Hi I'm Matt, and I'm an addict.

God, I must have uttered that phrase about a thousand times in the past twelve months. And you know what? I'm so fucking proud of myself every single time I say it!

Today marks my one year clean date from drugs and alcohol. It's bewildering to me to think that only a little over a year ago I was days away from being okay with killing myself. A certain death that I had all but made peace with because I saw no hope for any brightness in my future. I was too far-gone down my addiction spiral that the option of any sort of redemption no longer existed. But how did I get there? How did I, someone with incredible friends, a great job, a loving family, so much to live for, find myself alone in my apartment - sobbing over a pint of rum and a plate of cooked cocaine and crystal meth and almost every other drug imaginable - end up there - physically and mentally unable to stop myself from taking that next hit. Because I suffer from the disease of addiction - an obsession of the mind, body and soul. I have an illness that lay dormant for most of my life, but slowly and surely that cunning inner demon took advantage of every life trauma - one compounded onto the next - and ate away at every single part of me. Until I was an empty human being living only to use, regardless of who I hurt in the process and what consequences may occur externally, until the day I died.

From the outside I seemed to have it all. My life on social media has always looked fun and glamorous (and for the most part it has been, I have been incredibly fortunate to have lived as many of the experiences I have). But I was slowly dying from the pain and anguish inside caused by a life of traumas and hardships. Bullying and abuse in every form from early childhood, identity crises due to my sexuality and relocations, living through a natural disaster, holding onto the guilt of a loved one killing someone else, were compounded by further incidents and events that happened over the last few years. And then the world shut down and I was alone in my apartment for so long that the pain tore me open and there was nothing left of me - I was a shell of a human being. A rapid downward spiral that lasted less than four or five months but started decades before it came to fruition.?

I still, to this day, have no idea where the tiny iota of hope came from - but over the course of a couple weeks, in between drugged and boozed up frenzies, I'd let slip to people close to me that something was off. The thing about being an addict, is you spend every waking hour of your life disguising yourself as best as possible. But all disguises eventually begin to fade, and those closest to me clocked that something was very wrong. My leaders at work backed me without hesitation and put me on immediate paid medical leave, urging me to seek help and allowing me as much time as necessary to work on myself so that I could come back as strong as possible (if I wanted to). I finally started realising I had something worth fighting for - myself. Spearheaded by one of the most incredible human beings I'll ever have the honour to call one of my closest friends, friends and work colleagues jumped into action from all over Europe and the US and did everything they could to keep me alive and provide support until I was admitted to rehab - including literally flying to Amsterdam and baby-sitting me for three weeks 24/7, coming to doctors appointments with me, riding in the uber with me to the airport to make sure I’d make my flight to Scotland for treatment, and staying in quarantine with me the week I returned to Amsterdam. The emotional weight of the burden they so willingly and readily accepted still floors me. My loving family, stuck behind New Zealand’s closed country border, could all but sit and wait, hoping and praying my friends could get me to the finish line.?

The first doctor I saw, six weeks prior to entering rehab, told me that if I didn't stop using immediately I would be dead within weeks, if not days. The sheer volume and cocktail of drugs in my system should have already killed me. But somehow I was still alive. The black market painkillers and benzos I'd procured, mixed with six to eight times the daily recommended dose of paracetamol and ibuprofen further numbed the pain (this alone could have been the end of me). A hole in my septum, face swollen from sinus damage, my organs throbbing constantly, paranoia and minor hallucinations from sleeping once or twice a week and complete malnutrition and massive weight loss from the limited amounts of food I could force myself to consume each day meant I was a ticking time bomb. My bank account and mortgage savings dwindled to sub zero, multiple credit cards maxed out and using my body as drug currency, I was completely bankrupt - emotionally, mentally and spiritually.

My time in Castle Craig was the most difficult and most extraordinary experience of my life. The days were sometimes excruciatingly long, the conversations incredibly challenging, but the self-discovery was priceless. Ten weeks in that magical place helped start my rewiring process - my brain no longer functioning like a normal human being - I was clinically insane, the obsession to use above all else taken over. Two full A4 binders of written work - essays, poetry and course notes - I’d enrolled in a University for life. A chance I wish every person got to experience. An opportunity to be free from the real world and take a crash course on what being a functioning human being really means (phones only allowed twice a week for an hour really help with realising the value of loved ones). I met over a hundred people who were exactly like me - people with so much to live for, who’d all but given up on themselves over the course of their lives. Revealing every part of ourselves to one another, the bonds made will last a life-time. My greatest flaws read back to me during peer evaluations and shared in the smokers hut were only filled with love and the hope they’d help me become better. Seizures, psychotic breaks, hopeless romances and newly arriving sick people filled The Castle with the constantly evolving ecosystem of concern, love and togetherness I don’t imagine I’ll ever see again in such a confined space. I’ll never forget singing a duet in the choir on Christmas Eve dressed as a glitter-bearded Santa with a gorgeous man who’s apology to me after sharing my life story freed me from the burden of all the awful boys and men who abused me as a child. Or standing on the hill with two fellows belting out Frank Sinatra at the top of our lungs as the Castle Alpacas blinked stupidly at us. Or twenty of us watching James Bond on a projector whilst a huge snow storm tore through the grounds around us. Or my therapists and fellow patients, who, every single day, piece by piece, helped me rebuild my foundation for life by being honest #MattTheFenceNoMore .

I realised during my time in The Castle and the therapy that followed and still continues, that coming out as an addict is much like coming out as a Gay man. I'd battled with inner demons of shame, self-loathing and an inner voice telling me there was something wrong with me, that I was a broken human being not worthy of love or anything good in life. But most importantly, in both cases, I was a little boy lost in denial. But that denial is now shattered and I’m learning each day to accept new parts of myself I never knew existed. Parts that were buried so deep beneath my skin that it’ll take a lifetime to truly reconcile.

Since entering recovery, a state I hope to live in for the rest of my life, one day at a time, my outlook on life has completely changed. I no longer have to force myself to be outwardly positive and cheery and bubbly to make myself and others more comfortable, it resonates from deep within. And when I’m triggered emotionally I take time to unpack and re-frame my mental space. I’m completely at peace with myself and my past and look forward to whatever the future holds, both the difficult times and the magical ones. My relationships with friends and family have grown stronger because of the honest conversations (radically honest one might say) I’m now having with those closest to me. Deep, thorough, meaningful conversations from the heart. Helping one another to improve and grow and find the best versions of ourselves. I’m not only physically present but emotionally, mentally and spiritually present at all times. I’m engaging fully with life like never before and now every memory I make I can actually remember, unlike so many amazing times forgotten due to memory loss and blackouts. My days are now full after a proper night's rest, I eat healthily, I exercise regularly (I ran a half marathon 3 days ago!!) and for the first time in over twenty years am starting to feel good about how I look. No more internalised self-hatred from that inner voice -? Accepting wholly that I AM ENOUGH...?

I’m challenging myself to do things I’ve never done before as the fear of not being perfect is stripped away. I’ve stopped constantly people-pleasing and wanting to be liked at the expense of myself, finally building boundaries that never existed by being vocal about my own needs. Giving myself space for pause and reflection by no longer over-committing myself every minute of the day.

Every week, no matter what country I’m in, I step inside a room filled with other addicts and I’m embraced and loved regardless of the things I did in my past. My friendship circle has grown tenfold with people from all walks of life struggling through the very same illness that once crippled me. And I get to help newcomers try and find the light again just by living and breathing the 12 Step Programme to the best of my ability. I’ll never be a saint, nor ever close to that mark, but I’ll do my best to try and not be a self-involved, entitled, morose, sad little human being ever again. I’ve found my light and I work hard every day to keep the candle burning (and only at one end now - I love my eight hours of sleep a night).

The compassion and kindness I’ve received from every person I’ve encountered, both in the weeks leading up to rehab and in the months that followed from addicts and non-addicts alike, has been an incredible reminder of the best parts of humanity. No-one has ever made me feel “less than” for being honest about my addiction - instead, stories of identification, love, and congratulations have enveloped me.

I wanted to share my story, not for pity or praise or anything in between. I just want to break through the facade and bullshit of social media for one second to reveal my truth. And if I can show just one other person struggling with their own demons that is IS POSSIBLE to break free, it IS POSSIBLE to overcome what feels insurmountable right now, it IS POSSIBLE to start a journey of recovery. You just have to take that first step. It’s OKAY to ask for help. “You alone can do it, but you cannot do it alone”. It's the hardest thing you'll ever do, but I can say one thing for certain - My hardest day so far in recovery has been ten times easier than any I experienced when my life was consumed by drugs and alcohol.

I'm so grateful for all of my guardian angels who kept me alive these last few years, until the moment I was able to start loving myself for the first time in my life. You saw my value long before I ever did and the enormity of this debt I will never be able to fully repay, but I can pay it forward by trying every single day to be the best version of myself and inspire others who are lost.?

I can finally say I love Matt and I love the man who I’ve become.

Much love and thank you for reading,

Matt xx

#odaat #sobrietyjourney #recoveryispossible #gratefulrecoveringaddict #recovery #sobriety #grateful #nomoreshame #proudofwhoiam #iamenough #mentalhealthawareness