LEOs. INTERNAL AFFAIRS.

According to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), 10.8 million people with substance abuse issues hold full – time jobs.

I was one of them.

I struggled with the disease; as a result of adverse childhood experiences, genetics, lifestyle choices, FEAR (that was never going to happen to me again) and forever negative self – talk.

You see, if you knew me, you would hate me too.

I began drinking my dad’s homemade wine when I was 8 – he would make it in those huge 25 gallon demijohns, and needed a siphon to get his nectar into a bottle.

I would use the hose to guzzle whatever I could.

By grade 12, I was drinking anything and everything, smoking weed or hash if given the chance.

And I loved LSD.

Loved it – it never really bothered me. I could always run, swim or fly really fast whenever I took it.

When I turned 18, I moved to Toronto for the summer, and lived with my acid dealer. I had some knowledge with psychiatrists because I was in trouble at school all the time and psychotropic prescriptions came my way.

Those therapists had taught me what to say, and in those days there were no computers – I could easily change my name and get new pills.

And I drank with them every chance I could.

Pills for anxiety, depression, post – traumatic stress, and whatever else I could get down my throat.

I was a complete mess, and when I turned 21, I got a badge. The job changed things, and that was okay because physically, the pills and chemicals were beginning to take their toll on me.

I could only drink now.

This went on for over four decades.

I am in addiction recovery, without any substance since September 17th, 2011.  

After 36 years, I retired in 2017.  

Before I left that job, I returned to college and earned a modest certificate in ‘Chemical Dependency Counseling’. 

In 2018, I also earned a certificate from a very important and prestigious organization in the United States – The Addictions Academy.

I have extensive “lived experience”, attended over 3,000 substance abuse meetings, and facilitating discussions – including motivational interviewing, individual/ family counselling sessions, in-house recovery programs, after care/ongoing monitoring – to assist addicts/alcoholics, and their loved ones with interventions.

January 2016.

 I went to New Orleans for a major Corrections conference, and co-presented a workshop regarding addiction, mental illness (and suicidal plan, when I was 18).

All three of which had been a part of my journey.  

The attendees really enjoyed our presentation, and I was elated.

The next day I was going to be a tourist. 

Well, things don’t always turn out the way you want.  

I went to Café Du Monde, had some beignets and café au lait.

Then I went to Central Grocery and Deli and bought a muffaletta sandwich. 

I was walking in the park, on a beautiful sunny day, and at peace.

I went up on a small bridge to take a look at this new part of the world, and I saw a man urinating on a cement wall. When he was done, he stumbled towards the grass, and passed out, falling like a tree.

I noticed that he had soiled himself.

Been there, done that.

New Orleans like the rest of the world has a large homeless population – and there were versions of me everywhere.

I became extremely depressed, as old memories and feelings carved their way back into my soul. There is a beautiful church about a mile from that park, so I went there to look for answers.

I walked through a sea of humanity, people who were wandering and just existing on the street.

Helplessness and hopelessness.

Their negative energy fed my self – talk.

Everything I had been doing was a lie.

My disease was laughing at me, saying “Hey. I am still here”.

Where was I going to get a gun in NOLA?

I am brilliant you see.

“A” – type personality.  

A natural problem solver.

Quickly, methodically, and calmly, I surmised a plan to go back to my hotel, grab an extension cord from one of the conference rooms, and find a place in their parking garage, where I could use to hang myself.

I bought a bottle of J.D.

I sat down in my room and poured myself a glass of Jack.

I knew that as soon as I drank, my children would be ripped apart, and devastated again. 

That guilt fed my self-termination process.

I had to write a note first.

 “I’m sorry”.  

I was very calm, everything slowed down. 

I took a bite of the muffaletta.

Sicilian bread, mortadella, capicola, salami, provolone, olives.

That sandwich saved my life.

I poured the booze into the sink, and all the puss that was festering inside of me left with it.

In August 2018, I went to another major conference and presented my own workshop this time.

I had a prime spot at the venue, day one – before lunch.

There were over 200 people in my audience – LEOs, EMTs, various medical personnel, first responders.

I mentioned that I would help anyone in anyway, if they needed to talk.

During the next two days, about twenty people came up and shared their pain with me about a loved one’s suicide, and their guilt.

I told them, that burden was not theirs to carry.

Another dozen or so folks were absolutely in the disease of addiction.

 I shared with them my journey, offering them both possibility and hope; to maybe find the courage to try and get help.

One lady, had a plan, told me she had her gun in her mouth the week before.

She said that she was going to get help with her drinking and pills and talk to a therapist.

I hope that she did, and is reading this – she never did call me back.

Countless first responders are struggling mightily.

Maybe you know someone.

Is it you?

Listen to me.

Please.

Don’t give up.

Reach out.

Suicide means the disease wins.