Thank you 2024

New Year’s can be a bit overwhelming. But this year, for me, I’m not just going to erase 2024 from my memory and stride into 2025 with high hopes for materialistic and ego-fueling success (only to have them fade by spring). No, my approach is different. Honestly, I might be worse off than the average couple and their resolutions (although, that’s a lie—actually, I think). If I remember correctly, I believe I just gave up with resolutions quite some time ago.

I’m incredibly fortunate and grateful that this December is special to me for a number of reasons. I have a roof over my head (and warm radiators!), I earn enough money to feed myself, and there’s always plenty left over for books and jumpers too. What’s more, I genuinely enjoy my job. In the clichéd way that I know, it’s obvious to me that this is my calling. I’ve been working pretty much non-stop since I started washing my neighbour’s’ cars at 13, moving on to retail and front-of-house work. Now, I finally understand what I used to often hear older adults say to me: my job is no longer just a means to an end; it’s become a joy. Sometimes, I come home and end up writing and debugging code until the early hours of the morning.

Sometimes, I feel like my messy quick notes, jotted down on my phone when inspiration hits, filled with unformatted snippets, are either a work of art or a closely guarded secret gap in the market that only I have apparently cared much about. This is partly because I now work in an industry that I’ve always had incredible passion and excitement for. But the ultimate reason this happens is because things excite me again. That motivation which disappeared from the bottom of me probably several years ago—I suspect I was trying to squeeze out one last rep in the squat rack.

Like a large proportion of the country, the enforced isolation required by the rise of the global pandemic in 2020 was a struggle. Again, I suspect, like many others, I reached for the comfortable and familiar instead of the wise. As a youth, I was blessed with that all-too-common gift of being a little too smart for school to be actually engaging for me, mixed with that classic deficit of common sense. This gave me the freedom to regularly take my ADD-riddled brain on trips (pardon the pun), bunking off school and taking large doses of psychedelics and often MDMA. The emotional and cerebral rush of heightened intensity quickly began to merge with how I defined myself as an individual.

By 17 or 18, I was a hedonistic individual. And I don’t just mean the “let’s get fucked all the time” variety. I believed in what I was doing. My role model was Fatboy Slim, and I lived by the motto “Better living through chemistry.” So it was uppers to get up, downers to get down, and wonky ones to get wonky on the weekend, just so that we could all experience the same crazy dissociated states of consciousness. Meanwhile, I would inevitably spend my expensive weekends (the tickets to the big-name DJ events were always pretty dear) having conversations with a lamppost or a piece of street art!

Needless to say, that kind of behaviour affects everyone differently. It can certainly catch up with you quickly, or it can sneak in just slow enough that it’s below your conscious thought. Until one day, you’re taking your exams and realise that the oxycodone tablets (which were incredibly expensive) that you’d been messing around with at the start of that summer weren’t something you could just stop and continue on with life. I’ll always remember trying to figure out what I thought was the most logical thing to do, and forking out several hundred pounds more to avoid going into unpleasant withdrawal during my exam period. Little did I know that just a couple of years out of university, complete with my master’s, I’d become such an expert at shooting up heroin!

People used to find me odd or unusual. I mean, even I did. As much as it pains me to admit it, all those years ago when I started asking for help and attending drug and alcohol worker sessions, I must have been looking down my nose at the majority of my fellow addicts. One thing I can definitely say, though, is that this definitely didn’t last long. When you spend enough time in AA or NA meetings, listening to the variety of stories and outbursts from a slice of the general population as broad as can be, you very quickly learn to shut up and listen instead of spending 40 minutes nervously trying to think of something to say yourself.

It was an incredibly cathartic and comfortable feeling when I first found and started attending these meetings. Because of that huge void in my self-esteem and even my personality—the one I’d grown so familiar with that I just accepted it as part of me—I finally understood the absence for what it was: my loneliness. And somewhat deliberate too, as I clearly chose recreational substance abuse over friendship.

Now, there really isn’t anything interesting to write about active addiction; it’s just what you’d expect—more tragedy and heartbreak. Bonds of love and trust fractured like bones, only to be slowly mended again over time, until they’re almost strong enough to walk on and a thing of the past, just for the guilt and shame to come crashing down again, shattering it all once more. I met many people during my time in active addiction—people in recovery, people sleeping in tents in car parks, people with rather different maladies. In all that time, I only met a handful of young adults like me who had parents, who were also clearly scared shitless and at their wits’ end, but hadn’t given up. And to think, it still took several near-fatal overdoses and a suicide attempt where I finally woke up in a hospital bed, still alive and even more ashamed and embarrassed. But my family, my truly dearest people in the world, they were there, and they weren’t angry. Of course they weren’t. They were so happy I was alive that I must have finally cried the cry of a young boy—the young boy whose cry I held in all through the last decade of my life without even knowing it.

That was in February 2023. Almost two years ago now, and today, thoughts of heroin are almost a distant memory. I’d been given an experimental new type of medication, which has helped me out even more than I could possibly imagine, especially considering how rich with meaning and purpose I find my life to be now. And so now it’s time for me to bid farewell to this crutch that’s helped carry my weight month after month. I don’t necessarily know what the future holds for me, but one incredible difference from the young lad I was is that I am no longer afraid. My life is rich with people I love dearly and memories and experiences that I cherish, as well as the excitement I have for all the new ones that are yet to be made!

I don’t believe there is a one-size-fits-all solution to addiction treatment. Different factors—both good and bad—affect us differently, and you really need to find your own path out the other side if you want it to be permanent. Otherwise, you’ll be retracing those steps again, and it’s exponentially harder to find your way out every time you go back in. But that knowledge and understanding about what you want from life, and why you behave the way you do, takes time and support. I will spend the rest of my life making myself available to people in the midst of it and telling my story again and again. Because it was hundreds of stories like these that I heard and the people I listened to who ultimately made me believe I could live without self-medication.

As I reflect on my personal journey through addiction and recovery, I cannot overlook the broader community of individuals who continue to battle similar demons without the benefit of the unconditional support I had. This Christmas, amidst the festive lights and celebrations, there are countless homeless people, freezing in the nights, grappling with addiction, yearning for the same sense of hope and belonging that I have found.

This time of year is probably the most challenging for those experiencing homelessness and addiction. The contrast between the joy and warmth of celebrations and the harsh realities faced by the homeless can amplify feelings of isolation and despair. Many turn to substances as a coping mechanism to numb the pain of loneliness and the relentless struggle to survive each day. The lack of stable shelter, access to healthcare, and supportive communities makes it exceedingly difficult for these individuals to seek help and begin their own journeys toward recovery.

During this season of giving, we should remember that others are suffering in their own ways. Simple acts of kindness—offering a warm meal, donating to local shelters, volunteering our time—can make a significant difference in someone’s life. Organisation’s dedicated to helping the homeless and those battling addiction need  support more than ever. By contributing to these causes, we can help provide the essential resources and support networks critical for recovery and reintegration into society.

Even if, on your next trip to the supermarket for your big Christmas shop, you add some extra’ staple goods into your trolley, you can then donate those to a local food banks as you leave. It may not seem like much, but for someone who is struggling, if it makes their day just that little bit easier, it’s a lifesaver.

Moreover, fostering a sense of community and understanding is vital. Breaking down the stigma surrounding addiction and homelessness can encourage more individuals to seek the help they desperately need. Sharing stories, like mine, can humanise these struggles and highlight the importance of empathy and support in overcoming addiction.

During this season of giving, remember that recovery is not a solitary journey. It thrives in an environment of mutual support, compassion, and unwavering belief in the possibility of change. By reaching out to those who are homeless and struggling with addiction, we can help create a more inclusive and supportive society where everyone has the opportunity to heal and thrive.

As we step into a new year, it’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of resolutions and the pressure to reinvent ourselves. But for those of us who have suffered through not just addiction, but any of the numerous human conditions and situations that lead us to suffer, the journey is much deeper and more nuanced. It’s like the old adage about not getting a dog “just for Christmas.” In the same way, the journey of self-development and growth is a lifelong one, requiring ongoing effort to build a life filled with meaning and purpose beyond substances.

This December, I’m choosing to focus on gratitude for where I am now and the progress I’ve made. It’s not about forgetting the past or pretending everything is perfect, but about acknowledging the resilience it takes to keep moving forward. As 2025 approaches, I carry with me the lessons learned, the relationships nurtured, and the unwavering hope that each day is a step toward a brighter, healthier future.

Stay Strong and Support One Another

If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, remember that help is available. Seek out support groups, reach out to loved ones, and don’t hesitate to ask for professional assistance. Recovery is a journey, and you don’t have to walk it alone.

Feel free to reach out to me at snakebelieve@proton.me