88. Co-Occurring Disorders
Co-occurring disorders. Dual diagnosis. Comorbidity. Whatever name they go by, they are a cruel, tangled mess that has defined much of my life. To someone on the outside, it might seem like a simple equation: addiction and mental illness feed off each other in a never-ending cycle of destruction. But for those of us who live it, for those of us who wake up every day and carry the unbearable weight of our own minds, it's so much more than that.
I have battled substance abuse, and alongside it, I have fought the relentless grip of major depressive disorder, oppositional defiant disorder, bipolar disorder, and generalized anxiety. I have tried to untangle the threads of my suffering, but they are knotted so tightly together that I have come to understand—this is not a matter of cause and effect. It is a war fought on multiple fronts, where victory feels impossible, and surrender is always whispering in my ear.
Depression has been my constant companion, lurking in the shadows even in moments when I should have been happy. It drapes itself over me like a heavy, wet blanket, suffocating and draining me of motivation, making some of the simplest tasks feel insurmountable. It tells me I am worthless and that no matter how hard I try, I will fail. It whispers that I am a burden to those who love me, that the world would spin just fine without me in it. When you believe that lie long enough, when it becomes your truth, illicit substances start to look like salvation.
Then, there is the oppositional defiant disorder. That part of me that has always raged against authority, against the rules, against anyone who tried to tell me how I should live my life. It started when I was a kid, a deep-seated anger that no amount of discipline or reasoning could touch. When people told me to go left, I went right. When they told me to stop, I ran. When they told me that substances would ruin my life, I dove in headfirst.
Addiction came like a thief in the night, whispering promises of relief and escape. At first, it felt like freedom. It quieted the depression, muted the anxiety, and made the rage inside me feel like it had a place to go. It tricked me into thinking I had found the answer, that I had finally found something stronger than the demons in my head. But addiction is a liar. It does not grant peace; it steals it. It does not free you; it shackles you. And soon, I was drowning in the very thing I thought would save me.
Then came the bipolar disorder. The endless, exhausting pendulum swings between euphoria and despair. The manic highs where I felt invincible, where I could conquer the world, where my thoughts raced so fast I couldn't keep up. And then the crashes—the brutal, merciless crashes that left me shattered, desperate to feel anything other than the abyss swallowing me whole. Drugs and alcohol became my crutch, my medicine, my way of smoothing out the unbearable peaks and valleys. They only made it worse. They fueled the highs, deepened the lows, and took me further from the person I was meant to be.
And anxiety—oh, the anxiety. The constant, suffocating fear that coils around my chest like a vice. The relentless worry, the irrational panic, the racing heart that beats like a war drum in my ribcage. The belief that everything is about to fall apart, even when there is no reason for it. The certainty that I am not safe, that I will never be safe. I tried to drink it away, to numb it with pills, but addiction does not heal anxiety. It breeds it, amplifies it, and turns it into something even more monstrous.
And so, the cycle continued. One disorder fed into the next, addiction fueling them all, a never-ending downward spiral that seemed impossible to escape. Until one day, I had to make a choice: keep falling or fight like hell to climb out.
Recovery is not a straight road. It is a battlefield. It is waking up every day and choosing, again and again, not to let these disorders define me. It is facing the wreckage I have caused, the relationships I have shattered, the people I have hurt, and learning how to make amends. It is learning to live without the substances that once felt like my only lifeline.
It is therapy, where I’ve sat with my pain and unpacked the trauma I tried to bury. It is non-narcotic medications, learning to trust that the right treatment can help me balance what I could never balance on my own. It is structure, routine, and self-care—things that once felt foreign to me but are now my armor against the chaos inside.
Today, I take multiple non-narcotic medications to help manage my mental illnesses. It took time to find the right combination, but these medications have given me a stability I never thought possible. They do not erase my struggles, nor do they make life easy, but they allow me to function, to think clearly, and to fight my battles with a fair chance. For so long, I resisted the idea of medication, believing I had to tough it out on my own, but I have learned that real strength is accepting the help I need to heal. It is understood that I will always live with these disorders, but they do not have to control me. That addiction is a disease, but it is not my identity. That I am more than my mistakes, more than my darkest moments, more than the pain I have endured.
It is hard. Gosh, it is so hard. There are days I want to give up, days when the weight feels too heavy, and when the temptation to numb it all away is deafening. But then I remember why I chose recovery. I remember the people who believe in me, even when I don’t believe in myself. I remember that I have made it through the nights I thought would kill me, and I hold onto hope—the fragile, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, I can build a life worth living. Co-occurring disorders tried to break me. Addiction tried to bury me. But I am still here. I am still fighting, and as long as I have breath in my lungs, I will keep choosing recovery—one day, one hour, one moment at a time.
And remember, if you’re struggling or know someone who is struggling, please don’t lose hope. If that had happened to me, I wouldn’t be able to help spread awareness today.
