Finding Redemption: Sexual Abuse Therapy And Drug Addiction Rehab

I froze. No one had ever seen through me enough to ask me such a direct question.

“Are you doing coke?” He pressed.

 I shook my head in the negative.

“Heroine?” He asked.

I shook my head in the negative again.

“Marijuana?” He asked.

My head went in the affirmative.

“Any others?” He pressed once more. And it was hard to miss the empathy and kindness staring back at me.

“Alcohol. A lot of alcohol,” I told him, finally relieved to let someone in on the demons that had tormented me for years.

He pulled me into a bear hug and held me there. And then he said, “We will beat this I promise.”

Over the next couple of days on the safari, he took time to take me to a nearby clinic to get IV fluids to help me cope. And when we went home to Johannesburg, he checked me into a drug addiction rehab center. And he called my parents to make the necessary arrangements to defer my degree. He knew it would take a lot of professional help and the support of a loving family to help me come out victorious

It was at the drug addiction rehab center that I met a therapist and spiritual coach, Ernest. Ernest had been in my shoes before, and he knew, understood and empathized with my struggles. And he also suspected without a shred of doubt that behind my addiction was a story I had not told, a wound I had covered and hidden away, left to  fester, deepen and spread.

While the medical doctors helped me manage my body’s reliance on alcohol and marijuana, Ernest helped me find the twelve year old boy Cynthia had caged. He talked to me, shared his own struggles with childhood HIV diagnosis, how he came to be an HIV orphan, left to fend for himself on the streets, and the trauma that came with that life.

He told me something profound that hit a nerve. He said when we’re too young for our brains to grasp and make sense of the traumas we suffer, we develop various degrees of mental and emotional impairment. Essentially the brain channels energy into protecting itself rather than channeling the energy into growing alongside our growing bodies. And so the brain is unable to keep up with our growing bodies, thus creating a void. And to make up for the deficiency, and fill the void, we turn to all sorts of behaviors and substances. Some turn to sex, others like me use drugs, some take to hurting other people, most give up on themselves before redemption comes.

Ernest said, “The subconscious, the spirit within knows and understands the hurt and abuse even as a child, but the conscious mind is unable to accept or comprehend. And that is how a gap is created, that is why there is always an emptiness, a vacuum you feel you must fill.”

“We must find a permanent solution for that void. Fill it once and for all

It made sense to me, these analogies my spiritual guide made, because for a long time, I had felt an emptiness that marijuana and alcohol were able to touch and fill, albeit for a fleeting moment. I was committed to filling that void with something healthy, and I knew my uncle was paying through his nose to keep me in that drug addiction rehab center, so I decided to give healing a good shot.

I followed the doctor’s orders and took my meds as directed; they were giving me meds that mimicked my weed and alcohol mixture in smaller doses over time. Essentially they weaned me off weed and alcohol gradually, so my withdrawal wouldn’t be too much for my body to manage. And I did the recommended exercises and any other daily routines they prescribed. It was hard, because I still craved the contents of my green bottle, but I also knew I had to choose between my addiction and my life. Did I want to continue to hide behind alcohol and weed, use my addiction as a mask, or did I want to find me and seek joy? I chose the latter, it was a daily choice, a daily struggle, but I chose to find myself.

And with the help of my spiritual and emotional coach, Ernest, I began to peel back layers of hurt and resentment and began to dig through the rubble and debris of bad choices to find the little boy who was buried deep in a pile of sexual and emotional abuse.

One day while taking a walk with Ernest on the rehab ground, he turned to me and asked, “Man what happened to you?”

There is something kindness and respect does to you when you’re used to judgment and disrespect. He wasn’t judging me, he was not putting me down, there was no air of high-and-mighty around him; he was a friend wanting to know so he could help. What his kindness and empathy did was make me feel seen. Suddenly I wasn’t an invisible person whose faults and misdeeds were the only thing others could see, Ernest could see me, me.

And for the first time in about a decade and a half, I opened up.In this small drug addiction rehab center, I told. I told of the sexual molestation I had suffered at the hands of two girls when I was only twelve, I told of the shame and the constant fear I felt. For the first time since my ordeal, I admitted I hadn’t felt safe, that I had been scared out of my mind and had hoped my parents would pay attention enough to see my fear.

I spoke for the first time of how angry I was at my parents. I blamed and resented them the older I got, because even though I didn’t tell them, I expected them to see me struggle and try to help me. Instead, they punched down at me with their self-righteousness and emboldened my abuser. And I spoke of the one thing that broke my heart the most; the breakdown of the relationship between my beloved mother and I. How could she so easily throw me under the bus and not see me cry for help? And how was it so easy for her to point her finger at me rather than pull me close and ask questions?

After I was done venting, Ernest said, “What was done to you was not your fault and outside your control, but what you do from henceforth is all on you. So take your power back and live!”

Those words sank in deep. In that drug addiction rehab center, I began to find me.

In the days that followed, my uncle visited me in the rehab center and we talked some more about my weed and alcohol addiction, and the how and why I got there. He called my mother and all three of us talked, with Ernest on hand to facilitate the sharing of my deep wounds.

At the end of the conversation, my mother and I both were in tears, apologizing for all the missed opportunities between us. It felt good to open up and let my heart break and to tell my Mama the truth.

I am told both my Mama and Cynthia ended up in a jail cell that night.

For me, the journey to recovery has been hard and long. But it has been worth it. Anyone who’s been down the road of drug and alcohol addiction knows it is a daily battle to stay sober. And it’s a battle I have finally been able to conquer and keep under control.

I am now able to hold down a job, and have meaningful relationships, even to the extent of trusting my naked body with a woman. I have come far. And I have no angst.