The first time I got drunk, I was nine years old.My parents weren’t able to take care of me, and I ended up in a children’s home. I dropped out of school, couldn’t get along with the teachers, and started hanging out with older boys who drank and smoked. It’s a classic story of falling through the cracks — one that led me straight into Bergen’s heaviest drug scene, and eventually, onto the streets.
After years of addiction, I finally entered treatment — a journey that would last around 12 years. But every time I came home from long-term rehab, it took at most a week before I relapsed. Then came re-admission… and the cycle would start all over again. I was deep in denial about my addiction and tried to cover it up with clothes and appearance. It might be hard to believe now, but my denial ran so deep that I held prejudices against other addicts — even though I was one myself.”
“But I was good at talking my way out of things, and I managed to maintain a façade strong enough to become part of a heavy criminal environment where I pushed a lot of drugs. I impressed the people I sold for by moving larger quantities with a good profit margin. And since I had no respect for hierarchies, I stood on the corner in Bergen with my designer clothes, undercutting others on price, and often, also on quality. This, of course, wasn’t taken well, and I know there were plans to kill me at one point. There were several attempts to lure me into traps. Luckily, I always sensed the danger and managed to stay away from those who wanted to harm me. But I still remember the feeling of knowing that someone wanted me dead. It was incredibly unsettling, and it made me develop a strong contempt for these people and this life.
All the madness culminated in an incident where I could no longer deny the seriousness of what I was doing. In short, it involved several days of being high, and a flooded apartment, which, in addition to being uninsured, was also up for forced sale. I still remember that moment: A broken man, with nothing, water up to his ankles. I started laughing. The situation was so absurd, right? The cat was out of the bag. I couldn’t get out of this on my own. The double life I had been leading was unraveling — I couldn’t hide it anymore. And it was precisely that, having to lay all the cards on the table, that was so liberating. It was an incredibly freeing feeling. I didn’t have to pretend anymore. And I was alive! Despite all the madness, I was still alive!
This was important. I realized I had been my own worst enemy. For the first time, I felt care for myself. I became sad about how I had treated myself. I realized I needed treatment, and I had to do it properly this time. This time, I would go all the way, do everything I could to get sober, no matter what it took.”
I entered treatment in Bergen, managed to get sober, and have stayed sober since. One thing was the incredible treatment program I went through at Fanafjell, another was the environment I entered when I moved to Stavanger. It’s easy to stay sober while you’re in treatment, but it’s a whole different challenge to stay sober once you’re out. That’s when a strong network and community become essential. I found that in the group that today forms NextGen Ambassadors. It was an environment largely based on volunteerism and community — an environment that practiced the principle of passing on what you’ve received. One where you see opportunities rather than problems. It was absolutely amazing. I felt such a tremendous sense of achievement simply by being listened to, being believed in, and not being judged harshly. We mapped out my goals, dreams, and interests to find the right institutions and activities to help me reach them. I was assigned mentors in specific areas to increase the likelihood of success. One example is when I was connected with someone competent in mathematics before my math exam. Without him, I don’t know if I would have passed, but I did. The focus was always on who you are and what you want. No one was concerned with where you had been or what you had done.
It was an inclusive and healthy culture where everyone received as much as they gave. You were both a participant and a mentor to others, which allowed me to try out many different things I was interested in. There was a wealth of knowledge about available opportunities, both in education and employment, as well as in courses, self-help programs, and other activities — absolutely everything you need to feel a sense of achievement in life.
This helped me grow tremendously and land a job in a co-creation project with the municipality. I was able to take courses at school, get help finding housing, and build a network of people who all wanted the same thing as me: to stay sober and make a difference in their lives. People who weren’t focused on what they could get, but on what they could give. And when everyone gives, everyone ends up receiving. It’s a win-win situation. These were people who participated in the same self-help groups as I did, and who still do. Because it’s those people who make it — those who work on themselves every single day.
I’m no longer afraid of anything; the whole world is open to me. There’s nothing I can’t do, because I no longer let fear control me. I’ve built an enormous network, not just of friends, but also of politicians and professionals, while also acquiring a lot of expertise.
It’s an environment where you’re lifted up, where you discover what you’re good at and what interests you. NGA is a place where everyone is equal.