Without reliving and rehashing everything that happened on June 19, 2022, I will tell you what has happened since.
It was on this day, two years ago today (almost to the hour, actually), that I made the biggest decision of my life: I was going to commit myself to a psychiatric hospital, and subsequently, a rehabilitation center.
I didn’t come to this decision lightly. If I’m honest, I had delayed such a thing for almost all of my adult life.
The past two decades of my life were spent in excess. Drugs. Alcohol. Gambling. Lying. Cheating. Stealing. Hypersexuality. Exploitation. Depression. Extreme highs and lows. Low self-esteem. Anxiety. Carelessness. Selfishness.
At one point or another, each of these had taken control of my life. Some a decade ago. Some years ago. At some point, though, each one controlled me, and not the other way around.
On June 19, 2022, it was time to say goodbye and hello, at the same time. In order to live, and continue on with life in general, I had to seek professional help. I had to say goodbye to the past, and hello to the future.
As mentioned earlier, I didn’t go willingly. Oh, I went kicking and screaming, at least, in terms of my attitude towards this decision.
I was down. I was out. I was at my very rock bottom. I hit an all-time low. I lost my job, and possibly my career. I lost my girlfriend. I lost my place to live. I lost all of my money. I lost any shred of dignity or respect I had left.
My life was over. This was my end. After a three-day disappearance and bender, and plotting of ways to end everything, this was it.
My girlfriend at the time (spoiler alert, now my wife), drove to my mother’s house and put the fear of God in me. While I had to accept that our time may have ended, there was still hope.
I didn’t believe in hope. It was forsaken in my mind’s land, but for her, and my mother, this would be their last stand. My last stand. If this is where and how it ended, it was going to be with the one thing I had yet to try.
Professional help. Therapy. Doctors. Psychologists. Rehab. Psych wards. I was going to be put through the wringer, and if I didn’t come away clean and sober, so be it. At least I had tried everything I (and they) could.
I’m sure there’s a lot of people in my life that will never forget that time, or day even. I still remember moments. I remember how low I felt. How embarrassed I was. I remember what it felt like, to not feel anything else.
I spent the next month of my life in intensive care, inpatient and outpatient facilities, rehab centers, with therapists, and psychologists, and with many other people just like me. My prevailing thought was this:
We have all been given this final chance. It takes rock bottom to be where I was, and we all were. I was not going to let this be my final swan song. I was going to make it.
We were told that only 5% of the people who walk through these doors begin and continue a life of cleanliness, sobriety, and/or a life of feeling good about themselves and others.
Being a former professional poker player, I knew that meant I was down to two outs with the river to come. 52 cards in a deck. Only 2 cards could save me, with one more to come.
Like a cat with 9 lives, I hit my two-outter. I have been clean and sober for two years. June 19, 2022. A day that will forever be a celebration.
In two years since I have regained the respect and admiration of my peers and colleagues. I took a 1.5-year hiatus from funeral service (read about that here). I attended weekly therapy sessions and various life recovery programs for a year after, including Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous.
I rebuilt everything I had lost with my family, a few remaining friends, and most important of all, my girlfriend (now-turned-wife). I even had a daughter. My first child. I became a life recovery coach for a brief time and published a book about everything (HELP! I’m Trapped in a Psych Ward and Can’t Get Out!)
I have everything I have ever wanted in life, and I owe it all to those who helped me along the way. This will be a lifelong battle within myself, but one that I will not go through alone.
Thank you, Arianna. Thank you, mom. Thank you, everyone. Thank you.
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Life, Death, and Everything in Between. 