Hi, my name is Yakov and I’m a recovered addict.
Today I am clean and sober, have a great life with my family and a vibrant career in health care, but life wasn’t always that way. There were times of deep pain and suffering.
When I first walked into outpatient rehab, I was swallowed in darkness and shaking with fear. I can still remember the intense feelings of depression and hopelessness. I wasn’t even craving a drink or drug. I was craving help, and although my mind was clouded with plumes from the smoke of despair, I recall a sparkle of serenity from my surrender.
Yet my story started earlier than that. I was raised in the Five Towns with a loving mother and father. I was raised Modern Orthodox and attended local yeshivas. My parents gave me everything they didn’t have. I can still remember the guilt I had when I wanted something but knew my parents couldn’t afford it. Strangely, this anxiety didn’t stop me from asking, but it left me with a constant ache from a lack of acceptance.
My parents and siblings love to read and are all book-smart. Lawyers and doctors make up a large part of my family. I had struggled with paying attention and never enjoyed reading, so throughout my childhood I felt “stupid.” This left me with a strong sense of insecurity that also pained my spirit.
Finally, tragically, when I was eight years old, I was peer molested. This means that a child my age acted out their own sexual abuse with me. This event was something I lived with my whole life. At eight I simply did not have the skills to face something so intense. I had my first panic attack when I was 13. I was full of anxiety and fear. Fear was my enemy and I hated him.
Another very significant and traumatic event happened in school. I was publicly humiliated by a prominent authority figure. My parents wouldn’t believe what happened and made me verify my allegations. I felt invalidated and abandoned and again faced feelings I simply did not know what to do with.
It’s important to make clear that at the same time that I was living in all of this pain I was also very “normal.” I had many friends, a sense of humor, and played a great game at pretending to be happy. Everyone who “knew” me saw a happy-go-lucky kid. Meanwhile, in truth, I was cringing in my own skin. My outside joy and laughter was the opposite of my inside pain.
I recall my first drink, in eighth grade. I blacked out, waking up only the next day. I drank lightly over the next few years with varied experiences with trouble. Fast-forward to post-high-school learning in Israel for three years—white shirt, black hat, seeing a couple of therapists, and hiding dozens of panic attacks with endless days of difficulty breathing. I decided enough was enough. I diagnosed myself with an incurable anxiety disorder and needed medication. I went home to my local pediatrician who offered me Benzodiazepine (similar to Xanax). I was free from anxiety at last. The drug took away all my fear … but also stripped my life of sanity. For me, no fear at all meant I could be free of the pressures of keeping up appearances. I could try every drug, leave religion, and suffer no consequences. I thought, “This is it. I will finally be OK!”
If you are wondering if I thought this was normal, I did sometimes. One time I found myself smoking pot, taking Xanax, and eating mushrooms before getting two wisdom teeth pulled. Of course, I asked for the laughing gas! From my vantage point, I was watching two skeletons working on my mouth looking for diamonds. I thought this insanity was funny. I couldn’t see how dangerous and irresponsible this all was.
Unfortunately, there were other times much more pathetic than this, times when I questioned my very “sanity” in ways that were not funny at all. How could I get behind the wheel of a car after overdosing on Xanax? Get into one accident, get back in the car, only to get into another accident and then, yes, repeat that one more time! In one night! I could’ve killed myself—or worse, an innocent person. I knew I was playing with fire but I didn’t know how to get out.
That leads me to the beginning of my story, to when I entered outpatient rehab and said, “I need help.” My family was telling me to get help from the moment I popped those prescribed pills, but I didn’t see it then. That has all changed. I finally accepted the help that was offered. Today I regularly attend recovery meetings right here in the Five Towns, and surround myself with likeminded people. I have been sober for almost five years. I’m blessed that my wonderful wife and beautiful child have never seen me during those despairing times. My wife is always there for me. I have connected to the G-d of my understanding and accept life on life’s terms. Before recovery I couldn’t accept who I was, the tragedies of life, and I had little to no gratitude. In recovery I’ve learned the vital balance between acceptance and gratitude. Yes, I’ve had my fair share of struggles and I have learned and grown from them, but I’ve also had tremendous blessings. I feel as though serenity lies somewhere between these two concepts, and the essence of recovery is just that—serenity.
Please G-d, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Lessons From Recovery
People who experience addiction are people. Like with many types of mental illness, the challenges they face are perhaps more exaggerated than that of others, but they are regular human problems nonetheless. Since their problems are human, the solutions they find in recovery are often very useful to anyone.
The message of the balance between acceptance and gratitude is something we can all learn from. Justification and excuses are the toxic versions of acceptance, an avoidance technique used to perpetuate denial and justify unhealthy choices. Self-satisfaction, on the other hand, the toxic version of gratitude, can be a powerful impediment to change, seducing us into complacency and a subtle form of self-congratulatory narcissism. People in recovery practice, teach, and learn the power of humility and the balance it brings between acceptance and gratitude. Acknowledging the blessings that have been bestowed, and framing the challenges we experience as opportunities for growth, is the key to recovering from a hopeless state of mind. Waking up to the hopelessness of addiction forces the addict or alcoholic to accept his or her slice of humble pie. Yet, this humility turns out to be the greatest gift in the world. It is the key to opening the gift of serenity that can only be found in a life of acceptance and gratitude.
