[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 151 (2005), Part 15]
[House]
[Pages 20859-20860]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                       CELEBRATING RECOVERY MONTH

  The SPEAKER pro tempore. Under a previous order of the House, the 
gentleman from New Hampshire (Mr. Bradley) is recognized for 5 minutes.
  Mr. BRADLEY of New Hampshire. Mr. Speaker, I too rise with my 
colleague from Minnesota and my colleague from Rhode Island to speak 
about ``Recovery Month'' and what it means for individuals and what it 
means for our country as a whole. But, Mr. Speaker, today I would like 
to focus my remarks on a story, a life story written by one of my 
constituents. Her name is Lois Davieau of East Rochester, New 
Hampshire.
  I recently met Ms. Davieu when she came to my office to tell me about 
her long and arduous battle with crack cocaine. She asked me to share 
her story, a compelling story, on our House floor during the 16th 
annual celebration of ``Recovery Month'' in the hopes that her story 
will enlighten others. I would like to now read to you her personal 
story of addiction and recovery.
  Let me begin by setting the scene for you, in her words.
  A perfect family home on five acres of land in a small quaint country 
town. Everyone in town knows everyone else. My best friend Steven is a 
quiet boy, always a bit timid. We have always had great adventures when 
we play together. We hear Steven's mom yell for him, and Steven runs 
for the house without saying good-bye. I run to the big tree to go away 
for a while. I know all too well those screams. Only they are silently 
held within me.
  Later in her life, Lois has five children. And I continue her story 
again.
  So here I am with five children, and the only thing that has changed 
is that I am alone. My parents offered to take the three oldest 
children over the summer vacation so that I may work some extra hours 
and get ahead. But something inside of me panics. No, I think, they are 
the only reason that I pull myself out of bed.
  My mother convinces me to send them for a couple of weeks and I had 
no idea why at that moment. I was overcome with emotional panic. Today 
I know why. Crack cocaine, though, found me in my darkest and lowest 
points. I was so lonely and so empty. I was working 60 hours a week, 20 
of which were in a bar at night. I made some friends there. They helped 
me feel better by bringing me into the fold. The drug helped me open up 
and become much more sociable; so I thought to myself, what is a little 
social drug use going to hurt? But 8 months later I was living under a 
bridge, eating oranges off of neighborhood trees and doing what I had 
to do to stop the vast sea of darkness and emotional pain.
  I tried to stop 100 times. I would go a couple of weeks, get a job, 
and then the darkness would swarm back in. That life lasted for about 8 
months. I woke, after 3 straight days of using, in a dealer's house on 
a couch that was infested with fleas. I do not know what I was 
dreaming, but I know I woke in a complete and total hysterical panic. 
After sobbing and completely breaking down, I stood up, I walked to the 
highway. I put out my thumb and headed north. I knew the risks I was 
taking alone on that highway but it did not matter. I was lost. There 
was no one piece of me that I recognized.
  That is where I begin my journey to recovery. Eighteen years later is 
where my story of recovery begins today. Recovery for me has been a 
path strewn

[[Page 20860]]

with obstacles, gifts in disguise, and self-actualization. My obstacles 
were both self-inflicted and socially inflicted.
  I start my education of recovery in a self-help group. At that time, 
drug addicts were not to be tolerated. They could not be mingled with 
alcoholics. Once again, I thought, I do not fit in. I hid in the 
background and listened. When I had been around long enough to be 
recognized, I just replaced the word ``crack'' with ``alcohol'' and 
everyone was happy. I did what I had to do to stay straight. When asked 
on a job application about drugs, I lied. When asked on an insurance 
form, I lied. I was surviving the best way I knew. Now I was living a 
clean and socially acceptable life, though lying about my disease.
  So today I stand, I tell you, it is not just the way it is. I am 
cured from my disease, and I am not recovered from my disease. Yes, it 
is in check. I, like most other persons with a progressive chronic 
disease, am in remission; but I have early warning signs and symptoms 
of recurrence that I watch for. I know that I am responsible for the 
stigma of my disease by not coming forward and allowing those who still 
suffer to see the hope in me. The stigma of my disease stops here and 
now. I am responsible for giving hope to the person who still suffers 
from their or a loved one's disease, because without my face, without 
any voice, I still suffer in silence. I am not ashamed of my disease; I 
am ashamed of my behavior towards my disease.
  Today I ask for you to feel the fear, the struggle, the challenge, 
the hope, the celebration that resides in this person, a person with 
addiction.
  Mr. Speaker, those are the words of one of the most compelling 
constituents that I have had the honor of having in my office, who told 
me in her heartfelt story which I have been able to relate to you of 
her road through the long journey to a place that many of us do not 
know and to the recovery. Hers is a story of hope, of compassion that 
we all need to feel, and a system that needs to work for people like 
Lois.
  Mr. Speaker, I thank you for the opportunity to address this great 
Nation.

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