‘I was 37 with kids, a small business and a mortgage. Then I discovered ice.’

This post deals with suicide and might be triggering for some readers. If you or a loved one need help, call the 24-hour Lifeline Australia crisis hotline on 13 11 14 or reach out to Beyond Blue on 1300 224 636.    

Blanketed in the crippling feeling of self-shame, Kerry found himself sleeping on a beach. 

It was Christmas night – a time known for celebrations and love, family and friends. But for Kerry, all he could hear was the deafening, lonely sound of waves crashing against the shore. 

One week prior, Kerry had been staying with his two kids and former partner. But in the depths of despair, he “escaped”. 

“I just couldn't handle my mental state and I couldn't face Christmas with the family. So I got in the car one morning and left without telling anyone.”

He went looking for what he believed to be the antidote to his desperation and devastation – ice. As a person who had been using the drug for the past few years, he knew exactly where to find his next hit. And he did. 

Kerry isn’t proud of the way he treated his kids – who were very young – during this time. He remembers a lot of anger and rage engulfing him when he was around his family. The mother of his kids didn’t know about his addiction, nor did many people in his circle, but they could all see an angry attitude change. 

He was not pleasant to be around, he remembers.

“I was quite manic, self-seeking and self-serving. It was incredibly miserable and crazy; a level of insanity that's really hard to describe.”

Image: Supplied.

For five years, Kerry struggled with an addiction to ice.

The now 53-year-old says the weight of shame on his shoulders during this time was like walking in cement clothing. It slowed every step and drained all energy. 

“I felt an erosion of hope. Your soul just drains away for nothing. It was a joyless life.”

Despite the shame, Kerry was most fearful of a life without ice. 

It’s not that the drug was nice – far, far from it – but he had become so dependent on the short spouts of ‘highs’ it gave him, that he was fearful of the lows he believed sobriety would bring. 

The father of two says it was like he had developed Stockholm syndrome, an illness often associated with victims of domestic abuse who feel so dependent on their abusers they develop positive emotions towards them. 

The abuse is often hidden and immensely harmful. The drug made him believe that he could not live without it. It forced him to lie to his friends and family. He felt trapped. And lonely. 

Kerry, who lives in Queensland where ice misuse is on the rise, says it wasn’t until he was 37-years-old and separated from the mother of his children that he picked up the drug that would forever change the course of his life.

The fourth time Kerry smoked ice, he realised the immense power it suddenly had over him. 

“I lost complete control,” he reflects. “Soon I was using it at any available opportunity I could find or get my hands on.”

“I would use hard out for a couple of weeks and then I would get so physically sick that I'd be in bed for a week. And then as soon as I was well enough to get out of bed by the end of that week, the first thing I'd want to do was go and get back on. I just started all over again.”

Ice offered him a superficial departure from reality and responsibilities - they didn’t go away, of course, but for the five years of his ice use, he ignored them.

Kerry had two jobs. He was a self-employed tradesman and he also played drums for a local band. Throughout his addiction, he managed to maintain his tradesman job, although, inevitably, business slowed down. He says there were many times when he would not show up to work because he was either too mentally or physically ill. As for the band gig, he was fired three and a half years after he first picked up ice. His band members said he was too unreliable. 

Image: Supplied.

When Kerry considered seeking help, he felt too ashamed to ever put his hand up “because of the way that ice was perceived in the community”.

But what society doesn’t recognise, he says, is that “ice addiction is not a moral failing, it’s a mental health issue”.

“Throughout all of my addiction, I thought, 'If anyone finds out about this, life is over. It's the end of the world.”

It was in an unexpecting moment that Kerry found hope to recover. The woman he lived with discovered his addiction, told his family members and kicked him out in an instant.

“The first thing I did was I went off and got a new pipe. I sat up all night using, and then as the sun came up I just went, 'I'm done. I'm over it. I'm finished.' Even though I thought my world would crumble, I was actually relieved. I was truly relieved. I just knew at that point it was over.” 

Image: Supplied.

A family friend, who had recovered from his own drug addiction, suggested he attend a community-based fellowship support. The next week, they went along together. Kerry credits that group, where he found people who had suffered similar struggles, as being the saviour of his addiction. 

“I thought, 'This is where I need to be.’ And that's when I first saw hope again. I just went 'wow, this is exactly the place that I need to be’. I haven't looked back.”

It was his personal determination that sustained his recovery. But it was not an easy process. 

“I had to get responsible for a lot of things. Stopping ice-use is just the beginning. I had to spend quite a bit of time in recovery, taking care of the ramifications of my addiction.

For the five years of his addiction, he had avoided all responsibility. For him, a lot of recovery was about learning to be okay with responsibility again.

"I used to have a house and a mortgage and a small business. And, then suddenly the thought of doing those basic things terrified me. I thought I had a sense of freedom but, in hindsight, it was just basically no responsibility...

“Recovery meant being willing to make things better, to fix whatever needs to be fixed, to be responsible for what I needed to be responsible for – that could be anything from paying child support, to paying taxes, to being responsible for the way that I felt and the way that I behaved to people in my life.”

Kerry has now been sober for 11 years and 8 months.

For all the hardship, he says recovery has been the happiest time of his life, saying the best part is “being okay with who I am”.

“I've got a good relationship with the kids now. I have a great job. I've got my health. I’m in an awesome relationship.”

Whilst he does feel like he has conquered his addiction, he also knows he will “always be in recovery”.

“I still have the same head on my shoulders. Those old pathways still exist in the mind. I've just got to look after myself on a daily basis – mind, body and soul.”

Kerry wants to share his story with other people suffering from ice addiction, because he understands how terrifying the prospect of recovery can be.

“With the drug comes a massive ego and the massive ego loves to cover the frightened person inside. It's really about dropping those defenses and being vulnerable...

“It’s doable. Getting off any substance is doable. Ice is a very hard drug to recover from because of the way it is chemically engineered and the effect it has on the brain, but it can be done.

“You have to put your hand up for help.”

Recovery from ice is possible. Help is available.

Whether you’re looking for yourself, a friend, or family member, there are people that care and can offer support. You can find anonymous and confidential help at qld.gov.au/icehelp