Anibal

​It’s taken me a long time to get here — a lot of pain, a lot of truth, and a lot of endurance. But I’m here, and I’m grateful.
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Before I got sober, my life was almost non-existent. Alcohol had taken over everything. I kept to myself, stayed indoors, isolated from people, from the world. I had physical problems too, everything from ulcers, internal bleeding, and something called varices, little veins in the throat that can burst from years of drinking. I didn’t drink hard liquor, just beer, but I’d drink until I passed out. Sometimes I’d fall asleep lying flat, and the alcohol would just sit there, cooking my insides.

​One day, I ended up in the hospital. I spent a week there. They scoped my throat and confirmed the damage. I was patched up, but I knew something had to change. 

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I had just lost my job of 14 years. They never said it was because of my drinking, but I know it was. My family had all but given up on me. And I don’t blame them. They tried. But I wasn’t ready then. Drinking felt like a solution to my problems. I didn’t realize I was just digging myself deeper. 
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I’d hit rock bottom before. I used to be a heroin addict, over 20 years ago, so I knew the signs. I knew deep down what was coming if I didn’t stop. Death. or waking up under a bridge. Again.

After the hospital, I met my new primary doctor. I told her about my drinking, and she understood. She was in recovery herself and invited me to her meetings. She also gave me a list of programs, and Grandview was at the top. Turns out it was right down the street from my house. I thought, “This is perfect.”

I didn’t go into residential this time. (I’d done that before at PRC for heroin.) I wanted to see if I could make it work in outpatient. I was older, with more life experience, and I had my sights set on getting back to work. I knew I needed help, but I also needed to do it differently this time.

Now that I’m sober, I wake up in the morning with a sense of freedom I forgot existed. I don’t have to rush out for my first drink. My body still struggles. I am diabetic and have neuropathy in my feet, which makes walking or standing for long periods painful. But my mind is clear and I’m doing what I can with what I’ve got.

I go to meetings every day. I read the Big Book. I watch recovery videos on YouTube, which I learn a lot from. I stay connected to the guys I’ve met at Grandview. We call each other, we check in. I lost a lot of so-called friends when I got sober. Turns out they were just drinking buddies, but I’ve found new ones now. Real ones.

Recovery for me is about holding on to sobriety and seeing what life brings my way. I’m not sure what’s ahead. I’d love to go back to work, but my doctor has me on disability for at least another six months. I’ve been a mechanic for over 30 years, and at one point, I dreamed of opening my own shop. I even had a business partner lined up, but he backed out at the last minute, and I didn’t want to take on all the risk myself. These days, I don’t really have dreams like that.

My main goal is simple: stay sober.

My children are grown now, living in Las Vegas with families of their own. Their mother passed away a few years ago. I live with family here, and they’re very supportive. I may be older and a little worn down physically, but I still show up for my recovery every day.

I think a lot about where I came from. My family came to this country when I was just a toddler. We didn’t speak a word of English, not even “hello.” But we stayed, followed the rules, and now most of us own our homes. Some of my relatives run their own businesses. Others work in city government. A few are college graduates. We’ve built a good life here. But even with all of that, addiction still found me.

That’s why I say, “Don’t ever think it can’t happen to you. Stay humble. Stay connected.”

If I could leave any advice for someone still struggling, it would be this: stay the course. If you can’t do it alone (most of us can’t) reach out! There are people out here just like you. You’re not alone. And if I could leave one thing behind as my legacy, it would be that I never gave up. That I kept going, no matter how hard things got. Never accept defeat when it comes to your personal battles. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with the people you care about. That’s how you heal.

What keeps me coming back to Grandview? Well, every day, I learn something new from the facilitators, from the other clients, from conversations that stay with me. I know I’ll never learn it all, but what I do learn keeps me going.

I don’t want to take the chance of relapse by drifting away from my support.
So, I stay close. I keep coming back. That’s how I endure.

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