Let's talk about addiction: Rock bottom

Addiction is a mental illness. 
It has all the characteristics of a mental illness along with being a tabu subject, and therefore a hidden conversation between families and friends. These posts regarding addiction urge to raise awareness and understanding of the process of AA, common behaviors and personality traits of addicts. 

STEP ONE

I got into rehab at 18 and to my surprise, I wasn't the youngest there.
Age and addiction was a repeated pattern made in many conversations. Older addicts, even therapists believed that young addicts weren't going to rehabilitate as easy as a grown up, coming for the first time.
It was either "they just haven't hit rock bottom, they haven't lost enough" or "they still have a lot of partying to do".
At the moment this seemed bizarre, I had no actual way to relate. To me, yes, I had partied enough and I had lost plenty. But, I hadn't felt many of the things these people were saying. Sure, I've felt pain, I've felt frustration and anger, and humiliation, impotence, and many things, but not quite like this. I was still in a bubble, about to burst.
Before rehab, I hadn't hit rock bottom, by far. I felt like a minor STD, not getting into the college I wanted, losing friends and a boyfriend, was the end of the world as any other angsty teen would say. But, I didn't know pain like that.
Addicts live with a constant duality: you can't live without it. Whatever it is. You can't understand how to get through the next day without it. The next conversation, the next test or presentation. A debilitating anxiety that keeps you as a slave. Chained to whatever that is. You need to numb all the feels. You must. Have. It. Now.
I had felt that, for sure, yeah.
Then a friend says "hey, aren't you, like, smoking/drinking/snorting too much?", "are you ok?", maybe someone cuts you off, you lose friends, someone will try to manipulate you into stopping. "No sex", "no money", "no house". So, anxiety builds up higher and you get back on that turning wheel.
Something happens one day: you wake up, god knows where. You look around, no idea. Your clothes, who knows. Who is next to you? Don't know. Maybe you manage to do a walk of shame. But it doesn't feel like the movies picture it or maybe your friends. It doesn't feel like a fun night out that ended in unconscious sex. It feels like someone stole something from you. Or maybe like you gave it away. It feels empty.
Maybe this goes around enough that you start losing things. I mean, you've lost yourself by now: your memory, your thoughts, your cardiovascular stamina, your focus, your dreams, your heart... You're are gone and have been for a while. But you lose your phone, your wallet, your job, friends, reputation... You lose external things. Until one day, it's so bad you utter the words: "I can't live with this anymore."
This won't happen one time. You're addicted.
Time will go by and you will say "I've been a very good boy. One party can't do much."
And so it goes:
"I can't live with it, but I can't live without it."
Only you say "I can live precariously with it, I can't live without it."
You can stay on that course for years, that endless spiral of paralyzing fear, enthusiasm, ecstasy, and depression. It's a rollercoaster. It's a fixed bet and the house always wins.

To me, rock bottom has been constant suicidal thoughts.
First one I ever had, was way back when in high school, I failed an exam and I felt so much pressure I had a dream in which I jumped off a building and that was it. No more stress. No more worry. No more nothing.
Then, in uni, one of my medications for depression has suicidal thoughts as a side effect and I had them. Suddenly my life had no value whatsoever. I constantly felt like a waste. It started that way, but, things spiraled down as I couldn't get a grip on life. School, work, friends, boys, teachers, family, homework and hey, by the way, fix your hair, get enough sleep and exercise, try to think positive and feel happy, you're on the side of the world.
It felt like trying to breathe in the middle of the open sea in a horrible dark storm. You try, and you swim, you kick but nothing is keeping you afloat. Somehow you're sure you're going to die here, but you can't stop fighting.
I couldn't stop the flow, I couldn't change the pace, I couldn't stop losing things. From having everything, feeling at the top of the world, in the uni, I thought I wanted, in Australia, with those lovely sunsets. To being completely broke economically and emotionally. I had nothing else to think about. Walking into town "Just do it, just, now. Jump in front of the tram. Just do it.", going back extra late hoping someone would do something to me "maybe, down this scary road someone might kill me for 5 dollars", "just grab that knife", "how many pills do you have? Are they enough?"... All the time.
I didn't. I honestly don't know why. And I resent people saying it was because I was brave. No. I just, couldn't.
Back home, I thought things would change, but every time I get closer and closer to what I want to do and who I want to be, the question seems easier:
"you do this, or you die", "you write this blog, or you will die", "you'll quit this job or you'll die".

To me, rock bottom is the constant question: this or death. With every decision. With every person, with everything in your life.