Beyond Belief: Finding the Strength to Come Back by Josh Hamilton; Tim Keown

Author:Josh Hamilton; Tim Keown
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Autobiography, Baseball, Sports
ISBN: 1599951606
Publisher: FaithWords
Published: 2008-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

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It's painful to recall these memories. I'm not proud of any of them, but I'm confident someone can learn from them. I'm confident there's a higher purpose, that everything happened so I can be here now, sharing my story. I need to turn this pain to joy.

I made several trips to the emergency room. Sometimes I took myself, sometimes other people took me there and dropped me off. If I hadn't been so young and strong, I doubt I would have made it. I stressed my heart so many times I don't know what lies ahead, but I try not to think about that.

The mornings were the worst. I would wake up, or still be awake, after a night of heavy using. I would feel my heart beating in my chest and swear it wasn't working right. It was too fast, or irregular, or pounding so hard it might spring through my rib cage. I would fixate on it, feeling it and watching it and believing I could hear it.

Every time, I was sure I was going to die. I was completely sure, no questions asked, so I would drive in a state of panic to the hospital and walk into the emergency room.

I never consciously tried to kill myself, but there were many times when I ingested enough cocaine to accidentally overdose. It's only by the grace of God and my big strong body that I didn't end up dead.

These trips to the emergency room all happened before Katie and I got married, and each time my parents were forced to come to the hospital. Worn down by the constant worry, they were left to hope that I would reach bottom and be forced to get clean. They had lost faith in the treatment centers and scare tactics and tough love that had failed over and over.

I very nearly overdosed and found myself in the ER during one period of binge usage. My mom came into the room and stood next to the bed. She had long since lost her patience for my behavior, and my shame was clear. I pretended not to care what anybody said or thought, but I was in anguish. I could. tell by the look on her face how bad I must have looked, and how badly it hurt her to sit there and look at me. There were tears in her eyes.

I wanted to stop, but I couldn't promise anything. I didn't know where to start.

She sat there for quite some time in a thick silence. I had nothing to say, and an apology seemed inadequate at this stage of my deterioration.

In a voice barely above a whisper, she said something I couldn't quite hear.

"What was that, Momma?" I asked.

Just a little bit louder, with her head shaking and her voice breaking, she said, "God must love ballplayers."

I didn't understand. I hadn't played baseball for more than two years, and I wasn't even sure I was a baseball player anymore. Normally,

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