My name is Andre Labuschagne. I am a recovered drug addict and alcoholic – and have been from the 15th of February 2016.

I would like to clarify in this writing that I never had a messed up childhood. I came from a good home. I had, and am blessed to still have a loving family. I was born the eldest of four siblings, and we were close – we were always taught there was no bond like family. In the last 7 years of sobriety I realized how close I came to losing my family – which, in the end, is all I had and all I truly have in this world except for a handful of good friends.

In the last 7 years I have also come to realize that addiction – as much as it is our own thinking and choices that set the wheel in spin – is a disease that knows no boundaries. Anyone could fall into addiction regardless of age, sexual orientation, gender, race or creed.

In the second chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous, fondly called the Big Book by members of AA and its sister fellowships, we find the following:

“All sections of this country and many of its occupations are represented, as well as many political, economic, social and religious backgrounds. We are people who normally would not mix. But there exists among us a fellowship, a friendliness, and an understanding which is indescribably wonderful.” – Alcoholics Anonymous, fourth edition, page 17.

It goes on to clarify two points – a. that addiction is an equalizer of sorts – it can strike anyone, anywhere, anytime – regardless of upbringing, regardless of social class or economic circumstance, regardless of religious or spiritual belief – and b. that the one thing that binds this motley crew of misfits, vagabonds, hobos, doctors, lawyers, business executives, stay-at-home-moms, and even pastors, poets, priests and prostitutes together is that we have all survived a common calamity – the disease of addiction.

I am one of the lucky ones. I have heard stories that would horrify the uneducated reader, I have seen and lived certain things that would send chills down your spine, I have done things that surely deserve judgment and condemnation – but instead, again and again, from my family members – blood relatives – and my extended family of recovering addicts – I have found love and acceptance each and every time.

I grew up a social but lonely child – always out to make friends, but always feeling alone. I could be surrounded by people, and still feel like it was just me in the room; lost in a sea of faces – but even then I was never really alone, it just felt that way.

My childhood and adolescence was nothing special. I spent a lot of time at church, very little time with ‘friends’ and way too much time with my nose stuck in books.

 I was never a pothead or much of a drinker – maybe the occasional beer or glass of wine at a braai. I was a ‘good boy’.

Just after finishing Bible School I started working in sales. I had graduated with distinction. I wrote gospel songs and led worship in churches. I was on my way to becoming a pastor. All of this changed in a moment.

I never thought I would become an addict. I never even imagined that I would even experiment with drugs – but one day the opportunity presented itself and I was hooked.

It started with cocaine. The why of what drove me to take that first hit still eludes me to this day – it might’ve been a feeling of boredom, an obscure curiosity, a particular insecurity or depression, a circumstance or situation – but to give this impetus a name would be a lie in itself, for I can’t even remember the particulars of how I was feeling. It just seemed like a good idea.

A fellow call center agent was chopping lines on his desk, and at first I was horrified. I asked him what he was thinking and he offered me the rolled up R100 note and even though I was a little bit doubtful, I took it, and with that a monster was born.

I need to make it clear that this was not peer pressure. It was a choice I made. We can never blame anyone else for the decisions we make.  As far as I can tell, from the other recovering addicts I’ve spoken to over the years, no-one put a gun to any of our heads and put a straw in our hands – we took it willingly.

I say this, because one of the first lessons I learnt in recovery was that no-one and nothing was to blame for my addiction except myself. During my active years I blamed the people in my life, I blamed disappointments and heartbreaks, I blamed failed relationships, I blamed situations and circumstances that were beyond my control – yet many others have faced these same circumstances and situations and came out stronger, better – they never needed chemicals to escape.

I took that first line and in seconds I was superman. In seconds I became a junkie and went on my first two week binge. It had been just before payday, and before I knew it my money was spent. As with all things in my life I was an overachiever. Always put in a little extra effort – and it was the same with drugs.

Soon it started taking over. Fast forward about 6 months and I found myself being escorted out of the building by police (this became a familiar situation later on – a detective coming to see me during working hours, a security leading me outside to avoid any trouble, etc). By that time I had graduated to crystal meth and was a daily user, mixing it with whatever I could find. Eventually I found myself abusing pharmaceuticals and drinking daily as well – drinking till I was drunk, and drugging to ‘sober up’ – that’s how messed up my thinking became. My family remained unaware because of their trusting nature, even though my mother suspected something might be wrong, she could never find sufficient evidence. I manipulated my way out of these situations like only a junky can – again and again – every small victory a step towards a much bigger defeat later.

Whenever I lost a job because of my addiction I would blame it on new management or downsizing.

Whenever I got into trouble, usually financial, it would be blamed on ‘situations’ beyond my control.

Anything and everything could be explained away.

This went on for about four to five years. Early in 2015 I got married and shortly after was arrested for possession. Somehow my marriage survived until I was well into my sobriety and only fell apart recently for unrelated reasons that are irrelevant to this post.

I sat in the cells that Friday night praying for forgiveness, and yet somehow still sought and managed to procure mandrax and marijuana in the cells the very next day.

There are many harrowing, tragic and at times humorous stories I can tell you about my days as an addict, but that would defeat the purpose of this essay. I am not here to recount ‘war stories’. I am here to convey a message of hope, faith and courage.

I want to tell you today that there is no rehab or program that will free you from addiction – they are just tools, that if used correctly, will lead to a better life. Just like no-one can decide for you whether you are an addict or not, there is no-one that can force sobriety upon you. No court, no institution – nothing except a little bit of honesty is necessary for you to start getting your life together.

The first step towards being set free from your addiction – whether it is to drugs, alcohol, sex, food, etc – is to admit that there is a problem. How would we define a ‘problem’?

Well, in my case it was the fact that I was always dependent on my next fix – the chemical itself didn’t matter – what I wanted, needed , absolutely craved was to escape reality, to numb myself, to destroy myself.  After a while all I knew was the habit – the ritual – the mission.

It reached a point where I believed I couldn’t talk to people without it, couldn’t attend a party without a bag in my pocket, couldn’t sleep or wake up without it. I couldn’t go to work without it. In the end the only reason I went to work was to buy more drugs. A beer and amphetamines for breakfast, marijuana and more amphetamines for lunch, and vodka to get a few hours sleep

It became an essential part of my day to day, and as each day went by I deteriorated to the point where the person staring at me in the mirror wasn’t me anymore.

It interfered with everything. I started isolating myself early on, my relationships with my family members had deteriorated to a point where I spoke to none of them, even though they kept reaching out to me – and after a while some of them stopped talking to me, or walked on eggshells around me to avoid my raging temper. Out of all the horrible things I did during that time, the thing I regret the most was pushing away my siblings and my parents. They never did anything to deserve the things I did to them, the disruption and chaos that I brought into their lives. They had always just been good to me and I had gone out and repayed their kindness with the terror of addiction – drug-induced psychosis, temper tantrums, stealing, lying, clawing and fighting, kicking and screaming to always get my way.

Even my junky friends grew tired of me at times, sometimes asking me to go a bit easier, telling me I was hitting the pipe too hard, or that I was losing my mind. I stole from them as well. I sold their stuff. I took their money. I stole their stash… And I would always end up being alone again.

There were days where the only person I spoke to was my dealer – sometimes three, four, – five times a day.

Sleeping on that concrete floor in an overcrowded cell was my rock bottom – having to talk to my family outside through a barred up window I could only reach standing on a toilet, having to hear my sister, mother and wife crying outside while my father was to heartbroken to get out of the car – it killed me.

The most heartbreaking tears was that of my sister. We had always had a lot in common, and that night I felt like I had let her down as her older brother. There had been a time where she looked up to me – and now I had totally and completely failed her.

I felt alone – truly and utterly alone. It was the loneliest night of my life.

I started realizing that I had no control over my habit, but that the habit had gained full control over me.

One of my favorite books, Naked Lunch by William Burroughs says the following:

“Junk is the ideal product… The ultimate merchandise. No sales pitch necessary. The client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy… The junk merchant doesn’t sell his product to the consumer, he sells the consumer to his product. He does not improve and simplify his merchandise. He degrades and simplifies the client.”

I had been degraded to the point of no return, I felt. I had been simplified to the point of nothingness.

My parents eventually got me out before the weekend was through. God’s grace had provided a way out. My brother (who had always been my closest friend and confidant growing up), the second eldest in the family had posted my bail, and yet I still did not see the error of my ways, even through the tears and torment I still craved nothing more than the murky crystalline pools that swirled in the glass globe. My dragon in his glass house.

My court date was set for early the next week. I realized sitting in that court room that my life had completely unraveled. I was in such a state that I shook uncontrollably, tears welling up in my eyes, my heart beating faster than any drug had ever made it beat.

I was thankful for the old alcoholic, a Hell’s Angel named James, who had come for moral and emotional support. We shared a cigarette in silence as I contemplated my fate, completely ignorant of the battle my parents were fighting on my behalf – my mother’s tearful pleading before the prosecutor – and through the efforts of our pastor and especially those of my parents – the very same people I had tortured emotionally, the same two beautiful people I had abused verbally day in and day out, the same people I stole from, the same people that would not give up on me with their reckless, unconditional love – the tearful life-and-death pleading of my mother, I managed to narrowly escape a 6 month sentence followed by government rehab.

I started attending 12 step meetings the very next week.

And thus I unwittingly took the first of the twelve steps towards recovery. I had to admit to myself that my life had become chaotic, that I had messed up somewhere along the line – that I was powerless over my addiction and that my life had become unmanageable.

This was the hardest step to take, and even though I was willing to take it, the junky in me was not. I fought with the people who were trying to help me throughout the first three months of my recovery. The court had decided that they would release me into the custody of my parents on the condition that I submit a letter from a registered addiction counselor after 3 months regarding my progress.

The junky in me was arrogant and stubborn – I gave my parents hell even though they were doing their utmost best to help – had helped me stay out of prison – and just after the letter was submitted I celebrated with more drugs. After another fall-out with my parents that same day, and another twelve step meeting where I had to announce my failure to the group during clean count, the realization I had come to on that cold concrete floor in the cell of Sophiatown Police station finally started to sink in.

This time I took the first step on purpose. I admitted to myself and accepted, truly and honestly that drugs and alcohol had become a problem in my life and that I was heading towards either prison, the nuthouse or death.

Soon after starting attending the meetings I started finding God in the most unlikely of places. The Word says that God is love. I already had the love of my family but I had broken their trust so many times that I felt unworthy of it. This feeling of insecurity blinded me – but eventually the scales fell from my eyes and I realized exactly how much they loved me. How much they had sacrificed for me. How many nights my mother cried and prayed for my salvation.

I found love in the meetings – amongst the other recovering addicts – some of them people I would’ve never been friends with before.

I soon realized that I had been loved all along, but had never truly loved myself. I guess that’s why Jesus doesn’t just teach us to love one another like we love ourselves – because there are days when we don’t. He admonishes us to love one another as HE has loved us (John 13:34). Unconditionally and with no strings attached – no judgement for we have all sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23).

No matter how holy you strive to live, no person can be righteous – but we are clothed in the righteousness of Christ. All we have is His righteousness. (2 Corinthians 5:21)

This brings me to the second step: We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

The Bible teaches us that through His wounds – through Christ’s suffering on the cross, we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5). We are revived. We are restored. We are healed of our various maladies and conditions – our illnesses, our pain, our heartbreaks, our sin, our addictions – the Name and Blood of Jesus breaks every chain. He restores our sanity – he renews our mind – and this renewed mind leads to a renewed life. (Romans 12:1-2)

The last and most important step I want to mention is the third one: We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

God does not live in a box – even though we have the Bible and the Scripture gives us a good idea of who He is, I believe that sometimes He reveals Himself in ways we cannot even begin to fathom. My understanding of God, the God I serve, is still the God of the Bible – but now He seems more real than ever before, now I’ve seen Him move in ways that I could not even begin to imagine before.

In turning my will and life over to the care of God, by casting all of my anxieties upon Him who cares for us, my whole life has changed. (1 Peter 5:7)

I have come to realize that even my darkness, even my failings, even my flaws and imperfections serve a purpose – and the words of the prophet Jeremiah have even more meaning now when God speaks through him saying: I know what plans I have for you, plans for good and not for evil so that you might have a hopeful, happy, prosperous, purpose-driven future. (Jeremiah 29:11)

The last step in the twelve steps says: Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

First Peter teaches us that we have been called out of darkness into the light to proclaim the goodness, the glory of Him who has saved us. (1 Peter 2:9)

But who are we proclaiming this good news to? Are we preaching to the choir? Is this what God intended? (2 Cor 5:16-21, Acts 13:47)

I am writing this post for the church – so that you may come to understand that addiction is not anything to be ashamed of, even though it makes us do shameful things – and so that we can stop being so judgmental! I can promise you that your gossip, your refusal to feed the hungry and clothe the naked – the fact that you think that sitting in a service on a Sunday will make you holy and buy you a ticket to heaven, even though you’ve got your own bugs crawling in the woodwork – while not showing love but choosing to condemn is going to count against you just as much as all the cocaine or heroin used daily by each and every junky in the world today – for a Christian without the renewed Mind of Christ is not a Christian at all – without the Mind and Heart of Christ we are not followers of the Good Shepherd but a follower of doctrine and dogma, a follower of man-made principles and ideas.

I know that my main purpose in life now is to go back into the darkness with the light of Christ – to bring back the lost, the weary, the broken – to wage warfare with feral spirits and to be a distributor of the grace, goodness, glory, healing and peace of that Christ has paid for on the cross. There is an apostolic and prophetic calling on my life which I cannot ignore.

I have also realized that my righteousness does not come from any action on my part but is completely reliant on Christ. I am clothed in Him and His righteousness. This is what gives us the power to pull down strongholds, to cleanse the lepers, to heal the sick – to raise the dead and call dry bones back to life.

I know that my life has not been ideal – that I have not lived a perfect life – but I am grateful that God never let go of me, and that even throughout my addiction, even throughout my clinical depression, mental illness, physical infirmity and moments of doubt and fear I have always found shelter in Him. I had to go through darkness – even though I have served Him for 17 years – to know the fullness of His grace and mercy. I had to fall to find

I am writing this post for the families of the addicted. There is hope. Your husband, wife, daughter, son, brother, sister – they can recover! They can still come home! No matter how far they may have strayed.

Finally and foremostly I am writing this post to carry the message of hope to the still suffering addict and alcoholic – to carry the light back into darkness and call more of the suffering, broken and weary back home.

Jesus says: come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. (Matt 11:28-30)

If you are sick and tired of being sick and tired, if you are broken and weary, if you are still suffering in silence – know that you are not alone.

If you have a problem with drugs or alcohol – so did I.

And if you ever need a friend, come lean on me.

I am writing this for you. You are not alone. We will love you until you learn to love yourself. You don’t ever need to be alone again.