I talked in a previous post about my first experience with a chemical substance at age 12. It happened to be alcohol but it could have been anything. The way it made me feel and the relief it provided is universal across the chemical spectrum. When I look back, almost 30 years ago, it is so readily apparent how life changed at that moment. The coping mechanism available was more powerful than anything else learned from parents and teachers and it took hold in a way that causes me to shudder when I think back on it.

It’s not like there was an immediate transformation into daily use, rather, it was an evolution that took place over the next four years. During that period, puberty and all the associated hormonal brain changes kicked in while at the same time the total consequences of my parents’divorce became apparent.

I felt abandoned by my father. He left our family, which included my mother and us three siblings, for P and her three children. We moved out of the house we all shared so P and her three children could move in. I went from sleeping in my own room one weekend to sleeping on some strange couch in the living the next. There was now another person occupying my room and the entire house had different furniture and even a different smell. We had to get rid of our cat, who I loved, because P had a cat and the two didn’t get along. It was really shitty.

The foundation for maladaptation was set from the moment I was born. With an alcoholic mother and a father who was the youngest of twelve children, meaning he never learned how to nurture from his own parents, I was left to my own devices directly out of the womb. Stories circulate among my extended family of the temper tantrums they experienced when I was very young. This was a symptom of an inability to self-regulate and a simulation of the one emotion that was freely expressed around the household, anger. The lessons of discipline and perseverance in the pursuit of intrinsically motivating activities were never taught, and this was and still is a key factor in the lost opportunities of my life.

I was identified as highly intelligent at a very young age and excelled at school until the affect of the divorce had driven me to believe there was something fundamentally wrong with me. When I discovered marijuana at the age of fourteen my ability and desire to escape was propelled to a new level. When I was high, the knot in my stomach went away and I felt light and could fantasize about good things happening: falling in love, making money, liking my appearance. Without drugs, insecurity and shame prevailed and kept me isolated behind a wall devoid of human connection.

Besides intelligence, I also have the physical stature of an athlete. I was told often of the “potential” (I now hate hearing that word) I possessed in academics and athletics. The expectation was there for me to excel at football and the chance was given to me in the 10th grade to start on the defensive line. While I possessed the physical attributes, my insecurity and inability to regulate emotion would not allow me to channel aggression in the way that football demanded. I was demoted to an average player and in my senior year, was kicked off the team after missing the first two games because of a DUI in my junior year, playing two games, then getting arrested for drinking beer at the festival where I worked.

At that point I entered a group home because my father was disgusted and wanted me out of his house. After completing juvenile treatment in the summer and coming to live with him to escape the alcoholic household of my mother, it was maybe six weeks before I relapsed. The shame of being a “groupie”, as they were known around high school, was immense. My chemical use slowed down while in the group home, not because I wanted to but because if caught, the level of consequence began to increase dramatically to the point that incarceration was a possibility.

That fall the US Marine recruiters visited the school. Feeling so ashamed, military service seemed to be a shot at redemption and in my eyes, the Marines were a caliber above the other branches. The day after my 18th birthday I enlisted under the delayed entry program and scored a 98 on my entrance exam. Once again, I was told how smart I was and that I could do anything. Shortly after my birthday I moved out of the group home. Though it would have been possible to remain until high school graduation, I was an adult and off juvenile probation. The short-term benefit of shame reduction outweighed the obviously more important long-term benefit of graduation.

After moving into my own apartment, T came into the picture. I never had a girlfriend before and was a virgin. Now the attention and affection of a female, which was never received from mom, took on great significance in my decision making. The drug and alcohol use returned unfettered after the reigns of the group home were removed and this certainly clouded judgement as well.

Scheduled to ship out that August after graduation, the decision was made that four years of military service wasn’t worth missing what I thought were going to be the most fun four years of my life in the small, suburban city where I grew up. In hindsight, this rationale behind that decision brings incredulity and significant regret. I was able to get out of my commitment to the Marine Corps by stating that A) I did not want to go and B) I was a daily pot smoker and was unfit for military service.

Little did I know that the consequences from my disease were just beginning.