Patsy

In her own words:

My story isn’t one of near-death experiences and extreme loss. I never had my children taken away or ended up in a prison cell. I’ve never been in hospital due to substance use, although I have come close on occasions. I don’t judge those who go through these experiences. I consider myself extremely lucky that it didn’t happen to me.

Primarily, mine is a story of self-stigmatisation, and a life that could’ve been much less that it now is, had I not finally overcome my shame to reach out for help.

My using, as for many of us, started early. As a kid I never felt part of things; there was always an invisible barrier between me and everyone else. I irritated people and got bullied for being gullible and clumsy. I was bright, but I couldn’t get along with anyone. I felt like a massive failure, and I was desperately sad.

In my teens I tried alcohol and drugs as soon as I could. My very first cigarette felt like a hug; I went from hater to hooked in three drags. Alcohol let me to relax and talk and make friends. Gradually I tried different substances and found helpful crutches for different social and emotional situations. Over the years my user friends gradually gave up, and I carried on.

For the next 20 years I functioned, just. I ‘just’ passed my degree. I ‘just’ kept my relationship going. I ‘just’ held down jobs, but I got worse and worse at turning up and getting things done. After I had children (I was clean during pregnancy), things were so much harder for me to cope with. I started my own business but ended up napping and using during the day.

By that point I had two autistic kids to fight for and I couldn’t cope. My physical and mental health were failing, I was exhausted and overwhelmed, and I really needed help to cope with thoughts of ending it all.

But where could I turn? Nowhere, I told myself.  If I went to my doctor, she would report me to social services. I was so scared of judgement that I lied and said I didn’t smoke when I developed asthma. I told her I was drinking one or two bottles of wine a week, not every day. I went on anti-depressants without admitting everything else I was taking. If I asked for help, I told myself, it would destroy my family and my life. I drove, worked (not very much), and attended school meetings as high as a kite.

A year before I got clean, I was ‘just’ holding things together, but not living at all. When I heard about Narcotics Anonymous (NA), another kind of stigma crept in; my internalised stigma of not being a ‘good enough’ addict. I wasn’t addicted to ‘hard’ drugs like heroin and crack. I’d be laughed out of meetings, so I didn’t try it.

One day 2 years ago, with a dry-heaving hangover and a spinning headful of burning shame, I finally logged on to an NA meeting. You’re safe with us, they said. We’re all the same here. I’ve been clean ever since.

I sometimes wonder what would make it easier for addicts to get help. My stigma was self-imposed but rooted in a knowledge of how society feels about drug addicts. No one likes to be judged negatively by others, especially if they already feel like such a failure.

What we need is a societal shift towards seeing drugs and alcohol as rational responses to life’s challenges. Anyone can get sucked into addiction. It’s not weak, lazy or indulgent. Stigma and shame shouldn’t be allowed to keep us locked into a life we desperately need help to escape.

Patsy is an autistic recovering addict with an interest in reducing stigma and shame around drug and alcohol use. She submitted her story directly to us. If you would like to share your experiences of stigma, please contact us at info@antistigmanetwork.org.uk.