I arrive home and to my surprise, I beat my sister, Michaela there. I was so depressed just thinking about what was to come. I had a feeling this was the end. And so, I tried to drown my anxiety by taking more pills.
I snort three in one line. I felt better for those brief moments. As the powder hit my bloodstream, I could breathe.
When I first moved to Boca Raton, Florida post-college graduation, I lived with my sister and her (now) husband in the condo they shared. Eventually, though, I saved enough to move out. Except, my (now ex)-roommate just evicted me.
I made it, what, like six months on my own?
I was spending every penny I had on these damn pills so the $700 a month that was supposed to be going to rent, went towards my addiction instead. I had fallen behind and he wasn’t having it. So, we ended our sublet relationship, which brought me back to the drawing board. I had nowhere else to stay.
What was I going to do?
Luckily, my sister and her hubby were in Georgia for a month on business. They had boughten a timeshare and somehow, I convinced them to let me stay in their condo until I was back on my feet. Since they were away, I thought it would be perfect. I’d have the house to myself and a beautiful one at that. I was thankful, to say the least.
When they asked what my employment status was, I told them I was working as an assistant for a local publicist. Although that would have been my dream job, I was actually newly unemployed. I had a few pretty good desk jobs but either I quit because I couldn’t pick up or I was fired for picking up and then getting high at work.
I mean, I didn’t give a shit about what I was doing. I just wanted a paycheck. In the beginning, I showed pretty good initiative. Except, that was just for show. After a week (maybe a month if I was lucky), the truth always came out. So, was I really this functioning addict I so prided myself on? Not anymore.
As a result, I became pretty desperate for money.
I pawned everything you could think of (my stuff and others), panhandled and eventually started giving rides to people for money. Most of them were dealers themselves who either didn’t have a drivers license or an actual car. I was rolling around in a C280 Mercedes Benz, which made me feel boss AF at the time (I can’t even lie).
They would give me either money or pills for rides, which consisted of running errands or picking up the drugs themselves and delivering them to their clients. That in itself became almost a full-time job —a stupid one but an income nonetheless.
So I’m living like this for about a month still staying at my sister’s place alone. I’d check in with her about once every other day —making more shit up with each conversation. I couldn’t believe that I was making bank, sleeping in and supporting my habit tenfold.
Unfortunately, my luck was about to take a turn but only behind the scenes (for now). I think a neighbor from my sister’s building saw that I was smoking a cigarette and getting the mail at 1:00 p.m. in my pajamas. I suppose she thought that was odd considering it was a Tuesday and I was supposed to be at work.
These Boca Bitches are gossip queens. She freaking calls my sister right away. On Michaela’s end, this was red flag number 23. She was already on to me but there was never any solid proof. She wanted to give me the benefit of the doubt and time after time, she did.
So she stayed suspicious and watched from afar until everything exploded.
Guess what was coming next? If you said red flag 24, you’d be right. Months earlier (maybe even a year), my sister’s husband, Reid, set me up with one of his friends, Jordan, who was way out of my league. This was before anyone knew I was a serious drug addict.
He was a little older than the guys I normally went for, but it was intriguing to date someone who had their shit together. He had this confidence and mystery that made me want to know more. We hung out for a few weeks, but nothing serious ever came of it. He was looking for a partner and clearly, I was far from that. So it just kind of faded out.
I remember this one time though.
I was on my way home with a dealer riding shotgun. Jordan saw me with him and thought it was rather odd I was hanging out with a thug. I think we were getting gas off I-95 when he had the guts to approach us in the convenience store parking lot.
We had just picked up several hundred pills that sat hidden in the trunk of my car. We had just snorted 90 milligrams of product up our noses. Normally, the dealers didn’t get high on their own supply, but I hated using alone. I guess it made me feel like I was more of an addict than I already was (as if that was possible).
So I convince him to do it anyway, which was why we pulled over in that location. Luckily, we had cleaned everything up before Jordan came over. I see Jordan at the corner of my eye and thought, no way, it couldn’t be him. He inches closer to my car and I’m like, holy shit it is.
I pretended my dealer was one of my clients for that fake assistant job I had. I said he was a local rapper and the firm set up a photo shoot that I was driving him too. We do small talk and off he goes. I thought he bought it but clearly, he didn’t.
Time for you to go out into the world
I suppose Jordan couldn’t let it go (something in his gut told him something wasn’t right). I didn’t look like the pretty girl he met almost a year ago either. My eyes were sunken in —hell my entire face was. I stand at 5’8 and legit weighed 92 pounds.
And so, he started following me around the next few days, which I didn’t know about until it came to a head. At this point though, he saw that I was up to some shady shit in some ghetto ass neighborhoods. Places, he knew my sister wouldn’t approve of. He didn’t exactly know what, but he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore as it weighed heavy on his heart.
How could he not tell my sister and her husband, his good friend what their sister-in-law, me, was up too?
He couldn’t just sit back and at the time, I was mad as hell but today, I’m thankful. Jordan gives Reid a call and says Michaela should come home and check on me, which was the reason for her abrupt visit home (that’s what I referenced up top).
Michaela was not the passive type. She was more like a helicopter mom than my sister but she always meant well. She wanted me to be happy and safe, hence why she got on the next flight home but not before she calls, begging me to tell her what I was up too.
Deny. Deny. Deny.
I was taking this to the grave. I remember that phone call vividly. I was passed out on her living room floor when I woke up to a ring. I could hear it in her voice that she was dead serious and scared. Hell, I was scared.
She screams, “You are either taking a trip to Georgia so I can see you and make sure you are OK or I am moving home!! It’s that simple.”
Which then prompted her to yell, something like, “Fine Macey. Then I’m coming back to check on you right now.” In my head, it made me sad that I was making her so mad.
Except, my first ignorant thought was, I couldn’t take pills on a plane and if I couldn’t bring them, I knew I’d withdrawal, which I was not about to let happen. But if she came home, I wouldn’t be able to use in front of her nor keep everything up. I wasn’t going to let that happen either but I knew in my heart if she did come home, it was over.
And maybe, I secretly wanted that to happen because I didn’t have the guts to stop.
Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginnings End
Even though, I insisted that she couldn’t dictate my life nor what I did; she countered that if I was living under her roof, then I’d have to abide by her rules. All of this made perfect sense, but to a drug addict, it was the end of the world. And so, I argued with her for hours.
Ugh. The timing of everything couldn’t have been any worse (let me just tell you). Ironically, I invited my high school best friend, Fiona down here for an overdue visit. She was supposed to be staying with me for about a week while we got high (she was an addict too) and reminisce.
The thing was, she was legit en route flying to Florida when all of this went down. In fact, she was waiting for me at the airport for hours, but by the time my sister came home (because she definitely did), she took my phone. She didn’t want me to answer any dealer’s calls —except, it wasn’t a dealer calling (at that moment). It was Fiona who tried getting through to me 55 times that day.
For a while after, Fiona wouldn’t speak to me and rightfully so. I had ditched her when she flew across the country to see me. I was the worst. But this instance, it actually wasn’t my fault, but that didn’t matter. Far too many times, I’d say one thing and do the exact opposite. This situation just proved that tenfold.
Luckily though, there was another kid from our high school who lived in Del Ray. They were close enough so she called him who picked her up and they had the vacation we were supposed to have.
Anyway, back to the present —when I got off the phone with my sister, I end up passing out again. It was mid-afternoon and she was on the next flight home.
Like I said, she was dead serious about checking up on me.
When we hung up and I didn’t hear from her, I kind of thought I won. As a result, for a few hours in between, I forgot. Except, I was about to remember when I feel a tap on my shoulder. She was home, early. Stupidly, I nodded out before I had a chance to clean everything up.
The rolled up dollar bill and pill residue I had just used to snort these drugs were dead giveaways. Everything she desperately tried to pretend in her head wasn’t true, was now staring at her in the face. I remember her crying right away.
She was so angry yet sad for me all at the same time.
She immediately started pleading. She didn’t understand why I couldn’t get my act together. Sadly, I was more concerned with the dealer I pissed off a few days ago than what was happening right now. I thought if this dealer hated me, he’d get the rest of mine against me and I’d never be able to use pills again.
You see, B. Easy (that’s what he told everyone to call him) was now calling me too. He wanted me to buy him a new bottle of Hennessy because some kid drank his on my behalf a few weeks prior. That dumb kid blamed everything on me. You’d think one bottle of liquor wouldn’t be a big deal but for some reason, it was.
Funny thing, I hated and still hate alcohol. It never did anything for me because it tasted awful going down. I liked the feeling of being drunk but it was easier to snort a pill than down a few gin and tonics. B. Easy was one of the dealers who didn’t have a car. So he was also one of four that I’d drive around regularly.
This one time, his baby mama found out he was cheating on her with someone else (not me, no way). And so, she threw all of his shit on their front lawn (they lived together). So the errand that day was to get all of his stuff and bring it to his new spot. Except, he forgot a few items in my trunk. I forgot about them too.
Well, the next day, I go to pick up my friend (that kid) to do drugs when he finds that unopened bottle in my trunk and proceeds to drink it. I never told him it was OK. But because he was actually better friends with B. Easy than I was, I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal. And once I saw he had opened it, it was out of my hands.
When B. Easy calls, reminding me to keep it safe, my “friend” interjects. He had the audacity to tell him I told him to open it and that it was no big deal if he drank it. In short, it was all my fault. Easy said if I didn’t pay him back for it, he’d tell everyone what I was really up too. I couldn’t have that so I begged him to calm down. In fact, I had been pleading with him for the past few days but he was being such a dick.
This was about to be the end of our business relationship.
OK. So my sister and I, at this point, are sitting in the living room. She’s trying to talk some sense into me when she gets a phone call herself. She went into the other room to answer it. When she returned, she was oddly nice.
She says, “Macey, let’s order some pizza and talk about this some more.”
I tell her that, I’ll eat pizza, but I’m not talking. A few minutes later the doorbell rings. I thought the deliveryman was just early when the door opens. Instead of pizza, it was Dr. Eddy (my sister’s husband’s cousin who was a recovering addict and longtime drug counselor). Uh-oh. I knew something was up.
Brian (one of my using friends in Florida) was right.
He warned me that if she randomly started to be nice, that’s when I needed to watch out. He told me it most likely would end up as an intervention and like I said —he was dead on.
Time for you to go back to the places you will be from
As Dr. Eddy makes his way inside, I cross my arms over my chest. I was definitely not getting up to greet him. And so, I continue sitting on the couch like a cold lifeless bitch. I had no intention of quitting no matter what. I thought if I just stayed there bitter and insensitive, they would eventually give up. My warped mind was saying that no one would get in my way.
No one will stop me from getting high.
Or so I thought. He immediately says hey and starts with some small talk. I had met him a few times previously and actually liked him as a person. He then gets deep. He begins asking me questions like if I’m on drugs and what lengths have I gone to get those drugs?
I say nothing. But he wasn’t going to let my lack of enthusiasm stop what he came here to do. He actually got me to admit that I had gotten high and not just in the marijuana sense, which my sister already knew about since we had smoked weed together a few times in the past. He then gets deeper. I figure if I mention something about my drug use in college that would be enough to appease both of them.
He wouldn’t stop poking and prodding. I finally admit that I didn’t stop using when I moved here. I end up telling them a little bit more, but that I’ll only do pills socially. Dr. Eddy gets up from his spot to open a bag he came in with. It was a drug test.
Dr. Eddy speculates, “If you only do drugs for fun, you wouldn’t mind taking a drug test?”
Except, I did mind but I didn’t have a choice. My heart felt like it was not even moving it was beating so fast. I couldn’t move either. Shit, I couldn’t do or think about anything. I was about to be found out. I couldn’t fake it anymore because the test from his firm’s practice was a 12-panel one that examined every drug down to the last time of use.
Since he was a doctor who worked in this exact field, he had the Mercedes of drug tests, which was bad news for me. I take it anyway. I remember grabbing the test from his hand, still with a semi attitude as I walk into the bathroom. My sister, of course, follows. I sit down on the john and pee into the cup. My sister grabs the bottle from my hands immediately then brings it to Dr. Eddy once I finish.
We wait the three minutes it takes to calculate.
My heart was still racing —my hands were shaking. I couldn’t breathe. My life was about to be over and I couldn’t take it. When I was stressed out in the past, I would do drugs, which would calm me down. My pain was put on hold from the moment I snorted pills until they wore off, and then I had to do more. It was a never-ending cycle.
I secretly wanted to break it, but then again, I wanted to do a lot of things.
I wasn’t ready to let go of these pills but sometimes you have no choice. Moments later, the test was ready. To no surprise, I fail for everything. My sister starts crying harder as she reads out exactly what drugs I had been using.
“Amphetamines (meth, speed, crank, ecstasy), THC (cannabinoids, marijuana, hash), Cocaine (coc, crack), Opiates (heroin, opium, codeine, morphine), Phencyclidine (PCP, angel dust). Holy shit Macey. I had no idea you were this bad. You’ve done all these drugs in the past week? What the fuck!!!! How could you lie to all of us? I don’t get it?”
The truth was, I didn’t mean too. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It just took on a life of its own. And the funny thing was, I really only did pills. Except that particular week, a friend of mine had a huge party with party favors. I was an addict remember so I’d do anything I could get my hands on.
GOD was definitely laughing from above. I mean, the timing of it all was like a movie. But back then, all I saw was fear —fear of the unknown like what was going to happen to me next and my fear of opiate withdrawal trumped it all. That kind of fear led me to places I never thought I’d be —scenes, I never thought I’d see. People you didn’t want to meet. But there I was.
At the time, I couldn’t muscle the courage to tell them any of that. Luckily, Dr. Eddy steps in by saying now was not the time to name point and talk shit. “We need to get Macey help and calling her out on everything is not the way.”
When Dr. Eddy said that —I almost felt understood.
I thought, maybe he really was just trying to help —I mean, he just called my sister out. And so, we shared a moment as he started asking deeper questions.
“Why did you turn to drugs in the first place? Do you have any regrets? Are you happy? When was the last time you felt happy? What are your life goals? Have you ever put yourself in danger in order to obtain drugs?”
Etc. Etc. Etc. The truth was, I turned to drugs to silence the chaos in my head. I had a lot of regrets and I was anything but happy. I couldn’t even remember the last time I was. And life goals? Um, to stay high? Unfortunately, I had put myself in danger far too many times for these damn pills. As his last question rolled off his tongue, something hit me inside.
“Macey, have you ever tried to harm yourself to the point of suicide?”
Yes, I reply. Except this time with some emotion as a tear streams down my face. I turn to my sister and watch as her eyes fill up. She had no idea just how depressed I was. She thought I was enjoying this life I created for myself. I wasn’t. It hadn’t been fun in a long time.
“Macey, I just want my sister back. You are my little sibling and you are struggling. I had no idea it was this bad,” Michaela admits. “How could I let this happen to you? Why didn’t I do something when I saw those red flags?”
She couldn’t stop crying. “I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I guess I failed. I’m sorry. I love you. I want to make you happy. We’ve shared so much together. I miss that. We used to be inseparable. But it’s hard to not worry about you because when I see you, all I see is this vacancy in your eyes. So I just want to help bring you back. Allow me that sis.”
I couldn’t believe the hurt I saw in her face.
I couldn’t believe that my actions or lack thereof could make her this upset. I didn’t think anyone cared. I didn’t want anyone to care. But in all honesty, I did. I idolized my sister. I looked to her for approval on just about anything, but when I sank so low, I think I just gave up on it all. I suppose I didn’t want her to see me like this and so, I hid. She was trying to find me but I wouldn’t let her.
Maybe it was when she left for college. I was jealous of how she was able to do anything with this confidence I so lacked —especially traveling to another state and fitting in like it was nothing. Or, maybe I was jealous of the fact that she was able to leave when she did. My parents were in the middle of a divorce.
Since she wasn’t physically there, she didn’t have to physically deal with the impending lifestyle changes like I had. I definitely don’t hold that against her in any way, it was just the cards I was dealt at the time. Back then (like growing up), I used to be happy just to hang out with her, just to be around her.
But today, I didn’t want to be around anyone.
And at that moment, no one wanted to be around me. They did. It was just that I had pushed everyone —including my own family away and out of my life. Maybe I thought it was easier that way. But I didn’t know that my absence was causing everyone so much pain.
I turn to her and explain, this is not your fault. It’s mine when I finally realize that there’s no way out. And maybe a part of me was relieved. I might as well admit defeat and try to get help. I had nowhere else to go. I had no one to turn too. Then, I start thinking what if the cops found me and I got arrested?
I wasn’t ready to serve time.
I was thinking it’s been harder and harder to get high these days with the DEA and pill drought. I wasn’t even having fun anymore. And so, I break down. I start crying; telling them I do want help and how sorry I am for fucking up this bad. My phone was still ringing off the hook. B. Easy was calling me yet again to get that damn bottle —as if I didn’t have enough things to worry about.
Yeah, I know who I want to take me home
Mid-intervention, I had to explain why my phone was ringing off the hook. I still had the bottle that I was supposed to replace, but with all the madness it slipped my mind. I knew I would be going away, but I didn’t know where or for how long. At this point though, B. Easy would take the half drunken bottle over nothing.
I ask Michaela if I could go downstairs and give this kid the alcohol he’s freaking out about.
She thought I was trying to pick up drugs but the truth was, I had a few stashes no one knew about. She agrees to let me go down but of course, she comes with (understandable). We walk over to my car where I kept it. B. Easy sent one of his Jewish friends (thank GOD; way less suspicious —at least that’s what my sister would say) to meet me. He pulls up as we unlock my car. He jumps out of his, apologizeses for B. Easy’s insanity, as I hand him the bottle. It was over.
We head back to the apartment. I quickly walk into my bedroom, secretly open my stash as my sister locks the front door and Dr. Eddy makes a couple calls. I had about two seconds before she would come in. I preferred to snort pills because they hit you faster but I didn’t have time. And so, I swallow two.
If I wasn’t ever going to use again, I wanted to get high just one more time.
Michaela calls for me as I pretend to leave the bathroom and walk into the living room where the two of them now stand. The pills hadn’t yet kicked in but I was feeling a little better. I had zero coping mechanisms, which is almost laughable because I knew right from wrong and was certainly taught how to cope.
I had learned everything about life and yet I failed to use the knowledge I once had. I agree to seek help and allow them to create a treatment plan. I was living under Michaela’s roof, had no money and definitely no savings. I had no home and no friends who weren’t on drugs. I had nothing. I was nothing.
I knew I had to be at the mercy of whatever they had in mind since I literally had nowhere else to go.
We move back into my bedroom where they both proceed to go through all my stuff, which was pretty standard in these situations. I will say, it was a rather weird feeling to think that everything I owned was in this room and being torn apart by the person I was trying so hard to hide everything from.
They find my stash —or what’s left of it. I had pills everywhere. I could never be without. My stash had a stash that had a stash. I’ve talked about my OCD in other blog posts and it definitely showed during my addiction. Little did they know, I had others. In the back of my head, I wanted to keep a few in case I ever needed them (which I know sounds crazy).
I had about 15 blues in my car hidden throughout.
I knew no one would think to look there so if I could please them and do as they say, maybe in a month, I’d be able to get high again. The funny part, I never did see that car again. It was more of a backup plan, I suppose. I actually never got high off them either (you’ll find out later on that I end up telling my therapist in rehab about those staches).
She sees the ones in my room though and flushes everything. What a horrible feeling. I had worked so hard to accumulate those pills and now they were gone? It felt like I was losing everything. I wasn’t. I was finally about to get it all back. And so, she packs me a bag of clothes as we talk to Dr. Eddy about what detox they could get me into.
As I listen to him and my sister beg the facilities to give me a bed, I was about to break down even more than I already was.
Sitting on the couch, everything sunk in. Over the course of a few months, I had pawned every piece of jewelry I had owned. I stole anything worth a dollar. From drug dealer visits all hours of the day (or night), being irritable all the damn time if I wasn’t high to rape and kidnapping —how did I not think this would happen?
I just couldn’t shake the thought of living without these pills. As I ponder the depths of my own personal hell, Dr. Eddy hangs up the phone. He found me a bed but we had to leave right now. I guess I didn’t realize I would be leaving this exact second.
And so, I ask if we can go tomorrow. I wanted one more night in a normal bed or at least that’s what I said.
Truth, I think I wanted another night to get and stay high. I know for a fact they knew that. Dr. Eddy emphasized that if we didn’t leave now, they didn’t trust me enough to go tomorrow and by then, someone else could have my bed, which would leave me with nowhere to go. These detoxes fill up rather quickly and it was actually pretty hard to get a spot.
Luckily, Dr. Eddy had an in but that wouldn’t matter if we didn’t get me admitted tonight. “You will be staying at a place in Del Ray Beach (we lived in Boca Raton) called DAF (Drug Abuse Foundation). I send most of my clients here and they all have had great success. You have nothing to worry about,” Dr. Eddy says trying to console me. “In short, it’s a county ran drug detox facility that’s completely free where you will be given detox meds so you don’t feel sick.”
And so, Michaela put together a few outfits for me as we head toward the door.
Take me home
UGH. I was really scared. I had never been in a place like this; although ironically, a friend of mine, Jay, tried to take me to this exact location two week’s prior.
We were hanging out and I cried to him about not being able to control myself with these damn pills. I didn’t end up going then but that’s exactly where I ended up. DAF would be my new home —at least for the next two weeks.
I remember when we first arrive. The head guy over there made my sister and I cry. It seemed tougher than the tough love type —like, your sister is going to die and there’s nothing you can do about it.
I remember signing a few documents. I was so high from the 60 milligrams I swallowed a few hours prior —along with the 500 milligrams I had snorted earlier that day. Thank GOD I didn’t have Suboxone in my system because they drug test you and if you test positive for it, you’re not allowed in. Why? Because the drugs they give you to detox, do not work if you have subs in your system.
I tried to get clean earlier that year with subs, but I hadn’t gotten off pills long enough lately to need or want one.
I remember the lady at the front desk making me go into the bathroom to take that pee test. My sister, of course, came with where we had quite an experience. She wouldn’t let me out of her sight so it was no surprise she wanted to accompany me into the bathroom. I pull down my pants and we both start hysterically laughing. As I’m typing this out now, I can remember that moment vividly. We couldn’t stop.
The bathroom was so disgusting, she made a toilet paper moat to protect my butt from possible diseases on the gross toilet seat. I was laughing so hard that I could barely focus on peeing. And when I couldn’t pee at all, we laughed some more. Finally, I did and out we ran. We had to wait a little longer to go to the next checkpoint before officially entering as a resident.
And so, we sat on a bench in the waiting area.
I remember seeing all types of people on all types of drugs everywhere. It looked like a jail. Other people were getting checked in or trying to get checked it. There was this boy across the room staring at me, which you won’t believe who it ended up being. Remember the red fitted hot drug dealer I dated after treatment, well that was him. He saw me from his spot and thought I was hot. I was not hot at that moment. But I find it so fucking ironic how we later dated. Isn’t life funny like that?
Anyway, we wait some more when a staff member finally calls my name. It was time to say goodbye to Dr. Eddy as this was the last portion of in-take and only family could enter beyond this point. I remember hugging him goodbye.
“Macey, you got this. You’re stronger than you think. If you need anything, we are here.”
As the words came out of his mouth, I started crying. I gave him the biggest hug and thanked him for everything. I couldn’t let go but I had too. This was it. As we wave goodbye, the worker lady pushes me into the next room. They weren’t nice all the time. Luckily, my sister was allowed in, but I almost wished she wasn’t. This is where I had to answer those awkward questions about my drug use, sexual activity and if I had any diseases.
Luckily, I was clean, which left drugs and sex. After 20 horrible minutes, which felt like hours, we were done. Now, I had to say adieu to Michaela and enter the next set of doors as a patient. My sister was the one person I was running away from yet, at that very moment, I didn’t want her to go.
“Macey, I love you so much. I have no words as to how proud I am of you for making this step into your recovery. While you are in here, I am going to work with Reid and Dr. Eddy to find you a rehab. We got you so if you need anything at all, I’m here always sis. Don’t worry about a thing. Just focus on getting better.”
I ran into her arms like never before.
Through my crying, I was able to get out, “Sis, I’m so sorry for everything. I feel like the worst person on the planet. I feel dirty and gross and I really do want to change. I’m scared, but finally hopeful. Thank you, sis. I can’t say that enough. I’m going to miss you and I love you always. Wish me luck. See you when I get out.”
As the words came out, I think I finally felt ready. I think I actually believed myself and wanted this as badly as I pretended too. I kiss her goodbye —as the tech opens the door, I walk. And what happens next? Well, I detox for the next 14 days. To find out what specifically happened inside, read my next blog post, Freaked Out, Fucked Up & Alone: My Experience in a Del Ray Beach Detox.
It hurt. It was hard. I was frightened and weak, but you know what? I survived. And not only did I survive, I found myself all over again. Because recovery didn’t give me my old life back. It gave me the chance to build a new one.
29 thoughts on “Welcome to My Intervention: I Wasn’t Ready For Things to Blow Up in My Face But Deep Down I Knew it Was Over”