Recovering addict searches for happiness in sobriety

In May 2019, Jason Walmsley was released from Headingley Correctional Centre in Manitoba, after completing a nine-month sentence for crimes he committed to fuel his drug addiction.

Walmsley spent his days behind bars taking part in the Winding River Therapeutic Community, a long-term addictions recovery program offered inside Headingley.

Upon his release, he was sent to a residential treatment program in Winnipeg.

Walmsley has agreed to share his journey on the outside for the CBC in regular intervals.

Here are his thoughts, more than one year into sobriety, on working, attending drug court and trying to shake the stigma.

Happiness is the unspoken promise that the recovering addict expects.

Freedom from our addiction is the rational, reasoning and heartfelt belief that keeps us going, keeps us trying, because we know deep down that change for us is possible. 

We've seen it happen, witnessed first-hand the miracles surrounding addiction in Winnipeg that happen every day:

A loving embrace between those struggling with this disease. 

The pride in being presented with a well-deserved sober chip. 

Even the simple words 'My name is Jason, and I'm an addict' being spoken.....

Change is possible. 

And beyond the vast expanse of hardships and suffering, happiness in sobriety is the assurance that we've counted on. It's the attainable dream that awaits us on the other side of this nightmare called addiction.

Happiness. 

There's just one problem.

No one has actually promised this to us. 

Being sober does not mean we'll be happy, and I can't help but feel a quiet desperation behind these words. 

No one promised us happiness. 

When we made the wrong decisions, negative consequences ensued. That, of course, meant that when the right decisions were made, positive consequences would follow.

But that's not how this works.

Moving slowly through the steps of my recovery has been wonderful, horrible, euphoric, desperate.

My sobriety is fragile, but my determination is strong. 

I know all the sorrow and lingering hurt I feel would go away with one quick decision to use again.

But then the revolving door would never stop turning. 

And I'm tired of going in circles.  

It's time to do something. Be someone. 

Employment was one of the milestones I wanted to accomplish, and not too long ago, I reached that goal. 

I am now a man working construction and renovation, rather than an addict hell-bent on destruction. 

Someone wouldn't think that having sore muscles and a cloud of tiredness looming over them throughout the day would be a good thing — and really, it's not a good thing. 

It's a great thing. 

I sleep better, I eat better, manage my time and prioritize better.

But here's another thing no one tells the recovering addict.

Doing what's right and working hard, being punctual and reliable, dedicated and kind? That doesn't mean you will be trusted, or forgiven, or seen as anything different than what others saw before.

If anything, you're now seen as someone wearing a mask, deceiving and manipulating, until the day when you prove their suspicions right; you're just an ex-con addict pulling the wool over the eyes of the world. 

This is a difficult realization to know, and an even harder one to experience.

I am not the person I was, but the past has this seeming dedication to keeping me from moving forward and feeling normal again. 

Working hard and doing what's right does not mean your hard work will be appreciated, or that your right decisions will be noticed.

It's usually quite the opposite.

So an addict's strength must come from the struggle and suffering they have endured (both of which there are in endless supply.)

I am strong. I am dedicated.

Pride gets in the way of many things, but for the practising and recovering addict, asking for help can be (and usually is) the most difficult thing.

We want to believe we can do this alone, because at the end of our struggle with addiction, we will be strong alone, not needing anything or anyone. 

But we can't be happy alone. 

Going to a concert with my best friend, playing dolls with my nieces, helping my brother move a ridiculously heavy couch through an equally ridiculously small door, followed by ribs fresh off the barbecue — these are the things that matter most. 

Happiness may not be promised, but that doesn't mean you can't be. 

It doesn't mean I can't be.

More from this writer:

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