Why I love my run down garage.

I have a garage. It's not pretty. It's broken down and ugly. It's musty on the inside and is currently stacked with all the crap that I don't know what to do with, and or doesn't have a place in my home. This garage is filled with the clutter from my grandmother passing away. It's covered in moss on the outside and it has a door that doesn't open. From the outside, it's nothing to look at. And honestly, now a days, neither is the inside. It's not even remotely pleasing ascetically and has absolutely zero curb appeal. I don't do it any favors. I don't keep it up. I've never taken the time to paint it, or plant pretty flowers around it to bring happiness and light. I just let it be. Now a days it's just my dingy old garage. But that wasn't always the case. 

Many of you do not know that I live in my grandparents home. The house my father grew up in from the time he was 4. When my grandma died in 2014 the home was left to my Dad. It was then decided that this house could either be sold, or given to my sister and I to move into. My sister at the time  was living in an apartment and moving in was poor timing. Me, on the other hand; was in the depth of my addiction. Living with my parents, drinking daily and wanting nothing more than a place to run away and drown inside. After she died this got much worse. This home became my hiding spot. The  place I would spiritually come to die every single night before I passed out to try and start another day feeling empty yet forced to be alive. Like I said, this wasn't always the case. 

Growing up we spent a great majority of our time at my grandparents house. We spent most weekends there. It's hard to remember now if this is true, but I swear I we spent equal time at our grandparents home and our parents. Not for any other reason than we absolutely loved it. As kids, we loved this house, and we loved that garage. It was our fort, our play house. Our favorite spot next to the attic (which is still my favorite spot)

Inside that garage which now stands ugly and broken, we made thousands of memories. We laughed for hours on end. We set up tea parties. We dreamed. We hid from the world and created our own. We spent hours inside it during the summers and even in the winters. We had passwords to get in that we constantly changed so my poor littler sister would be locked out (I'm sorry, Amanda)  Our little imaginations thrived and became full of plans and thoughts for our futures. When I say we, I mean the whole neighborhood. We were a little club and we had so much fun. That went on for a long time. I would say we hung out there well into my teenage years. The conversations changed as we grew. There was spin the bottle and sneaky things that would have gotten us grounded for life.  I'm sure we all have a place like that, right?

One day I was sitting on my back porch just pondering my life. Something I do often now that i'm sober. I was thinking about that garage and the memories we made inside it, but was surprised with how looking at it now, you'd never imagine. Suddenly, it hit me. My old garage is much like people with addiction. It's much like the old me. So today, I want to talk about that. I want to speak brutally honestly about it, so here we go.

I think about myself in 2014 and early 2015. I was not pretty to look at. Not only because I had gained so much weight that I was unrecognizable at times, but because I was lost. I had all but disappeared, as I have explained many times before. I wasn't the same smiling girl that everyone knew growing up. I wasn't the same child my parents raised. The little girl that was so full of life was gone, and in her place stood a woman completely empty and removed. I was dull and I was shattered. There were parts of me that were falling apart and grown over from lack of care. There were parts of me that still had light, like the occasional smile in a time where by some miracle I was able to tap into a moment of happiness and connect with myself again. But honestly, that was more an act.  I wasn't even nice to spend time around. Much like currently spending time in my garage wouldn't be any fun, such was life being around me.  My garage is cluttered and crowded with junk. There is no room for a happy conversation to take place there. Too much is blocking it from sunlight to want to sit inside it's walls.  It's too bogged down with stuff. But it wasn't that way, right? And neither was I.  It was  full of life and memories for a long time. And so was I.

I am overwhelmed recently with the need to speak openly and honestly about addiction. For some reason I don't think people understand this. I don't think you could understand this unless it's happened to you or someone you love. But addiction, suffering with being a slave to something that controls you, isn't a choice. It isn't something that any of us want, and I can tell you that first hand after having suffered through it so deeply that I almost lost my life.

I know what you think when you hear the word "alcoholic" or "drug addict." I'm not stupid, and neither are they.  I know what I thought, back then, about "those people." I know what you think when you hear someone has gotten arrested for drunk driving, not once, but twice. I know what you think when you hear someone went to jail for something like drug possession or driving while under the influence and crashing their car.  I know it's scary to say it out loud, but I'll tell you what I thought.


What a piece of shit.

Don't lie and pretend this isn't what rushes through your head when you hear of these people who seem just so pathetic to you, you wish someone would "teach them a lesson." Or, "for gods sake... get it together."

I was just like you. I thought the exact same thing.
Until I was that person. Until I was sitting in jail for doing something that sober me would NEVER in a million years have done.  Before I was showing up to the AA meetings and baring my utterly broken soul to a room full of strangers, I thought just like you.

But here's something you don't think about.

Maybe that drunk driver that you're assuming is a piece of garbage was beaten by her x-husband so brutally that she would rather be dead than feel the pain of living day to day. Maybe that drug addict was given pain pills after a back injury, which led him to become addicted to narcotics. Which led him to needing more, a bigger high, a deeper numb. Which led him to heroine, which led him to living on the floor of a dope house, robbing party stores to feed the one thing that made him feel like his body wasn't about to explode from pain. Maybe that individual showing up shaking and throwing up on themselves grew up in a home with an alcoholic parent and watched their father beat the hell out of their mother. Or was beaten to hell themselves. Maybe they don't know any different. Or let's make it even more simple, shall we? Let's just be real about it.

Each and every one of these piece of garbage people was once a child. They were once playing inside of a garage. Or maybe on a dirty mattress of a crack house, you don't know. But even that child was making up tales of wonderment and playing their imaginary games in their beautiful little mind. All of them were at one time completely innocent and full of nothing but light and memories they were trying to make. Today, they may be filled with clutter and pain. They may not be something to look at anymore. They may have hurt you or someone you love. They may be the person YOU love, and you may be hurting. Maybe they stole from you, or crashed your car, or maybe they even killed your child. But remember, THEY ARE SOMEONES CHILD. They weren't always this way.
They haven't always been a run down garage.
 They haven't always been filled with garbage, but today they are.
Also, let me remind you, that they don't have to be. 

I could go out tomorrow and clean my garage. Just like I decided to check myself into a hospital and clean up my life. I could do that, but I haven't. A big part of the reason why that hasn't occurred is because I'm alone. I live alone. I do life essentially alone at this time. I don't have anyone to help me carry the heavy things to the curb. I don't have the proper knowledge on how to have the trash companies come pick it up. And honestly, I'm still a little too overwhelmed to do it. The paint on my outsides are still drying, if you will. The flowers that have been planted around me to create beauty are still blooming slowly. So you see, it seems too big a challenge for me to do by myself. I'm sure one day, i'll get there. I'm sure one day I'll have some help to clean up my garage, and then it will be completely beautiful again.

So what if you never help the individual who needs a hand carrying the heavy things to the curb. You can look at this addict, this alcoholic, this person who is suffering in a way YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND and you can judge them. OR...

you can help them clean their garage.

You can believe in people and love them enough to see that once upon a time, they were white and filled with natural light from windows opened to the sun. And they can be again, but they can't do it alone. Or you can selfishly live in the state of ignorance that most people suffering with addiction are subject to every single day.

Addiction is a hell I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I am a recovered alcoholic, but this disease is something I handle and battle every singly day. My mind doesn't think like yours, not even for a moment. My mind thinks in fear and runs away. My mind chooses to drown and go numb in stead of handling issues and feeling things to constructively navigate a life. Almost 11 months ago when I decided, yet again, to re-commit myself to a sober life; I chose to not let my natural mind win. Ever again. 

So maybe this is a ramble and maybe it doesn't make sense. Because my garage is sometimes still cluttered. But my God and all thank to him, is it 10 times more beautiful than it ever was. And as for my real garage, it will never be ugly to me. Because inside those walls, I grew up. Those memories will forever outweigh any look of the outside. Any moss or broken door. Or leaning foundation. Inside there is my happiness.

So before you think you know anything about that kid drunk at school, or that girl sleeping with someone for drug money, or that driver who put your family in danger... I challenge you to pause. You have no idea what anyone is suffering through, or  how hard they are working to overcome personal hell.