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My name is Patrick Cohen.
Here's my drug addiction recovery story.
 My drug addiction recovery story... wait a minute! I haven't properly introduced myself yet, have I? Sorry. Hello, my name is Patrick Cohen. (That's me there on the right.) I am a qualified addiction interventionist and have been employed by a certified Montreal rehab center for the past several years.
I care and I understand the road you're on, and the difficulties you face. I am also acutely aware of the joy you can create in your life and your extraordinary potential to help yourself... because I've been there. The single, most important reason I built this site is YOU!
Unless otherwise stated, the tips, techniques & strategies proposed on this site are based in my training and experience in individual and group counseling.
My experience also extends to both sides of the track. After 25 years of addiction to various psychoactive substances, I registered myself in a voluntary, 9-month-long program of therapy.
Contributing to this site is one way that you can accomplish your own mission.
That drug addiction recovery program helped me turn my life around, and literally inside out. Using both Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy (REBT) and Schema Therapy techniques, I was enabled to fully understand the dynamics involved in the development of my addictive tendencies.
More importantly still, the tools learned using those approaches helped me to understand the origins of deeply seated feelings of guilt, abandonment, inadequacy, powerlessness, etc, etc. I was finally able then to assuage the suffering borne for decades by eliminating the sources of pain.
During therapy, the framework for what was to become my life's mission began to form. I stated that mission quite simply as follows: help others to reduce the suffering in their lives in any way that I am able.
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The focus of my mission was glaringly obvious. My experience (and knowledge resulting from personal therapy and subsequent training) is geared specifically towards helping others to understand the development of their drug addiction, and guide them through the process of drug addiction rehabilitation.
The techniques I learned in therapy and training - and have been applying daily ever since - helped save my life. When I say "save my life", I'm not exaggerating. Before therapy, I was seriously contemplating suicide as a viable option to end my suffering.
As part of my mission, I published the first of a series of autobiographical books recounting my own travels on the drug addiction recovery road:
I have included a few excerpts on this page for your reading pleasure. Simply click on any chapter heading below that interests you to jump down to its excerpt.
A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Excerpts
Preface
1 - Rock Bottom
2 - Catharsis
3 - Refuge
4 - Farewell
5 - Anxiety
6 - Humility
7 - Menace
8 - Panic
9 - Guidance
11 - Haven
17 - Imago Dei
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A quick synopsis of A Fork in the Road...
Beginning in September of 2002, I had undergone several months of therapy in a community environment with the objective being my rehabilitation from substance abuse and its associated dependency. A FORK IN THE ROAD relates the story of the quest I had undertaken prior to that voluntary internment.
During that period - one which spanned only thirty days - a veritable war was waged within me from the moment I contemplated suicide as a viable option to the day I eventually did admit myself into therapy.
Yet rather than rehashing the sempiternal saga of depravity and debauchery that can lead to life-changing crisis, this memoir begins at the turning point and tells an emotionally- and spiritually-charged tale of striving towards renewal and rebirth.
The narration follows my experiences and dealings with various individuals and organizations specializing in drug addiction recovery. More to the point, the lessons learned through deep soul-searching and the discovery of wells of courage and humility would drive me on towards the most important decision of my life.
...and a rather condensed author bio:
Way back at the end of '78, as my father's attempt to sway me from an adolescent attraction to drugs and alcohol, I moved with him to the Eastern Townships of Quebec (it was either that or the Army. Uh... no). We bought 68 acres with a stunning view of the Mount Megantic valley and built a house there, then another 140 acres on the eastern slope of the mountain itself with the intention of reopening a ski lodge. Alas, new zoning successfully petitioned by the various groups using the observatory on that little mountain brought our dream to a frozen standstill with the stroke of a pen.
In 1981, having wised up a bit and realizing that flunking out of high school wasn't such a smart move, I moved again. That time to Sherbrooke - to register myself in adult education and get my equivalency. I wound up getting a tad more than I had bargained for as, at the end of my school year, I got married to she whom I romantically considered a high school sweetheart. I found out the hard way that 21 is just too young an age for such a commitment.
Long story short: 7 years, several moves & 3 kids later, we divorced. Not pleasantly, I must add. The divorce had pretty much run me through a wringer washer and hung me out to dry - both financially and emotionally. So much so that I quit a very well-paid job and virtually disappeared off the face of the Earth in a hopeless attempt to flee the inescapable: my own feelings of despair at having been abandoned, and of unfathomable guilt at having abandoned my own children.
I then adopted a mostly egotistical yet purely hedonistic lifestyle which spiraled inexorably down to the hell of an ever-growing addiction to psychoactive substances. 13 years later, I found myself once again emptied of everything including hope and faith as I contemplated taking my own life.
Thanks to the timely intervention of a drinking buddy (whom I have never seen again since that day) I registered myself for 30 days of drug addiction rehab followed by a voluntary 9-month-long internment in therapy. That experience turned my life around and, literally, inside out. It also inspired a very rewarding career choice: I have been working for the last few years as a counsellor at the very rehab centre where I learned to live and to love again.
My experience in drug addiction recovery had also allowed me to rediscover an old passion: storytelling. Moreover, having edited and published the centre's newsletter for 2 years helped hone my writing and authoring skills. In 2005, I began a long-term project whose fruit thus far has been the self-publication of the first of a series of several books recounting my travels on the road of rehabilitation (along with numerous other projects like this website!).
I have not since remarried, nor have I had any noteworthy relationships. My divorce had cut much deeper that I had thought and the scars are still quite sensitive even now. As for my grown children, they unfortunately developed a taste for independence from their father (wholly understandable after my absence which had spanned more than a decade).
However, my absence has in no way impeded upon the realization of my children's dreams. As of this writing, my youngest son is in college and passionately studies 20th-century history as he wants to teach that subject as a career. The eldest is holding down 2 jobs and is trying to get his own courier & transportation business up and running. My daughter, bless her gorgeous little heart, is reading law at university and plans to marry soon.
- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Preface
There comes a time in many a man's life when a story simply must be told and shared. This is one of those times.
This story is one of intense need and desire, of dreams dreamed and of battles fought. It is a story of judgment and of consequence. It is ultimately the story of a quest wherein choice and change are the protagonists. It is a work of neither romance nor intrigue, nor any genre of fiction. It is, however, an account of great adventure, discovery and wonder.
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This story is thus one of love and of life. Or, if you will, the love of life. It reflects the spectacular metamorphoses which are born only from strife and the triumph of the human spirit.
We have all been witness to such changes at one time or another in the lives of people we know or those we hear about. We may fantasize about them and even envy those we experience vicariously through literature, theatre or cinema. These changes can nonetheless be common to us all, yet all too many of us are either unable or unwilling to recognize them in ourselves as they occur. Furthermore, these changes are unique in the sense that only the one changed may intimately experience their depth and breadth.
We may ask ourselves then, what does go through the mind and the heart of a man who contemplates - and acts upon - life-changing decisions? This story is my attempt to share with you, the reader, one such extraordinary occurrence.
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 1 - Rock Bottom
I saw then that the mountainous pile of sins and transgressions for which I held myself accountable loomed higher and wider than ever I had dared admit. It seemed to me to be possessed of a crushing and immutable mass which surrounded my soul, and I was convinced of being devoid of any capacity or strength required to attempt my extrication. More, I could find neither the inclination nor the motivation for the endeavour as I felt I was hopelessly undeserving of either expiation or grace of redemption.
I realized I had spent my entire life reneging on promises made, pridefully avoiding all commitment in favour of independance and steadfastly refusing to accept the consequences of my actions and choices. I proceeded to wrestle with my limited options and reason through my situation with crystal clear pessimism.
I concluded that in order to solve my all too human dilemma, and put an end to my self-made suffering, the only effective option available to me was to surrender to oblivion and the mercy of God. Having entertained the idea of suicide in previous years during bouts of severe depression, this conclusion was neither spontaneous nor impulsive.
Plans long since laid and tabled were dredged from the quagmire of memory and studied anew. Having decided to prevent any further suffering however, I logically sought out the least painful strategy. One simple step into the void, followed by an exhilarating glide down the exponential curve of Newton's first law, would provide a very effective, sudden means to attain my goal. My state of mind and proximity to bridges provided this means, as well as the location and the opportunity to act.
Teetering as I was on the edge of my decision, Life, ever desirous of perpetuating itself no matter the circumstances, then threw me a curve ball.
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 2 - Catharsis
To our left was a long yet narrow area, minimally screened with smoked glass, which enclosed two small bars and several banks of video lottery machines. Each machine was conveniently equipped with a comfortably upholstered stool. Many of these were quite familiar to me, some bore also the years-old scars of my own aggressive frustration.
Fully three quarters of those stools now bore the hunched figures of fathers, sons, mothers and daughters who habitually flocked to their sometimes regular seats to gamble away their rent or their grocery money. A few had risked even their life savings, their mortgaged homes or their children's education in a tragically naive hope of winning back just enough to cover the month's bills.
As we walked past the partition, I shuddered with amazement and regret as I realized just how many thousands of dollars I had similarly squandered over the years. I saw myself as one of those figures now silhouetted in the glass, idealizing my meager winnings and minimizing my enormous losses.
The parallel between this and my substance abuse became, in an instant, glaringly obvious. Day after day I fed those insensate mechanical boxes with coins and bills of various denominations, either sitting for hours or simply passing by on my way out the door. The euphoric effect of winning, no matter the amount, was the rare culmination of the gleeful suspense and anticipation felt and upheld by the thought that, in all probability, the machine must eventually pay out. My drug and alcohol abuse was also motivated and intensified by the equally absurd, yet unconsciously maintained idea that my suffering must eventually abate.
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 3 - Refuge
My eyes met those of he who had chosen this day to intercede in my life. Having yet found neither adequate words nor strength enough to express the gratitude I now felt at being able to once again feel, my lips simply parted in a sigh. The muscles of my gaunt face succeeded only in producing a tentative, somewhat spastic smile. While the final tears forayed their paths through the scraggly whiskers barely covering my sunken cheeks, Yves refilled my glass and we drank, holding each others gaze.
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As we set our glasses on the table, Yves glanced at Luc - who nodded - then back at me. The words he next uttered were of such naive yet fearsome simplicity, and for me at that moment, imbued with depth of meaning and breadth of scope. "You need help," he said. And, "Have you ever thought of therapy?".
His observation crashed into my consciousness with the force of a hurricane. It echoed the deep-seated fear I had of having to admit to myself, let alone another, that I had never possessed the strength to face the pain alone. The question that followed, however, literally terrified me. For I knew intuitively that if I committed myself to a program of therapy, my extreme need to excel would entail the rooting out of every horrific monster and goblin I had ever buried within the deeps of my psyche.
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 4 - Farewell
I have been blessed with an adventurous spirit, but the delight I took in discovery had always been directed towards my environment. My curiosity, creativity and desire to know things, and how they worked - which was lovingly nurtured by my father - had contributed to the early development of a talent for insight and efficiency. This talent was similarly applied almost exclusively to the reality that existed outside of me.
For the first time in my life, these strengths would be required to accompany me on this next voyage into wholly unknown territory: into my own uncharted interior. I dreaded the unfamiliarity and the uncertainty. My inability to predict probabilities, or even to foresee any possibilities, fused with this fear and raised my anxiety to a level I had never before experienced.
But rather than being motivated by a desire to no longer suffer, my decision of the previous day had thrust back into my consciousness my childhood conviction that I could indeed be happy. I wanted more of that, wanted to learn how to create that in my life.
This fresh desire galvanized my determination. And there was the crux of the matter: the will to continue, to persevere, to persist. Did I possess that willpower? Could I maintain my motivation, or would I abandon this idealistic project as I had so many others? I realized once more fear was ever present in my life, and the task I had set before myself loomed even more daunting.
In spite of all this - and perhaps because of it - I stuck to my guns, for my soul knew without a shadow of a doubt that the coming battle simply had to be fought and won. My life depended on it, you see.
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 5 - Anxiety
To my dubious credit, I must admit I was beginning to feel angry with Luc for apparently not holding up his end of the bargain. My anger was fueled by the frustration of my conviction that he owed me what he had promised me. Rather than bullying some unsuspecting and nonthreatening target, such as a door that could be conveniently slammed, this hostility wedged itself tightly within my ribcage. That happened to be quite close to where my anxiety made its home. Anger and multiple fears allied themselves into an explosive team, giving me the burst of energy I needed to spur me on.
I maintained a pace quite close to that of Olympic-style walking for the duration of my trek, all the while debating whether or not to call Luc with my last quarter. Halfway there though, I realized I could have free access to the bar's phone, having asked for and received that same boon many times in the past. Calling Luc's number once again from the first payphone I came across, my anguish was cinched a few notches tighter as my last coin disappeared and his machine picked up as before. I prayed ever more earnestly for God's help.
When I was just a few blocks from the bar, a thought came to me that stopped me dead in my tracks. A soft voice was whispering in my head as in answer to my earlier prayer, "Maybe you have to do this thing alone. This is your challenge, after all." The valve between my windpipe and my oesophagus was as startled as was the rest of me and I choked momentarily on my own saliva. That idea was obviously related in the most intimate way to my realization of the previous afternoon: my refusal to accept responsibility for the consequences of my choices and actions.
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 6 - Humility
Ever since consciousness had crept into my being, the words "I can't" had rarely been part of my vocabulary. I considered the idea demeaning and destructive of my confidence and self-esteem. The same confidence and esteem that were proportionately dependant on both the voiced opinions of those whom I admired, and my opinion of them. Although the acknowledgement of my newfound strength had come from another, I realized that my spontaneous utterance, "I've lost control", had come from the deeply rooted knowledge that I could, in fact, not. The reasoning behind this realization was wholly intuitive, and held profound implications for me. If I had lost control - and I most definitely had - then my self-control was both illusion and delusion for it had hampered me all my life.
Instead of feeling demoralized by this, the intrinsic truth of this thought - and my honest admission of that truth to myself - was a balm to my wounded pride. It was my first glimpse or indication that my sense of self-worth was not dependent on others but rather on my own understanding and acceptance of my capabilities, potential and limits. As I had been strengthened the previous day by my own despair, I today took humble solace in the admission of my own weaknesses and failings.
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 7 - Menace
I entered the cafe and was greeted with relative calm. No fistfights were then in progress, the encroaching daylight having already chased away the more aggressive of the night owls from the single long and gloomy room. The sound system had been turned down to a level that permitted normal conversation, yet the only audible intrusions were those of a toilet flushing and the clicking of billiard balls at the far end.
Here though was confrontation of another sort. Within myself, a mighty storm was brewing as the scene which opened before me thrust its reflection of my own hedonistic lifestyle fully into my awareness. Several red-eyed customers occupied their usual tables, customers who had once again tripped the entire night away as evidenced by their pasty complexions, doughy expressions and postures which screamed hopelessness. In a flash, I took in the staring faces displaying their wistful clinging to wakefulness and the tragic dream that their illusion of contentment should not end with the coming of another day.
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 8 - Panic
There I was, entirely on my own, feeling the threat of what was clearly the most dangerous situation in which I had ever found myself. The danger being the surrender of my will to circumstance, and a voluntary return to the lifestyle which had quite nearly killed me.
I could see no more options, no alternatives suggested themselves to me. I was convinced of what I took to be an indisputable fact: based on my own experience, capitulation would inevitably lead me once again to the brink of death.
What was I to do? Where was I to go? There was no one I knew who would accept a call for help from me. Out of shame, I couldn't even bring myself to consider calling either my father or my brother: they hadn't heard from me in over ten years. Even in my present situation, pride and what little blasted self-image I had left prevented me from letting anyone for whom I cared see me like this.
I looked wildly about for any sign of encouragement, any indication that help was miraculously on its way. I could see none; no one came running to my rescue. Everything I did see around me was now subtly colored with ominously heavy shades of menace.
Sparkles and shadows in the bottles behind the bar winked and grinned at me as they reflected their gleefully tempting countenances. The bells and whistles of the nearby lottery machines happily extolled their entrapment of those who had fallen into the fantasy world of time suspended and troubles forgotten. Faces unknown, and of those I recognized, filed in and out of the washrooms as they too blindly yet willingly threw themselves into the hellish pit of drug-induced illusion.
The tavern now possessed the aura of an evilly enticing, intoxicating prison whose walls appeared to be steadily and rapidly closing in about my soul. Abject terror set my heart to rib-cracking pounding while my lungs laboured in spasms with their shallow intake of the now suffocating, stale air surrounding me.
Effort was required to keep my knees from buckling as I slid off the barstool. Inching away, I steadied myself with one white-knuckled hand still clutching the trembling glass of water. The rapid, arrhythmic tapping of its base on the polished surface of the bar resounded in my ears like the drums of doom.
My gaze shifted toward the exit and I saw there the key to my escape. Run! Leave this place! But between me and the door there stretched a gauntlet of those who, apparently unbeknownst to themselves, were likewise imprisoned.
I set the glass down and moved slowly away from the bar, anticipating obstruction at every step. One step, then three, quickening my pace as the door seemed to get no closer. Heads turned and faces leered in my direction, mouths formed words I couldn't understand. Hands gestured and groped at my sleeves, trying to pull me from my way. "No!" I cried within, "no more!" Then, suddenly, the door!
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 9 - Guidance
The day before, my guardian angel had manifested itself in Yves; a young man for whom I felt much affection, for I recognized in him the goodness and strength I so keenly wished to rediscover within myself. This day, my angel appeared to me in the guise of another young man with whom I had associated.
This young man, Stephane, entered the cafe and treated me to a hesitant smile, evidently uncertain of my reaction. This was understandable in view of the uncharitably cold manner in which I had often treated him. I had disdainfully dismissed him for some time as being unworthy of my attention, for I saw in him only weakness and self-centered ignorance. These are traits which I had long considered shamefully predominant in my own character and which I had therefore condemned in others.
He corrected my previous assumption by explaining that he had been called in to replace the regular guy behind the bar - which, in and of itself, was an extraordinary stroke of destiny when the outcome of our encounter is taken into consideration. He told me he had just run out to pick up his lunch, then inquired after my health and uttered some mundane comment as to my recent absence.
Stephane proceeded to ask if I wanted a cappuccino, "on the house, of course". I accepted his offer and thanked him as he turned to the coffee machine, still chattering away. I looked then once again towards the door. He apparently noticed my expectant attitude as he set the cup, saucer and spoon clattering down in front of me, for he asked if I was waiting for someone. My attention fixed then on the bespectacled, acne-scarred face hovering before me, slightly cocked to one side and perched upon a neck too scrawny for comfort.
His endlessly talkative nature and intrusive inquisitiveness had often evoked impatiently nasty comments from me, but that day I just stared at him for a moment, a bit puzzled by my own tolerant silence.
I answered then that yes, I was waiting for someone, although I couldn't say for certain who that someone might be. I immediately began an account of what I had been going through since choosing the previous day to quit my abusive lifestyle. His evident openness, innocence and naive interest was drawing forth bald truth and admission from me.
Talking honestly to this young fellow had a soothing, almost liberating effect on me. I felt my anxiety tangibly diminish while I was speaking for I realized I had chosen to stick to my decision to live, and live differently, come what may. I concluded my narrative a few minutes later by reaffirming that I was, in fact, waiting for someone who perhaps had the key to getting into rehab.
Stephane waited until I had finished speaking before dropping what turned out to be a very fortunate bombshell. He had simply said, "well, I can help you there". I continued staring at him, now wide-eyed and slack-jawed with both hope and incredulity as he reached into his back pocket and (...) slipped out a business card.
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 11 - Haven
As the door of the crisis center snicked shut behind me, I found myself in a cramped vestibule painted a dull, greenish beige. It was furnished with the standard rack of pamphlets and brochures on the wall to my right and a pair of wooden, government-issue armchairs arranged beneath the grille of the sub-basement window on my left. Between the chairs was a tiny coffee table barely large enough to accommodate the telephone sitting atop it. Beyond this, two columns of foot-tall gym lockers completed the decor.
No more than eight feet away, the only other door, which was obviously steel and mounted in a steel frame, was held fast by a magnetic lock along its top edge. Facing me was a service window protected by a thick sheet of Plexiglas punctured in the center by a few dozen little holes to permit conversation.
The whole place looked and felt like the entrance to a vault... or a prison waiting room. Evidently, it was designed to ensure that those who were denied access to the inner sanctum remained on the outside. Or that those who were admitted beyond stayed there. Or both. I felt my resolution waver at the thought of such confinement, of escape routes being barred and blocked. "Escape what?", the voice in my head had asked. "Yourself? Fat chance of that. You made your choice, now go through with this."
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- A Fork in the Road, a Journey of Self-Discovery
Patrick Cohen's drug addiction recovery story
Excerpt from Chapter 17 - Imago Dei
I was actually a bit leery of this fellow for he distinctly reminded me of a dangerously unstable type of clientele which frequented the cafe where I last worked. As that unsavory place of employment was situated in a neighborhood contested by various gangs of the criminalized biker and street varieties, frequent visits by representatives of each were the norm. Aggressively territorial and antisocial in temperament, fist-and-knife disputes often accompanied chance encounters between members of opposing clans.
Gang initiates were generally the more daring and prone to accept challenges from elder members, presumably to prove their worth and thus gain acceptance from their peers. As the cafe was invitingly open for business twenty-four hours a day, it was a convenient target for initiation exercises. Consequently, employees being held up at gun-point had come to be expected, yet the timing of these occurrences was wholly unpredictable (this was not specified at the time of hiring).
The most singularly frightening experience I ever had during my time at that cafe was hearing the cocking mechanism of a semi-automatic pistol being snapped back only inches behind my head. I knew absolute and instant terror when cold metal pressed against the base of my skull, for I felt through that muzzle the shaking of the nervous child whose uncertain finger was poised on the trigger.
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