My Journey Through Addiction: How It Started

I was born January 6, 1969, in Asbury Park, NJ, and was announced as Stephen Edward Pomeroy, son to David and Catherine Pomeroy. Now I am 49 years old.

I do not remember much about the first few years we spent in New Jersey before moving to Cincinnati, Ohio. By many accounts, my childhood was filled with many happy memories. I can still recall Christmas celebrations in which I joyously opened presents and for the most part got what I wished for.

I remember playing ping-pong with my father and sliding on the floor in the basement diving for balls, as well as playing nerf hoops and electric football with him. I remember summers of swim meets, tennis matches, and pick-up basketball. I even remember making the “A” relay swim team with my mother pulling me out of the pool and hugging me in celebration. I liked it so much at the swim club that I even worked there for a few summers as the maintenance boy. I took pride in rising out of bed early to go and clean the hard deck, while many were still asleep. I also fondly remember the winters playing in the snow, sledding, building snowmen, and of course, having snowball fights. I excelled in the classroom and in sports.

There were a few unpleasant memories, where I vividly remember my father becoming so angry with me that I did not know what to do, say, or even really how to feel. While, for the most part there were many fond memories, I recall that the frequency of my father’s angry outbursts would increase as I started middle school. To a certain degree, I noticed the same behavior in my mother. At first, I didn’t think much of it, as still things were relatively okay in my world. Sometimes I would cry as I was sent to my room, but my parents would console me, and everything would be alright until the next time.

Fine is not okay
As I started to reach puberty, my reaction to these outbursts became much different. I would become angry, resentful and confused as to why I was being treated this way. I began a pattern of retreating to my room or somewhere outside where I could be left alone and not be bothered by anyone. If I was outside playing by myself, occasionally a friend would come along, and I could be temporarily distracted from my feelings, and for the time being, I would be okay.

If I was asked how I was doing I would simply reply “fine.” It is interesting, as I now realize at 49 years old, that I would continue this kind of coping for many decades in the form of overworking, isolating, and eventually drinking to escape my feelings. The word “fine” became a common reply to “How are you?” But, they say fine actually stands for: Fucked Up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional.

That’s a tough one to admit when most people around me assumed that everything was great in my life and I had everything under control. In the past, anyone who saw through it all and called me out would ultimately be kicked out of my life. Over time and continued alcohol abuse, I would become hypervigilant with these people, and trust would no longer be something I believed in. Eventually I stopped believing in myself.

I could not handle being asked: What’s wrong with you? I would get defensive and my ego would compensate and console me. This would take on the forms of emotional outbursts, self-defeating pride, self-pity and alcohol abuse. The alcohol would help me suppress and avoid my emotions, justify my anger and resentment, rationalize my self-pity and hide my shame of not being good enough. Eventually alcohol would worsen my shame, lead to alcoholism, and leave me in a place of morbid reflection, anxious anticipation, isolation, sadness, incomprehensible demoralization, self-pity, and another drink. I was trying to satisfy a craving that was slowly destroying me.

Understanding addiction

Fortunately, over the years, I realized it didn’t have to be this way, and I began seeking professional help for my alcohol use disorder.

In reality though, what I ended up being treated for (in addition to alcoholism) and what I am still working on today is an intimacy disorder, which can result in addiction. As I wrote in my last blog, connection is essential to recovery. Without it, we become detached and cut off and ultimately will wither and die.

But without understanding what intimacy is, how can we connect with others? How can we have the courage to be vulnerable to find this connection/intimacy? Have you heard the story about the good wolf and the bad wolf? The wolf you feed the most is the one that survives or wins. I wasn’t intentionally feeding the bad wolf. It was just that I didn’t know how to feed the good wolf. We will talk about this in future blogs.

I do not blame or hold my parents and others responsible for my alcoholism. I do believe that these people contributed to my suffering over time, but today I firmly believe that I became the principal author of my suffering until I decided to change and seek help. In fact, today I believe my relationship with my family is on more solid ground than ever before. To be clear: I love them very much and appreciate all the things they have provided over the years.

As discussed in my last blog, I had to make myself completely vulnerable with regard to my shame and the depths and darkness of my disease.

They say that pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. Another way to say it is the brain experiences the pain, but the mind learns the suffering. My mind became conditioned to anxious feelings of not being good enough and feeling left out and detached even in the presence of others. I assumed that I knew what people were thinking and feeling and I started taking things personally. Intimacy eluded me, and when the opportunity for intimacy presented itself, I became fearful and avoided it by isolating and pushing people away. Using alcohol in isolation felt very safe for such a long time in my life. Sometimes I could not wait to leave the party and go home and drink alone.

Eventually I would resurface, relying on the go-to reply of “I’m fine.” I seldom knew how to seize the moment and take advantage of the opportunity to express my real feelings. In the past I was often criticized and shamed for expressing my feelings. Even feelings of joy and happiness were frowned upon. I continued to self-medicate as it seemed to work for some time. Until it didn’t…

Dealing with shame
Going back to my childhood, I remember that as I was still going through puberty and entering high school, not only were my parents changing in their behavior toward me, others around me seemed to be changing as well.

As many of us recall, as kids growing up and even seeing children experiencing this as they grow up, kids can be really cruel toward each other. Hell, there are also parents, teachers, coaches and other adult figures who can be cruel and hard on kids, sending the wrong message. Typically, it is a message of shame: You failed and you’re not good enough…

Until recently, I didn’t know what to do and how to handle these feelings of embarrassment, shame and guilt as others would tease, criticize and bully me. Many times, when I sought comfort from my parents, coaches, and others I was led to believe that the problem was me and that I was doing something wrong. I was upset, troubled, angered, and hurt. My parents and others who I looked up to and turned to for understanding and clarity simply did not have the tools to provide the empathy, compassion and support I desperately needed. Again, I accept full ownership of my challenges and do not blame anyone. Honestly, taking ownership of things and making changes in my life feels quite empowering.

I truly believe today that these people (including my parents) were doing the best they could with the knowledge they had at the time.

Little did I know, but that was my first-time experiencing shame in the form of not being good enough, or not being liked, included or welcomed. Again, I would isolate for safety and have feelings of self-pity, loneliness and confusion. My idea of God at the time was a loving God but also a punishing God. As I entered my freshman year of high school I continued to excel in in the classroom and in athletics, and everything would seem normal to those on the outside, including my parents.

I learned to keep my mouth shut, suppress my feelings, and people please to get along with others and be accepted. My freshman year, by many accounts, was deemed to be successful, but the feelings of shame grew as the teasing and bullying continued and the places and opportunities to retreat into isolation seemed to diminish. I couldn’t run and hide anymore and be left alone to try to sort things out. The summer provided some relief at the old swim club, but it wasn’t good enough, as I wanted to be accepted and liked. I wanted to be “cool.” My friends and I were viewed as geeks or nerds, or so I believed. It was now my sophomore year and I wanted to escape these feelings of shame and feeling unwanted. Again, I wanted to be cool. Then came alcohol…

It would take years for me to realize that getting good grades, excelling in sports, and being yourself around people who really care about you is “cool.” I also realize now that these were the first times when I felt powerless over my life. The unmanageability would come later. Talk soon!

Have hope and believe,

Steve

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