Part I of "A Coach's Take on Addiction."

Last week I had a meltdown in front of 4 cops. It came after four nights of events I attended, all related to teen substance use and addiction. I watched video clips, newsreels, movies and listened to countless testimonies from parents of dead children. I heard (thankfully) stories from young people of their recovery, but not after also hearing about their desperation, suicidal attempts and brokenness. One night would have been enough to cause strain in most, but four...?

It was the forth night that pushed me over the edge. A panel discussion, Narcan training and viewing of a documentary called, “An American Epidemic” was being offered at the Cinema Arts in Huntington. I was happy to go as Nassau’s wellness ambassador to support the woman that invited me (who lost her son to heroin), but I wasn't prepared for the movie producer’s story of drug use and crime...what made him into a crusader willing to spend his entire life fighting the good fight. "Fourteen years ago I was an addict and got involved with a drug deal that went horribly bad. When the guys I pissed off came looking for me at my mom's condo, I was off somewhere in a drug stupor, so they strangled and stabbed her to death instead."

His words landed on my head like bricks. My energy shifted drastically, but I fought hard to stay in my seat in honor of the Suffolk County Coroner who presented next. He showed us one grizzly picture after another of dead drug users, but the last was of an almost unrecognizable body inside a pile of scorched metal. He told the tale of a young girl who was trapped in her car after she crashed driving under the influence of a mixture of wine and pot. She didn’t die instantly upon impact though. The coroner knew this because he found her charred remains hanging over the driver seat. He reported, "she was climbing into the back desperately trying to escape the flames that were engulfing her."

Ten minutes later, I had the need to escape too, but not just because of the stories or the pictures. I couldn’t bring myself to hear from the 7 panelists that came next. No lack of respect for the admirable job they were doing, but I couldn't take one more second of listening to similar verbiage without also being able to talk about how to fix it! All I was hearing up until that point...from them and every person for four nights straight was, “This country has a serious drug problem. We need more education...” To these statements I wanted to scream out of frustration, “I know, but why is everyone always 'educating' about the problem without unraveling deep rooted causes and offering real long lasting solutions?!?”

I hurried out through the doors of the theatre to catch a break in the lobby. There I found some police officers waiting to give the Narcan training. I started my diatribe. "It's going to go on and on in there for another 40 minutes of talk. Someone has to try and stop them!" I was trying to make the statement seem humorous, but it came out anything but. "When can we ask questions? When can we discuss how to help these kids?" The police officers were not sure how to react. When I realized they were trying to decide whether I was someone they needed to help or tackle, I checked in with my energy. It was larger than life and bordering on frantic. I looked at their faces. "I recognize this," I said to myself. It had been two years since I felt the rush of emotions from PTSD. I could see myself in their eyes and what I saw looked pretty scary. "I would like what I came here for," I said, trying to make every word calmer and more deliberate. "I'm a wellness professional," I told them, "and I need the factual data and education so I can speak intelligently to legislators and parents." Then I pushed back...one last time...all the tears I had been fighting all week long. I looked earnestly at the most sympathetic of the four cops and asked, "Can you help me with that?"

Look for Part II: Bear (and bare) with me as I lay the groundwork...