The Work That Keeps Me Free
Trigger warning: This blog contains content about suicide which some individuals may find distressing.
By Tom Vickery
After twenty-five years of sobriety, I’ve learned that recovery isn’t a finish line — it’s a way of living. My story took place in suburban New Jersey and the gay party scene of New York City, but the disease of alcoholism doesn’t care about zip codes. It strikes people in every small town, city, and countryside. Addiction knows no borders.
Growing up, my dad was the alcoholic in our house, and my mom was what we in recovery call an “untreated Al-Anonic.” My first drink was with neighborhood kids and on church youth group trips to Puerto Rico to help nuns. From there, it escalated — parties, bars, and eventually, the late ’80s and ’90s gay nightlife in New York City. At first, it was all fun. Then it was fun with problems. Then it was just problems.
When I was diagnosed with cancer, you’d think I’d have stopped drinking and using. But instead, I was treating radiation fatigue with bumps of cocaine and drinking at cocktail parties after chemo. I was fighting two life-threatening diseases — one I recognized and one I denied. No one told me to get sober except my doctor. I figured, he’s a doctor, he has to say that. A few months later, I hit my bottom: shooting pool with a coke dealer in a dive bar in Chelsea.
My last bender ended with me on my knees at the foot of my bed, saying, God, I’m done. That was the beginning of my new life — not just my sobriety.
Addiction and Mental Health: Two Fights, One Life
I’ve lived with mild depression most of my life. It runs in my family, the same way addiction does. Over the years, I’ve come to see how closely the two are linked — how one feeds the other, and how ignoring either can cost a person their life.
My dear friend Tom was in and out of the program for years. Eventually, he strung together eight solid years of sobriety. But he never truly faced his bipolar disorder. He wouldn’t admit it, wouldn’t seek proper treatment. One day, the pain got too heavy, and he jumped from his apartment window. His death broke my heart — and reminded me that sobriety alone isn’t the whole story.
Another friend’s bipolar disorder was worsened by drug use. He tried to end his life twice. By the grace of God, he survived, got help, and today he’s stable and sober. His story gives me hope — proof that recovery is possible when we’re honest about everything that’s going on inside, not just the drinking.
Depression still whispers to me sometimes — that quiet voice that says I’m not enough. But I’ve learned that voice lies. When I talk about it, take my meds, stay connected, and keep doing the work, it loses its grip. Help is out there — it just takes courage to reach for it.
The Work That Keeps Me Free
The longer I’m sober, the clearer it becomes: recovery isn’t just about putting down the drink. It’s about asking, How free do you want to be?
Freedom isn’t simply abstinence — it’s emotional honesty. It’s forgiveness. It’s making peace with the past and staying open to what comes next. That question — how free do you want to be? — is one I still ask myself every day.
I’ve made peace with my parents. My father eventually got sober himself and stayed that way for 35 years. My mother and I healed our relationship before she died, and I was there holding her hand. I’ve survived grief, depression, and the loss of friends. I’ve also built a new career in healthcare communications, with enough space now to focus on what matters most.
These days, I sponsor a few men in the program. Some of them fight hard against admitting they have a problem, and I see how much they suffer. Every time I sit in a meeting and hear someone describe that moment of surrender — that point where they say I can’t do this anymore — I’m reminded why I stay.
Recovery meetings are like story time for grown-ups. Some stories break your heart; others make you laugh. And sometimes, you laugh because you’ve been through hell and come out the other side. This disease is deadly serious — but humor helps keep us human.
If you’re new to recovery, or wondering if you belong, just ask yourself: How free do you want to be? The work never ends, but the freedom it brings is beyond anything I could’ve imagined 25 years ago.
I still believe the best is yet to come.
About the Author
Tom Vickery is a healthcare communications consultant, writer, and advocate for recovery and mental health awareness. He recently celebrated 25 years of sobriety and believes in the power of storytelling to heal, connect, and inspire. He divides his time between New York City and Provincetown, MA.