By Michael Morse
Nobody loves a sad story more than an intoxicated first responder. Given the opportunity we will revel in our misery, and blame the job for our fate, cry in our beer and begin to believe the lies that we have created.
We belong to the “the brotherhood,” and think that being part of it makes us special, somehow better than the average citizen. We are held to a higher standard by the public we protect, and we like to believe that we are above behaviors that the common person falls prey to.
We believe we are invincible; that we are members of an exclusive club whose members think and act the way we do. Being part of such an elite group becomes intoxicating.
It‘s a great work of fiction. Some of us actually believe it, and live as if the slogans boldly printed on the T-shirts we wear are true.
But far too many of us fall by the wayside, and find ourselves on the outside; no longer living the part of a firefighter, paramedic or police officer, but only acting like one. Some of us lose grip on our ability to handle the drink and drugs that the rest of the population is able to use responsibly and enjoy, or at least not become obsessed with.
Some of us know we have a problem, but simply cannot stop doing what we know to be unacceptable to the group. So we hide, and think we are getting away with our behaviors, but we‘re not.
They know, and we know they know, and the group begins to see cracks in its foundation. Addiction is a lonely road.
Isolationism is a symptom of addiction. Being alone and dealing with a problem while existing in a culture that prides itself on strength of character is especially difficult.
We are told to talk to somebody, to get help, to use the resources at our disposal. We are led to believe that the right thing to do is seek others for support.
But we know better. We know that once we admit our frailty it‘s only a matter of time before everything falls apart. We know that we will never be looked at the same way we were before the trouble started.
We know that we will be ostracized, and talked about, not trusted and be thought of as less than the rest of the pack.
And the thought of losing the respect we crave is unbearable.
People from all walks of life find themselves in trouble with drugs and alcohol. People who don‘t run into burning buildings that everybody else is running out of are alcoholics. People who don‘t fight crime become addicts. People who lead relatively quiet lives contemplate suicide. Some of them take their own lives. And so do lots of us.
Much like the rest of the population, I brought my drug and alcohol problems with me when I began my career. As the years moved on the problems associated with drug and alcohol abuse progressed as well.
Add a few traumas, a shooting or two; some disturbing domestic scenes and a dead baby to the psyche of an alcoholic or addict and it was only a matter of time before my grip on sanity was replaced by my grip on the bottle.
The illusion that I clung to, being the upstanding member of society, respected by all and admired by many, was shattered, and it appeared there was no coming back. Believing that help was coming was catastrophic. Sometimes help comes; more often help must be sought.
Programs designed to help those who suffer are wonderful, and effective, but only if used by the people who need them. Oftentimes those people are reticent to engage the system, so they suffer in silence, and continue to drink, or take their drugs and continue to isolate. They put on a brave face to their peers, but continue to die inside.
Death becomes a valid option, an upgrade to continuing to live with the shame we have piled onto ourselves by believing that we were once special, and now are no better than the drunks and druggies we are supposed to treat.
But there are new beginnings. Shortly after 9/11, after crying in my beer for a few weeks and listening to the silence I had created at home by alienating my family, I stopped blaming the job” and started facing the things I feared.
I realized that the thing I feared most had nothing to do with fire. I picked up the phone and for the first time I could remember, I told somebody else the truth. And I haven‘t looked back.
Starting over is never easy or comfortable, and nobody likes their comfortable routines more than an alcoholic or addict. A better life awaits those desperate for a chance to rejoin the living. Change is an inevitable part of life, and while difficult to embrace, it is the exact thing that will save a person who struggles with addiction.
By changing the way I looked at myself and the world around me, everything changed. The prison walls I had erected fell, and a new life with new friendship, opportunity, respect and the satisfaction derived from a life well lived was the reward.
We pride ourselves on being regular people who do heroic things when we have to. I needed a hero to pull me out of the mess I had created. It took far too long, but eventually I found one, right where I had left him. He had been there all along.
First responders attempt and commit suicide at nearly twice the national average according to the multiple sources I researched for this article. There was no definitive data, perhaps due to the stigma associated with suicide and police officers, paramedics and firefighters. Alcohol and drug abuse was one of the major risk factors cited in nearly all of the cases.
If you or someone you know is struggling with substance abuse, don’t go through it alone. These people know what you are going through, and can help.
http://americanaddictioncenters.org/fire-services/
http://americanaddictioncenters.org/law-enforcement/
http://www.nvfc.org/hot-topics/fire/ems-helpline
