“Sometimes, the best thing we can do is choose hope”
Growing up, I am very grateful to have been sheltered from much of the pain afflicted by drugs onto my family. Being young, naive, and having a conscious mother helped in this regard. That doesn’t necessarily mean the pain was any less felt. My father dealt with addictions of various natures, and what I saw most poignantly growing up was his loss of spark. He used to love to dance, to make jokes and have fun —he was the silliest person I knew. However, he let the darkness consume him. He gave way to destructive forces in his life so that the light started to fade. I saw it in his health; his looks were a direct reflection of the substances he allowed into his body.
This transformed version of my father ceased to be in my life when my parents divorced when I was in second grade. I saw him for 2 hours twice a week, and the short glimpses into his new life were depressing. Nevertheless, I have fond memories of going barbie-shopping, or eating out with my father. In those moments, I gained back my father, and it was like nothing had ever changed. This lasted only a year. After that, the shared custody ended and so began the radio silence. I was left with my imagination and memories of my father to supply my curiosity about my father. It felt overwhelming in many ways. That this was someone who was my blood, and I had no idea where or what he was doing anymore. My father was out there, and yet I wasn’t even confident in that. I was lost. I had regrets, of what I could have done to have made him become this way, to have created this silence between us. But I learned early on, that my optimistic mindset is what helped me grow up without a father and with the uncertainty constantly in the back of my mind. I chose hope. I chose to believe that my father was still the passionate, sincere, and goofy man I knew. I chose hope for myself, that I was not automatically presecribed to his path, that my future could be free from the destruction of drugs. I chose hope, and it saved me.
The silence was broken in 2020 when I was informed of his passing. I have now spent many years reflecting on the memories I can remember, and the coping methods that were most useful for me. As a kid, there was a lot of confusion surrounding the topic, and though I believe ignorance of evil can be good in younger ages, it is important to be aware, for both your family, and yourself. So, I created FamilyOverDrugs, for kids who, like me, needed guidance in how to navigate situations of addiction in family, for their safety, and with the hope that they could potentially make change and prevent endings like my fathers.