SEARCHING FOR IDENTITY

Scott Hayes, Ohio

I WAS JUST sixteen months old when my parents divorced. I have an older brother, and our dad wasn’t a positive influence in our lives or very involved with us. My mom did a wonderful job as a single mother, and she later married a man who became a great stepdad, but there was always something missing in my life.

There were times we were on welfare and lived in low-income housing. We moved about once a year, making it hard to fit in and make lasting friendships. Add that to the fact that I was usually the smallest kid in the class, and the other kids seemed to enjoy reminding me of that.

I had a close relationship with my mom’s mom. She was the only grandparent involved in my life, and I loved her dearly. Sadly, she committed suicide when I was eleven years old. Back then, and even now, I sometimes wonder, "Did she think I didn’t love her?" and, "Did she not love me?"

I started drinking alcohol when I was fourteen, mostly to fit in. I didn’t feel good about myself and didn’t like myself. I was searching for significance. Not long after I started drinking, I experimented with smoking weed. From there, my drug use escalated to LSD, PCP, cocaine, heroin, and my favorite, meth.

I soon found my identity in my addictions, violence, and trying to “outdo” my peers through wild and crazy behavior. I had lived this life for so long I convinced myself this was who I really was.

In the sixteen years that I struggled with my addictions, I overdosed twice. Both times paramedics were unable to find a pulse. In actuality, I should have died, which was okay with me; I didn’t care most of the time. In fact, I had suicidal thoughts on a regular basis.

My life became centered around drugs and partying. As my tolerance grew, it took more and more dope just to feel “normal.” I continued to care less and less and became depressed. Once, after a five- or six-day binge on meth, unable to eat or sleep at all, I locked myself in an unfinished basement. As usual I became extremely paranoid, anxious, and delusional. I tied a dog chain around my neck, stood on a chair, and looped the other end of the chain around a gas pipe next to the ceiling. My plan was to end my miserable life by kicking the chair out from under me, but the thought of the pain and devastation I would cause my mom kept me from going through with it.

God had another plan, a plan for my life I would have never guessed in a million years . . .