Serving the People of Hawaii Since 1960        

On this page we'll be hearing from program graduates who have experienced some period of successful mainstreaming and are living close to "normal" lives.

The degree of honesty and openness in their sharing will be familiar to all recovering people and will allow others to see examples of the levels of introspection and thoughtful reflection required to "reclaim" a life.

Pam is a 27 year old Japanese/Hawaiian female.  Pam is also a recovering alcoholic/addict who now works in the substance abuse treatment field.

Pam celebrated the completion of 6 (uninterrupted) years of sobriety on 6-13-99.  This reflection was written on that evening.

Six years ago I was luckily admitted to the Sand Island Treatment Center.  I'd heard of the place through a social worker but I had no idea what "Sand Island" had to do with treatment.  I was 21 then.  Had been smoking Cocaine and drinking just about anything that had alcohol in it.

My alcoholic drinking began just as soon as I first touched the stuff, that was when I was 2 years old.  My upbringing by alcoholic relatives may have accounted for a genetic predisposition.  My grandfather, my father, my mother, they all drank and much of the family troubles were centered around their alcoholism.

Grandpa was an afternoon drinker, starting at 3:00PM everyday.  As a kid I just thought my grandpa was a very disgruntled and extremely difficult man.  Now I realize the effect of alcohol likely exacerbated his character traits of blaming and lashing out at his loved ones, which I later saw in myself.

My father drank everyday, after work, which made him late coming home every night.  A phenomenon about parents who drink is that it's the kids who carry the shame.  The worst was when my father got totally smashed at parties. 

I idolized him when he was sober, how he could be the life of the party, but as the parties grew later into the night I would become hypervigilant about the amount of drinks he had and the dramatic changes that took place in his disposition.  It was painful to watch him destroy the image of him that I tried so hard to maintain. 

When I was about 8, while going through my mother's purse like all nosey little girls might do, I found a vile.  I wasn't sure what it was, but somehow I knew it wasn't okay.  As I grew older I noticed funny smells coming from my mother's and her boyfriend's room.  Marijuana became a very familiar scent to me. 

I used to get so freaked out whenever they smoked, fearing the neighbors would call the police.  A lot of times I'd need to ask my mom something and she'd be too busy rolling a joint right on schedule.  I'd stand outside of a partially closed door, feeling shame every time I'd catch a glimpse of her in that position.  I guess I felt ashamed of my mom because she was trying so hard to keep this a secret while all the time I knew.  I believed I was in violation of her boundaries, while in reality it was she who was in violation of the law.  I guess I knew this too. 

Later, my mother finally confided in me about her drug use.  In a vague way she said,"I know you know, so let's just get it out in the open."  Boy did she ever!  From that point on she and her boyfriend smoked right in front of me, in the house, in the car, anywhere!  Man did that give me anxiety. 

My unstable emotional state since my parents' divorce when I was 2 became my primary excuse for my dissatisfaction with life.   I wallowed in the pain and perpetuated it through constant recapture of memories.  

When I was 10, I promised myself the greatest curse, to be like an elephant and to never forget a thing.  I didn't.   God how I sometimes wish I could.  While before, I used to drown those memories in a bottle, a pipe, or a joint, now in sobriety I pray hard and ride it out.   I know how it is when you can't fall asleep because those things just come pouring in from all directions, but I also have the experience of peace and gratitude that comes when I get through it without using and face another day of productivity instead of self-destruction. 

There are some good childhood memories too, but those weren't the ones that stood out enough to drive me to use, and they weren't strong enough to make me stop.

You know, I didn't just use drugs and alcohol to try to get rid of the pain.  I also used food.  In my family mealtimes were top priority, maybe to coat to stomach for more alcohol.  So of course, food became another of my addictions. 

When I was 13, my mother told me I was fat.  That word kept running through my head.  I wasn't obese or overweight, I was an adolescent going through normal physical changes.  But additionally, I had major esteem problems and lacked the needed coping skills to deal with them. 

That year I was enrolled into a new school where I had to meet the challenges of making new friends and adjusting to a different curriculum.  I started basing my self-worth in accordance to what I saw of other people's outsides .  Mentally I put myself down and constantly criticized my body, my clothes, my hair.  None of it was good enough. 

Throughout intermediate and high school I tortured myself this way.  It was my secret obsession that kept me so preoccupied that I was always nearly failing every class.  Even though the school provided me with a class counselor who really seemed to care, I felt I had not one to talk to.  I was full of shame.  Getting myself ready to go out anywhere was a chore while I took hours to make myself look alright, in my eyes, but I was never satisfied. 

One night on television I got ideas while watching a show about this girl with Bulimia.  To this day, I don't know what it was that made me so twisted to think it was a solution rather than a grotesque form of self-mutilation.  I guess that's how much I hated myself.  So I tried it, and got good at hiding it. 

Around this time I also began to experience peer pressure involving use of Marijuana and Alcohol.  At 16, I was surprised at how much liquor I could hold, being of small stature I could still take on more than many of my peers.  I absolutely loved the taste of alcohol and I think I could actually feel my body craving, "More, more!!!" 

Until graduation, due to highly structured environmental conditions, my substance use was maintained on an occasional basis of binge use and my bulimia was more profound.  Once the ball and chain were removed however, I went full blast into my addictions of food, alcohol, drugs, and in addition, sex. 

My involvement in toxic relationships, I believe, was a maladapted form of self-validation that was based upon a warped self and body image.  The disinhibiting effect of alcohol and drugs allowed me to engage in such self-damaging behavior.  Piled on top of that was my eating disorder that compounded my corrupt self-esteem.  Boy was I was a Mess! 

I drank every night, smoked a joint whenever it was around, and spent my days bingeing and purging food.  Then I tried cocaine when I was 19.  I thought that was the ultimate miracle drug.  It seemed to take away from my fears, relieve me of my depression, and it kept me skinny!  I was never more wrong. 

After 2 weeks of smoking the stuff I admitted I was addicted.  The longer I stayed hooked, the more I could sense it wiping out any chance of a worthwhile life.  Looking back, it seems life went downhill pretty fast.  But when I was in it, time seemed to drag on forever.  I think that was the blackout effect of combining cocaine, alcohol, and those "tiny blue pills."

The last year of my active substance use, my boyfriend started hitting me, I had tried one attempt at straightening out, and I had gotten pregnant.  I kept using throughout the pregnancy, up to five months.   Then I finally got an abortion, believing that it would motivate change in me.   But the remorse and the shame became more prevalent causing my pattern of drug usage to sky rocket.  Still, I failed to see my sickness, and instead saw it in my boyfriend. 

I "managed" to get him into treatment, but he chose the other path.  My higher power couldn't have proved more clearly to me that I was never gonna get anywhere staying in that relationship.  So I chose treatment over him.  The fellowship and the support of the counselors and the direction from Mason finally gave me the strength I needed to start over and to start making the right choices for myself. 

As the fog lifted the world became alive.  I was told to watch the tress, listen to the wind, and feel the breeze.   They told me about how change is constant and to be like a bamboo and bend with it.   In the meetings they educated me about relapse and what I would need to do to make it.  I'll never forget how they repetitively mentioned those who had come and gone to treatment, "Again" and how none of us were immune from the "Yets," of Alcoholism and Addiction lifestyle. 

I learned that even though I had no criminal record, I was on the brink of it.  And even though I had not yet landed on Hotel Street, that was probably my next stop.  The thought of failure and coming to treatment "again" was just too much for my ego to handle. 

I had a hard time with the concept of the 12 Steps.  I thought...Yes that was the problem, I thought!  I had it all up in my head, memorized the 12 Steps so I could go to the beach on my 31st day, knew the Big Book front to back, and studied it like a school text book so that I'd gain recognition during the meetings. 

All that was good, cause I was learning to use my mind again, but for warped intentions.  I really had to experience the burning of the ego in order to start getting it.  I had to cry really hard, pour my heart out several times throughout the course of treatment because surrender was that hard for me.  Only then could I really see how insane my thinking was.  Things that seemed logical to me before became B.S. and I needed to grow spiritually in order to open my mind to a new point of view. 

I relied upon the statement "willingness to go to any lengths" whenever I faced internal blocks to following treatment direction.  I had to constantly remind myself that nothing I can do in recovery could be worse than what I would be doing in the disease.  I learned how to build on faith and stop looking for proof or reason.  Even though I was the youngest woman in treatment at the time, I had to make the most of my personal experience in the disease and decide to make it my bottom.  I had to choose that I had been convinced enough of where that life was headed. 

In time I grew increasingly surprised at how happy I could be doing the right thing.  Step 3 was really confusing to me.   I thought it meant I had to be clean and perfect in the eyes of my higher power before I could turn my will and my life over, and then I thought I would have to keep myself that way.  So I hesitated.  Then my counselor helped me to understand that I would have to continue working toward the image that my higher power has for me and that's what life is about. 

I did a Step 4 and 5, several times now because I wanted to make sure I got everything out.  Steps 6 and 7, 10 and 11, are a real gift because it allows me to continue progressing.  I'm a positive part of society now, I've paid for the debts I generated in the disease, and I pay my taxes.   I work hard everyday and I'm living a productive life. 

The counselors at Sand Island challenged my disease because they knew it was still there, even when I tried to deny it.  They knew what they were talking about and for once in my life, I decided to listen. 

Even though my egotistical self kept arising, I had finally come to accept the concept of learning form others' mistakes rather than thinking relapse could never happen to me.  In fact they had me so convinced that I vowed to stay with Sand Island for the full 2 years, besides, I thought I had nothing better to do! 

I had no idea of what 2 years would look like, just like I don't know what the end of 7 will.  One thing for sure though, it will look a hell of a lot better than it was 6 years ago.  Thank you for my life, Sand Island. 

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Last modified: November 29th, 2007