I remember a night in the winter of 2014, sleeplessly laying there in bed, high off a few bags of heroin.
It was late, and I had spent another day going to work, coming home to my parent’s house, eating dinner and going to bed… All while feeling hopeless, lifeless and completely alone.
I slowly drifted off into a comatose state somewhere between life and death…
I remember taking a breath so deep it shocked me. Then as I desperately tried to keep myself breathing I realized I had been in respiratory arrest, my lungs had stopped working because I had overdosed just a little. I was frantic but my lungs were taking their time with each breath and I could barely move anything else. I felt like I was in a dream trying to get away from a monster while swimming through molasses. The molasse was the heroin in my bloodstream and the monster was death itself.
When my lungs finally started to function on their own without conscious thought, I could focus on other things. At least my imagination and thoughts could run wild, without the imminent threat of death.
What had my life become? Why was I here? What was I doing?
A 30-year-old, living at his parents’ house, spending every spare penny on heroin, alcohol, marijuana, and junk. Watching pornography as often as possible and taring through cigarettes while reading science fiction novels at a prodigious rate. My life was crap by any standard.
Who’s Idea is This?
Suddenly a new thought came into my head: Where was my dad’s gun? His Springfield 45?
Why would I need that?
Then more thoughts in rapid succession: It’s disassembled, can I assemble it? Where are the parts? Where’s the ammo? How long would it take to do all of this and then end it…
Wait… What? Commit suicide?
Who’s idea idea is this? It’s not mine!
The Last Straw
That final thought snapped me out of it. I realized this wasn’t from me, this was something else influencing my thoughts. The enemy. I had never been suicidal, never thought it was an option for anyone, and now, for the first time ever it came to be clear as day.
I realized I really needed help. I needed to get sober, I needed to reconnect with friends and family, I needed to be transformed.
I didn’t need to recover. I had done that, and it got me right back to where I started with the same issues I had before while just trying to hold on to sobriety. That’s not life.
I wanted, craved, and was DESPERATELY IN NEED OF LIFE!
I needed transformation, and I knew of only one person that offered that. Jesus.
A thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come so that they may have life and have it in abundance. -John 10:10 CSB
I’m not knocking people who say they are “in recovery” or want “recovery”. If you’re sober and leading a better life than you were before keet going, I’m rooting for you! But I had seen so many people living in permanent recovery, white-knuckling it day to day trying to stay sober. I didn’t want that. I didn’t think anything other than white-knuckling it was possible for me, but I wanted to try. And I went to a place where I know lots of people leave having been transformed.
So I applied, I went, and the rest of the story I will tell in another devotional.
Suffice it to say I am free today because of the transforming work of Jesus Christ in my heart and mind. LIFE IS NOT PERFECT! But I wake up each day with eternal hope in Him and the desire that more people would come to know Him and the power of His resurrection.
Much love and peace in Jesus,