Part
ONE – My
life before I came to Christ.
I
guess you could say I was a pretty average middle class kid. My mom
was a nurse, my dad a teacher. It all went pretty good until the
fights started. My life went from happy to hell. My dad was very
controlling and I was starting to lose myself in his manipulations,
running everywhere, trying to be the sports star he wanted me to be.
I was more interested in writing and music. I wrote thousands of
pages in those days, stories and journals and articles and just
anything. I read a lot too. I loved bands like the Foo Fighters,
Filter, Korn, Poison the Well, Incubus. If offered me respite from all the screaming fights in the hallway. I'd crank up
the music to maximum to drown out the noise. I was a very sensitive
kid, so naturally the divorce shattered my world completely. Kurt
Cobain sourced his misery at the destruction of his family due to
divorce. In retrospect I feel the same; you rest on something, a
foundation, and when you lose that, everything gets thrown into
chaos.
I
always thought there was some kind of higher force out there. Being
raised Catholic, I learned of a God who wanted me to feel guilty and
ashamed all the time. I didn't know anything about Jesus Christ or
what he did for me. After my parents divorced, I rebelled against God
and I rebelled against the world. I didn't really see it that way at
the time, but looking back, that's really what happened.
At
age 17, a junior in high school, the bottom fell out of whatever was
holding me together. My dad begged me to stay in basketball, offering
me $300 to go to the first 3 practices. The coaches wouldn’t let
him force me to go anymore. I went to 3 practices, took the $300, and
stopped going. He wouldn't speak to me for a year or so, he was so
mad. I didn't know how to deal with any of it. I had been fairly
insolated against tragedy and insanity until then. I was completely
naïve. A doctor gave me some pills because I was so sad and anxious.
They made me feel really good, like I didn't care. So I started
taking them every day, all the time, and asked for more. He gave me
more. I started to be known as the rebel at school. I would skip my
classes, yell at teachers, and constantly be in trouble. It came to a
head when some students reported me. The principle thought I had
overdosed, so they called an ambulance. My mom was there crying, the
police, my principles.
At that moment I took off running and they chased me down, threw me
in the back of an ambulance and in I went to a mental hospital. Later
I found out I had mouthed some crazy talk about blowing up the school
and found myself expelled. And so it began, my descent.
I
felt like darkness and shattering was all life was, so I married it.
For several years I turned away from everything and just did drugs
and drank. Smoked pot with friends in my basement, as my mother lay
in her bedroom just as miserable as me, fearing for me. I was
miserable. I knew things were going insane...yet somehow even at the
time, I knew it had to happen. I just didn't care. Yet. I did, and I
was searching. I was exploring. Yet I was self-destructing. All those
parallels and ironies of life.
Part
TWO –
How I came to a cognitive knowledge of who Jesus is and what He did
for me.
The
drugs were out of control. In all this chaos I had several best
friends who thought like I did. Deep thinkers. we'd smoke pot or pop
Adderall and talk about the universe, life, existence, politics, and
the world for hours, constantly. We'd drive for hours at night, go
for night walks, sit outside smoking pot and talking deep. I started
to look into philosophy and politics. I started to seek out the
bigger ideas of life. I enrolled in UWMC and I had some success. All
the while my drinking and pot smoking was leading to ecstasy,
painkillers, stimulants, and eventually my love affair with
dextromethorphan.
The
drugs were conquering me and I was their slave. I had no control over
anything, but I didn't want to see that. I just didn't care what was
happening in my life at age 22; I just wanted to keep blotting it
out. I studied the writings of Hunter S. Thompson, a crazed drug-using
journalist, writer of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I read all his
books and sought to find the happy medium he had between drugs,
alcohol, and somehow balancing it with great success in political
journalism and book writing. It never really connected that he had
committed suicide, and that was the lifestyle I was chasing. I was
really good at lying to myself about what I believed and thought in
those days.
Eventually
I was hanging with a big time drug dealer. He kind of adopted me and
my friends into his inner circle. I watched helplessly as it later
became clear that he was setting them up to be dealers under him,
later beginning to sell cocaine. I didn't fall in with that. My best
friend Greg and I kind of fell away from that, delving deeper into
political conspiracy theories, philosophical thoughts, and constant
critiquing of society.
College
went on fairly well. I was highly addicted to Adderall, but it helped
me a bit in my classes. I made new friends. I started to recognize a
love for learning, though I was only taking classes that interested
me like philosophy, creative writing, public speaking, and
journalism. I fell in with a group of hippies at that time; they were
very knowledgeable, wise people. I didn't see that despite all their
knowledge and their ability to talk politics, spirituality and
philosophy, none of their words were backed up by any actions. Just
sitting in the same circles smoking grass every night. I had started
a bizarre custom of writing stream of consciousness like accounts of
trips I took to cities around the state with these hippies,
cataloging our strange drug trips and encounters with fellow
vagabonds.
I
went to festivals and concerts, had some fun, had more bizarre and
deranged experiences. Despair and confusion were my constant
companions. My inner growth was always matched or overshadowed by my
own inner destruction. I was so very
arrogant and willful. I thought I knew it all.
Thus
the descent continued. Greg and I thought we were so clever, evading
the police when driving around smoking pot and listening to trip
techno. It caught up with us, just as my mom said it would. We were
smoking in a park down by the lake, I remember; it was so beautiful.
The moon and stars were shining down on the rippling water. We were
talking about something, and boom, a police flashlight came on in the
drivers’ side window. At that moment I realized I'd dreamt about
that light popping on a few weeks earlier. I got a possession charge.
I was pretty upset about that, so a few weeks later I went out and
got a DUI and disorderly conduct. After 6 months on probation, I gave
my cousin some pills; he got pulled over on the way home and I had
dealing charges. Not to mention I got my probation revoked and had to
sit in jail for 24 days. My worst fear had been realized: jail. I was
afraid to go in with the general population, so I sat in solitary.
Those were long days, with nothing but a Bible. I read the book of
Job, equating the great suffering of Job with my own.
The
college thing was going pretty good, all things considered, but my
drug use constantly increased. I started hanging out with new
friends, including a strange computer guy. I mention the computer
guy, because we would always smoke pot together. The strange thing
was, I would always pass out while smoking with him. When I'd wake up
he'd been gone. A few times I remember waking up after passing out,
with someone grabbing me and doing things to me. It happened several
times, for all I know dozens of times, I was sexually assaulted. Over
the years, the memories of it slowly come to light.
This
led to a second DUI, disorderly conduct, and destruction of property. My parents came to pick me up after the DUI and I ran from their vehicle when they
said they were committing me. I climbed into the attic of an
apartment building, crawled around, the ceiling gave way under my
weight, and I crashed through the ceiling into a guy’s bathroom.
This
time I knew I needed help, so I went in for treatment for two weeks.
I had several awakenings at that rehab in Chippewa Falls, and when I
came back I got involved with recovery groups. During this time I
began diligently seeking a spirituality I could understand. All the
study of philosophy, music, writing, art, and society had finally
lead to a searching into spirituality. My life started to change for
the better. I was once again going to UWMC. I got 2 jobs, got a
management position at the school newspaper. I was going to lots of
recovery groups weekly. I was making restitution
to people I had harmed and I was on probation. I had come to find
union with new-age spiritual beliefs. I was starting to feel
connected to the universe, and my conception of spiritual life. In
retrospect, I kind of see it in relation to Star Wars: the Empire Strikes Back. I
had some victories, but I was approaching a great darkness. Like Luke
Skywalker I was starting my training as a Jedi, but I hadn't really
connected to the true God. Unfortunately I left to face Darth
Vader—Satan—ill-equipped, and had to take a giant fall to rock
bottom. I couldn't face the evil one with a half-assed spirituality
and no connection to Jesus Christ. I fell hard. After 10 months of
recovery I went insane and started using again.
If
there is such a thing as a dark rift, this was it. It was 2008. My
girlfriend had left me for my best friend; they had vanished. I had
felt alone, lost. But more, it was pride, and a failure to truly
connect to God that lead to this great tragedy.
Slowly,
one by one, everything I had gained and achieved was stripped away. I
lost my job at the newspaper. I quit UWMC altogether in shame. In
early 2009 I smashed up my car and totaled it. My hair dye went from
blonde to black. One by one every friend of mine faded away. It seems
they just couldn't watch me crumble head to toe. They couldn't watch
someone they loved so dearly destroy himself as they watched
helplessly. The same went for my family. My mother had resigned
herself to the fact that I was going to die. She started to talk
about me as if I had already died. I think it would have been easier
for her that way, if I had died. She saw no hope for recovery for me.
And constantly watching me slowly collapse was extremely hard for
her. I was her child. She had brought me into the world. Now she had
to watch me trying to take myself out of it, one piece at a time. I
had become a constant dextromethorphan tripper. My love affair with
coricidin, triple c, the robotussin, all over the counter medications which include dextromethorphan, was
taking off, blazing off into darkness never-ending. I was starting to
become addicted to my own despair. I was taking pleasure in watching
myself self-destruct. In retrospect, it was freeing. My best friend
and I tripped endlessly in my mom’s house, dad’s house. We
thought we were learning and growing, but we were destroying
ourselves. We could wrap it up however we wanted, to try and make it
ok, but the evidence was clear. It was a slow fall. A train wreck in
slow motion.
Several
times I tried to kill myself. Several times in the dark of night at
my house I would stumble out to Ross Avenue and lay flat on the
pavement, hoping a car would stomp my throat and put me out of my
misery. But no cars ever came. In those low moments I would call out
to God and say “Damn you God, you won't even let me die!” I could
see that. No matter how risky I was, no matter how tripped I was when
I drove, I couldn't get him to just let me die. It just wouldn't end.
One
day I was tripping so hard I thought the world was ending. I walked
down the road to a building near my home, stumbled in and scared the
workers, yelling about the world ending. I got arrested and my
probation officer threw me in jail. This time I sat 40 days. It was
2010. Just as always, at my lowest, I read my Bible. I hugged it to
my chest. I read it every day, clinging to any piece of truth I could
get to stick. Still I did not change. Still I was not ready or able
to give up. In retrospect I thought, how much could I take? My name
was Justin. I considered myself incredibly brilliant, and incredibly
troubled, and incredibly doomed. I had resigned myself to it.
The
tripping continued. I went from party to party, slept around, and
stole dextromethorphan bottles from anywhere I could. I didn't have a
car, so I would often walk for miles and miles from Target, to Pick N
Save to Walgreens with my laptop in my backpack. But during that
year-and-a-half a Bible was always riding with me. I was constantly
reading it. I was now more intellectually reading it than taking it
to heart. I was beginning to understand the fullness of my addiction,
and if I can explain it properly to you: coricidin comes in packets
of 16 red pills. By 2011 I was tripping about 5 times a week. The
only reason it wasn't 7 times a week was because my body was
progressively needing more and more time to recover from the trips.
To give you a perspective, I would walk several miles, rain or snow,
night or day, and steal several boxes of coricidin. I would gather
them up and take at least 32 pills per trip. Eventually it was 48,
and then 60. 60 pills, I was swallowing down, gagging as I did.
I
was walking home from Perkins, a place I commonly tripped at, and I
was hallucinating, thinking police officers were following me. So I
walked fast, for several miles. Perkins was 8 miles from my house. I
lost my feet under me, and fell to the pavement. A few moments later
cop cars pulled up. Justin falls for the first time.
I
was taken to the hospital, and put in intensive care. I was
tachycardic, had serotonin syndrome, and my kidneys were started to
collapse. I remember when they brought me in I was holding my laptop
case waiting for them to come back. I was digging through the bag and
I caught my hand on two more packets of dextromethorphan. Despite
knowing my body was shutting down, I took them, right there in the
emergency room. Later that night the doctor came in as my mom sat
there with me, and told me my organs were shutting down and they
didn't know if I'd make it through the night. We both burst into
tears. After all of that, all the misery, I still didn't want to die.
I remember as we cried together, I was so very, very, very, afraid.
So scared. There is nothing like the fear I felt during those
moments.
I
survived the night, and I slowly got better. But as soon as I got
out, I was back to the races. A month or so later, I was once again
hospitalized for an overdose. This time the doctors declared me a
danger to myself, and locked me up in the health care center. It
wasn't anything new. I had been to more than five rehabs, and just as
many mental hospitals across the state. They kept me for 3 months,
taking me to group therapy, but still I wasn't connecting to it. It
was early 2012 and I was released again. It was very dark then. I
could do nothing really. I was suffering severe PTSD from everything
that had happened. I didn't do much of anything, but lay in a bed at
my dad’s house for 4 months crying, eating, and drinking beer.
I
had tried everything. I was now living in my mom’s old house, the
house I had grown up in. She was living in Rapids with her new
husband. I had tried everything, everything. One-on-one counseling,
college, philosophy, group therapy, detox, inpatient rehab, recovery
groups, and after that, I had tried suicide. None of it had worked or
changed anything. I had nothing. I was
nothing. One night, and I don't know how this occurred to me because
it had never occurred to before, I was laying on a piss-soaked couch,
and I cried out, “Jesus help me. God help me” over and over
again.. Jesus help me. Jesus help me. God help me. God help me.
It
came into my head and stuck: go back to your recovery meetings. Go
back, go back. Go back to your recovery meetings. And I did. All I
could do was sit there shaking, withdrawing, defeated…and listen. I
started to get better. I stopped drinking and I stopped drugging.
Then I started going back to New Day, a church near my house. I went
in looking insane, but they loved me and welcomed me.
I
sought out Jesus Christ because I was miserable and insane. I had to
admit that I couldn't control anything, and a higher power could
relieve me of my addictions.
Part
THREE – Circumstances
surrounding your conversion.
I
accepted Christ while I was in church, realizing at a moment during
the sermon that the reason I was alive was because Jesus Christ had
personally saved my life. I remembered calling out to him, and how he
had saved me. It was a powerful feeling. It was a peaceful and happy
feeling.
Part
FOUR – How would you describe your spiritual growth from the time
you accepted Christ to today?
The
disaster had ceased. Somehow, it had stopped. It was Jesus. He was
restoring me. And sometimes today, I'll just sit back in my chair and
think, “My God, I'm alive.” And it still doesn't seem totally
real. I was baptized by Aaron at New Day. I went to more and more
meetings and groups. I started doing the things they told me to do in
recovery. I attended church every week. At my mom’s old house I
started to be able to clean and make it nice. I started renting out
rooms, and with the money I was getting I bought a car. I started to
make friends at church and in recovery. I started a blog and wrote
about what I was learning from the Bible every week. I got a sponsor;
I worked out my past, and started making amends. I started taking
online classes on Christianity. Then I started to realize what I was
supposed to do with my life. All the writing skills, college, public
speaking classes, reading poetry at open mics, writing books, singing
with bands and jamming with friends, all the reading and learning. It
had been preparing me to become a Pastor.
I applied to Liberty University, and was accepted for a major in
religious studies. And now I’m helping launch a church, to help
people who are a lot like I used to be: lost.
I'm
alive today for one reason: because Jesus Christ saved my life. There
is still much work to be done. But it can be done today because I'm
no longer enslaved, I'm no longer a slave working for Satan. I'm a
redeemed chosen one in the army of God. I am now a loved slave of
Jesus Christ. And I can still hardly believe that I'm alive and well,
and just how loved and blessed I am. My sins, which were many, have been forgiven by Jesus Christ. Now I can walk into eternal life washed white as snow, even though I continue to sin, Christ has forgiveness for all my sins then, now, and for all time.
Thank you, and God bless.
