, fear of success, fear of punishment, fear of being ignored, fear of being recognized. Any time I did something wrong or failed at something I was over-remorseful. As far back as I can remember I considered suicide. I felt different than everyone else and I judged the way I felt by the way everyone else looked. They looked normal, and I did not feel normal. Anxiety ran high for me, and I don't have a satisfactory reason why. The best way I can describe the way I felt is by comparing it to the last 15 minutes before you get off work, when you're watching the clock. That's how I felt all the time.

At about 12 years old I was introduced to alcohol, and suddenly I felt OK for probably the first time in my life. My parents had told me how evil alcohol was, and when I realized how much better it made me feel I knew they were lying to me. It wasn't just them, but the DARE program, as well, and if they were lying about alcohol they were lying about marijuana and other drugs as well. From that point on I would take just about anything that was given to me. I was taught that "a drug is a drug is a drug," and that meant to me, and many others of my generation, that heroin was no worse than marijuana.

By 1996, at 16 years old, my problem with alcohol had gotten very noticeably out of hand. At one point some friends basically had an intervention for me, but instead of suggesting sobriety they suggested opiate narcotics. In the beginning heroin was like a miracle cure for my problem with alcohol. It took me to the same place mentally and emotionally that alcohol did but with far fewer consequences. I had no idea how the real dire consequences of heroin use would manifest in my life, and I began a journey that would last almost a decade.

During this time my parents tried everything they could to help. They tried the church, therapists, counselors – all to no avail. From 1996 to 2005, I was a mess, in and out of jail more times than I can count. I went from one doctor and psychologist to the next. I overdosed multiple times and was always disappointed when I was revived, whether it was by friends or medical professionals. I served a three-year state prison sentence. I was in and out of psych wards and I completed a 28-day treatment program. None of it was enough.

In late 2005 I caught another criminal case centered around possession of heroin. I was asked by the court if I were willing to go to long-term in-patient treatment, and I said that I was. On Nov. 8, 2005, I walked into the detox of a treatment center in Louisville. I spent 8 months as a client there. This treatment center was different than what most people know. There were no group therapy sessions or any of the silly stuff you see on television. This place was a homeless shelter that offered a recovery program. What they did offer was a place to sit and recover along with some classes in life skills, a way to learn personal accountability, and an education on the disease of addiction. All the different 12-step groups brought meetings to us.

The after care I've done has been mainly spiritual. The 12-step process is a spiritual process, and through that I've been able to meet and develop a relationship with something I understand to be God. I was taught to pray very early on, and I continue that to this day. I go to meetings still, even though it's not as many as at first. The importance of doing the actual work of the 12 steps was hammered into me, and I continue to do it exactly the way it's outlined in the book I was given. This work is extremely uncomfortable, even painful, if it's done thoroughly. If you are unfamiliar with what this process actually entails I suggest you look into it.

In sobriety I've been injured a ridiculous number of times, including fracturing two vertebrae, and I have always refused pain meds. I'm not tough, I'm just afraid of waking up that monster.

I don't have an answer as to why I was able to get sober and some aren't, other than that I was willing to take direction. I can describe the process but the only explanation I have for why it works is "the grace and mercy of a loving God."

Some awful things have occurred in my life since I got clean, but the thing that matters is that I've been sober through all of it. No matter how bad it has gotten I've had support. I've done what I was taught when things are bad and when things are good. Most importantly for me, I'm not watching that clock any more.