My name is Dianne and I would like to tell you a little of my story. I started life out as a much wanted child, my parents had been childless for five years before my birth. I was the apple of their eye and stayed that way until my sister was born six years later. I think that was the start of my ism’s.
I received very good grades in school; actually, I skipped grades three and seven and was much too young to go into high school. My parents tried their best with me but I was a rebel without a cause. I graduated from nursing at the tender age of eighteen and look out world. I was always trying to act responsible and it just didn’t fit my skin.

I married an alcoholic and had three children. My alcohol use just wasn’t cutting it and I started to use drugs also. At the tender age of 38, I was losing control not only of my chemical use but of people, places and things. I was angry at the God I had grown up with and fearful of living but too scared to die.

On April 29, 1991 my dad -my hero - had surgery for cancer of the lung and it was the worst day of my life (or so I thought). I used so many chemicals that day both drugs and alcohol, that I was barely functional. I promised God that I would go on the wagon forever if my dad lived. On May 3, I had convinced myself, as I was so good at doing, that he would have lived anyway and I was going out to find something to help my “nerves”, you know the shakes, nausea and paranoia.

My sister stopped at my house before I could leave, was very frank and asked me if I had a problem and for the first time in a very long time I was honest and told her yes. There had already been an intervention planned but I went willingly to detox and spent 17 days there. From there they sent me to Westover, where I was scared, homesick and still in denial. I think it was one of the best times of my life. I encountered kind, compassionate counselors who didn’t allow me to pull the wool over their eyes. After 28 days I was homeward bound.

I attended many meetings but the aftercare meeting always meant the most to me. I was becoming teachable. The aftercare counselors were always ready to lend an ear and to tell me things I really didn’t want to hear. After a few years I became better than rather than becoming better and stopped going to meetings. Sure enough I relapsed! I spent the next 14 months in a hell of my own making, I think for the first time I really started to understand the lessons that I had been taught at Westover. I started to become a little more humble, attended many meetings, got a sponsor and a home group and worked the program. There was something missing though and by the grace of God I have found out what it was.

I believe that gratitude is an action word and how best could I show my gratitude? For me it is volunteering at this wonderful place that has taught me so much and to help pass it to other fellow sufferers the same way it has been so freely given to me. I’ll tell you a little secret: the staff are so profuse in their thanks but what they don’t know is I have received much more than I could ever give. Think about an hour a year, month or a week and volunteer. It can make such a big difference in the lives of others not to mention your own.

With gratitude,  Dianne