My Story

[Jeff]

I'm Jeff. I've been sober for almost 19 years now, and this is the story of how my best friend saved my life.

Growing up I had a best friend named Jill. I met her when we were 6 years old. She was different from every other girl I knew then, because she liked to play with trucks and dig for worms, instead of playing with dolls and having tea parties like all the other girls. We became best friends almost instantly. She outgrew her tomboy phase after a few years, but we still remained incredibly close even though our interests had gone in vastly different directions. By the time we were teenagers, we had already been through a lot together, and our friendship had evolved into an unbreakable bond. We were always together. We did everything together. She was my best friend, and as we grew up, life always seemed to keep finding new ways of showing us how much we needed each other.

When we were 17, I started drinking. A lot. At first it was just on weekends, then it gradually became more and more frequent, until eventually I was getting drunk every day. I was going full speed ahead down the wrong road, and running over anybody who tried to stand in my way. All the people who cared about me tried to stop me, and I pushed them all away. I said things to them that I can never take back. I said things to Jill that would have caused most people to walk away and never look back. But she didn't walk away. She kept reaching out to me, and every time I pushed her away she kept coming back. I don't remember much about the next two years. My father died during that time. He died thinking he had failed as a father. The last time I spoke to him I said things to him that I will regret for the rest of my life. I didn't even go to his funeral. I pushed away all of my family, all of my friends, all of the people who cared about me. Most of my former friends went off to college, including Jill. I didn't. I had no direction in life, and all I wanted to do was sit around and drink. I was alone. I no longer had anyone in my life who could help me.

Then one day in the summer of 1990 (July 15, to be exact), I came home from the liquor store with a brand new bottle of Jack Daniels tucked under my arm, and I found Jill sitting in my apartment waiting for me. She locked the door behind me, and she refused to let me leave until I sobered up and listened to her. She told me things that day that I will never forget. She spoke to me in a way that no one had ever spoken to me before. She told me things about herself that I never knew before, and she told me things about myself that I never knew before. All day, all night, and well into the next morning, she sat with me and talked. And the next day, I went to my first AA meeting. Jill continued to be there to support me and stand behind me in the months and years that followed. I still have the bottle that I came home with that day, still unopened, sitting here on a shelf next to my desk. I keep it as a reminder of what Jill did for me. She saved my life that day.

But that's not the end of the story. In August of that year, Jill was supposed to go to Europe for a year on a Study Abroad program through her university. It was a very difficult program to get into, with a lengthy application and interview process, and only the best and brightest got accepted into it. Getting into that program was a dream come true for her, and that opportunity meant more to her than anything else in the world. But she didn't go. Not only did she not go to Europe, but she took a year off from school, to stay with me, to keep me sober. It was too soon, and if she had gone away, I would have started drinking again, and she knew it. She gave up the chance of a lifetime for me. For an entire year, she put her life on hold for me. She took me to my AA meetings. She was there in the middle of the night when I felt like I needed a drink. She was there to pick up the pieces when I fell apart. She helped me repair the rift I had created with my family. She gave everything she had to give, and she did it all for me, and without ever expecting anything in return. She did it because she believed in me. She knew me better than anyone else in the world, she knew I had the potential to make something of my life, and she refused to let me throw it away. I always promised her that I would make it up to her somehow, and that someday she would get to go to Europe and see all the things that she had missed. But life went on, and circumstances got in the way, and Europe kept getting pushed aside for other things. She never got to take that trip. Jill always said she didn't have any regrets about it, and I believed her because that's who she was. But I have always had regrets about it, and I always will.

Jill died three years ago, after a long and horrible battle with breast cancer. I wish more than anything that I could turn back the clock and give her back all the time she gave up for me. I don't know where I would be now if she hadn't done what she did. My alcohol problems are far behind me now, and I love my family way too much to ever go down that road again. And I have Jill to thank for all of it. When I think back to all the times that she was there, all the times that she rescued me during moments of weakness, all the times that she saved me from myself...all the things that she gave up for me...I owe her a debt that I would never ever have been able to repay, even if she'd lived 100 years. But I'm doing the best I can to live the life that she gave me the chance to have.

After I got sober I went back to school. I earned my degree in Applied Physics, then went back for a master's degree in engineering. Now I'm a high school teacher. My students know about my past. I'm not proud of it, but I think it's good for them to see that I made mistakes when I was their age, and was still able to turn around and make something of my life. I see kids every day who are heading down that lonely road, and I try my best to get through to them before it's too late. Sometimes I can, and sometimes I can't - as we all know, there are some who just need to find their own way. But I see it as part of my job, and part of the repayment of my debt, to help the ones I can.

So that's my story. For anybody who is just starting out on the road to recovery, just know that you <i>can</i> do it. It's the hardest thing you'll ever do, but you can do it. I did, and now my life is my own again. And I get to live it <i>my</i> way.

Thanks for reading.