All is lost

The year was 2022, around the time of my 40th birthday, when I began to notice an intense feeling that something was very wrong. I couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but it was so omnipresent that it seemed as though everything was wrong. On the surface, my life was great. I had a partner who loved me, a slick pad in Gastown, and a high-paying job. I had spent much of my 30s traveling overseas, dining out and cooking delicious food, enjoying great entertainment and nightlife, plus I picked up a dream hobby: sailing

Even the pandemic was good to me. I was getting paid by the government to “isolate” and sail all summer for 2 years in a row. But not long after going back to work, I fell into a deep depression, and it felt like I was heading towards a catastrophic end. Was this it for me? Was I going to waste away as a miserable drunk in a dead-end job, never being able to retire? How much longer would I be able to live downtown? Nothing was affordable anymore. WAS I STILL HAPPY IN MY RELATIONSHIP? I felt like my entire life was a facade that was about to come crashing down. But I didn't know what to do, so I drank more and more, and used other substances, nearly every night.

I didn't care about anything other than numbing everything. My relationship fell apart, I had to move out of downtown, and despite winning employee of the month again that year I knew my nearly 20 year career was over. I barely went sailing anymore. I knew had to change my entire life but I didn't know how to, or even where to begin.

During this time, I met someone. Someone on their own path of healing. She would introduce me to meditation, self-care, the importance of rest, and the idea that I could build the life I'd dreamed of. I was so desperate to believe her, but when I took a really hard look at myself, it seemed impossible. I slipped even harder into my despair. My reckless drinking was spiraling out of control, and she couldn't take it anymore; she had to save herself.

I wasn't sure what recovery meant or even looked like, but I started to attend meetings and enrolled in peer support groups. After some time, I was able to string a couple of sober weeks together, then a month, then months. But relapse after relapse crushed my spirit, led me to getting robbed, cost me my job, and finally put me in the hospital. Yet I persevered.

At first, I was terrified of being sober. How would I meet people? What would I do for fun? How could I ever talk to women? I thought I was an extrovert, but my confidence was shot by the years of self-destruction. Yet I knew it was life and death, but I felt like I was damned if I didn't, damned if I did.

Slowly but surely, I found more programs. More support. I started meeting more allies in recovery, and I was making friends unlike I had ever had before. They were honest, beautifully flawed, genuinely authentic people, and we shared our stories of battling unimaginable demons on a quest for survival.

I learned that connection was the opposite of addiction, and that my isolation was killing me. I needed purpose, I needed to be with people, and I needed to give myself the love that I had inside me.

It was then that I fully understood what I had to do.