The Words That Saved Me

Not disorder. Not diagnosis. Just truth.

“I ran a recovery center. I’m married to a woman so far out of my league we don’t even share a ZIP code. I’ve written a book that made me a certified thousandaire.”

But today, I want to talk about acronyms.

Specifically, these two matchups:

1. Alcoholic vs. person with Alcohol Use Disorder

2. Addict vs. person with Substance Use Disorder

“From identity to diagnosis. From I am to I have.” In both, there’s a shift. From blunt to bureaucratic. From identity to diagnosis. From I am to I have. medical world prefers the latter. A doctor won’t call you an alcoholic—she’ll diagnose you with AUD. Treatment centers bill for SUD, or for the acronym-rich cousins: OUD (opioids), CUD (cocaine), MUD (meth).(As a former meth user, I object to being lumped in with MUD. Surely we deserve a better acronym—like SPARK or ZOOM.)

I get the intent. I really do. The shift to “person-first language” is about dignity. It’s about remembering we are people, not punchlines. We’ve moved away from calling people “bums” or “whores” or “the homeless.”
We say:
→ people without housing
→ sex workers
→ people who use substances

These are good changes. Necessary ones.

But here’s where it gets sticky: I want to decide what I call myself.

If I choose to say I’m an alcoholic, that’s my right. If I want to say I’m a junkie, a drunk, an addict—that’s my story to tell. Not yours to edit.

“It’s a strange world where I’m asked to name my pronouns but told that my self-identification is unacceptable.”

Try this mental substitution. Replace “heroin addict” with “person with Substance Use Disorder” in this poem:

---

My Trinity

I was a heroin addict.
I am a heroin addict.
I will always be a heroin addict.

My past, my present, and my future
Are not defined but are informed by
Heroin
And my need for it.

Was, am, will always be.

Until I lay down in my final darkness,
Give up the ghost,
Buy the farm,
Die,
Addiction is in my bones, my soul,
Perhaps my DNA.

I steer clear
Of that opiate island
Of peace, comfort, and blessed nothingness,
Fighting a current
Drawing me toward addiction.

Always, every day,
I remember that holy threesome:
The past, the present, the future.

I was. I am. I always will be.

---

Now try rewriting that with “person with SUD.”
It doesn’t land.

It’s a spreadsheet in a funeral home.

The National Institutes of Health officially recommends ditching “alcoholic” in favor of “person with AUD.” The goal is compassion—but what could be more human, more person-first, than this?

“I am an alcoholic.”

That sentence has saved more lives than most medicines.
Those four words have, for millions, been the first step toward freedom.
If I hadn’t recognized that truth, I wouldn’t be alive—wouldn’t have accomplished a single thing I mentioned in the opening paragraph.

In recovery, there’s a phrase:

“You’re in recovery when you say you’re in recovery.”

It’s about claiming your identity. Your power. Your truth.

So let’s add a few more truths:

I’m an addict when I say I’m an addict.
I’m an alcoholic when I say I’m an alcoholic.

We’re not acronyms. We’re people.
The words we choose to name our pain, our past, our hope—they matter.
Let us speak for ourselves.
We’ve earned the right.
And we’ve paid for it in full.