I picked up my first substance at 12 years old. A child of divorce, with an authoritarian father and neglectful mother who shared custody of my brother and me. I had always looked for ways to escape, ways to cope. At a very young age, I sought out extreme activities. I was fearless, reckless, and constantly in search of that thing that would make me forget, or make me feel alive, or distract me in any way from the misery. Nature was always central to these activities. Riding my bike through the forest, down large hills on dried-up creek beds at extreme speeds, skateboarding on a secret halfpipe located in the woods (as well as downhill on the streets), cliff jumping, hiking, and camping; all of these brought a rush, a distraction from the pain.

It wasn’t long, however, before I was consumed with the thought of getting high. The escape that drugs and alcohol provided was all too enticing, but the planning and scheming took up the majority of my day and began to interfere with my academics and relationships. In addition, my mental illness began to display its symptoms around 13 years old. The depression could be overwhelming and the manic symptoms were very distracting. I lost interest in school and other activities I once found pleasure in. Nature was always there, though. It served many purposes and brought me joy, peace, and a break from my internal struggles. Playing in the forest as a young child was like living in a dream. I could create my own world and escape the pressures of my life. I loved camping more than anything. It used to be with my brother and father when I was very young, but it turned into trips with my friends and a bottle of whatever we could get at that young age. As my addiction progressed, my time in nature became less about the awe it inspired in me and more about the escape. It became a place to hide while using.

My father put me in my first rehab at 17 years old. I was nowhere near ready, so it didn’t stick. I spent the next nearly 20 years lost in a haze of drunken debauchery, filled with that same drive for the extreme I had as a kid, but I pushed my limits with my alcohol and drug use instead. I should have died many times over. I wanted to die many times over. My Bipolar II disorder went untreated and I learned, (subconsciously and ineffectively), how to medicate the mental illness with substances. The depression was incapacitating at times and drove me to the brink of suicide on many occasions. I was lucky to have a support system that could recognize the struggles I was having and would check in when they were concerned. I have always struggled with the notion of a higher power, and still do, but there were many occasions where my life was spared and there was no other explanation than divine intervention.

In 2006 I began my journey toward healing, toward sobriety, and checked into a posh rehab with the help of my boss at work. I really tried, but I wasn’t ready to give up certain aspects of my life. The desire for change was there, but not at the expense of my comfort. Needless to say, it didn’t last. 6 months later I was back to using the same old coping strategies to manage my life. My dearest friends got together with me to offer their support, express their concerns, and make a safety plan. I listened. I talked, and I took it to heart, but continued on my path, afraid to face my demons.

After I moved out of NYC, I remember one cold March night when I woke up in the forest, passed out drunk by a stream in the snow. I had lost my jacket and was clutching a bag of ribs. I had no idea where I was or how I got there, but I must have been searching for solace in my favorite of places, by a stream in the woods. There is a vague remembrance of my flagging down a car and asking where I was, once I found a road. Somehow, I ended up at home and woke up on my couch the next day, soaked in my own piss. 

A few days later, I called my son’s mother to set up a visit for his birthday but was not welcome due to my state. I had nowhere else to go. I had lost everything, my job, my home, my family, and nearly my life. At the end of the month I would be homeless. I was suicidal and completely broken. I had finally hit rock bottom. This was the wake-up call that drove me to call someone to come and babysit me, to keep me from drinking while I packed my apartment to put it in storage and check myself into a psychiatric hospital.

And so my journey toward recovery began again on March 12, 2007. After a couple of weeks in a psychiatric hospital, when I was more stable, they suggested I attend an AA meeting. The conversations there, and with the members after the meeting, helped me remember that I am an alcoholic. I had been advocating for myself to be placed in the care of the state to keep me safe from suicide. I thought that was the best course of action because my depression was so scary, but the conversations at that meeting reminded me that there is a path toward healing that did not involve 24-hour oversight. I agreed to go to a rehab facility and get help. Because I was homeless, I spent 6 weeks in a 4-week program until they could find a halfway house for me to move into afterward. I was humbled. I was scared, but I had hope. For the first time in a long time, I had hope.

I spent 9 months in that halfway house, furious that they wouldn’t let me leave while I watched others come and go. However, I got stronger and developed relationships that I still have today, more than 16 years later. When I did leave, I moved in with a sober friend I made in rehab and at the halfway house. After another 6 months, I moved in with my best friend, who has always been an enormous support. After another year and a half, I finally felt strong enough to try living on my own. At three and a half years sober, I met a woman that would change my life. She would become my biggest supporter, my rock, and the person that believes in me the most, even when I don’t believe in myself. She would become my wife and partner for life. Between those initial two and a half years of rehab and sober living, 15 years of intensive personal therapy, and the support of my friends and family, I have managed to stay sober for more than 16 years so far. I have a life now that I only dreamed of before, and I wouldn’t have it without my sobriety. 

When I was 19, I tried my hand at college. I wanted to get my degree in clinical psychology, to help struggling adolescents overcome their challenges and thrive. That was because, at fourteen, when I had run away from home and was found sleeping on campus, the school psychologist took me to his office and listened. He just listened. He didn’t lecture me on what I am supposed to be doing. He didn’t talk at me. He didn’t call my father immediately. He made sure I was safe and had a conversation with me. He genuinely listened to what I had to say. He met me where I was. That meant the world to me and I wanted to be that for others. However, life, and my addiction, got in the way and it took me over 20 years to find my way back to school. My wife convinced me to go to school to finish my dream, stating, “The time is going to pass anyway, you might as well try.” 

I am now a licensed clinical social worker and certified nature informed therapist. I work with emotionally and developmentally disabled children and adolescents. I live in a home in the suburbs of NYC with my wife and stepson. I even have the white picket fence and koi pond I always dreamed of. I wrote to that psychologist recently to thank him for being such an inspiration, and to let him know that I made it. I was doing well and he played a part in that. Though he did not remember me specifically, it meant the world to me to be able to share that with him. I remember every day what it felt like to be heard as an adolescent. At a time when everyone discounts what you have to say because “teenagers think they know it all,” someone heard me. They saw me and believed me when I told them I was in pain. That memory drives me today. It reminds me that we all struggle, and we all deserve to be seen and heard.

Moving forward in this blog, I want to describe how my connection with nature helps fuel my sobriety. How it helps improve my mental health. This is my personal journey, but I hope it can be an inspiration for someone who needs it. Thanks for reading. Please like and subscribe to hear more.