I have struggled with addiction for as long as I can remember. The road that eventually led me to sobriety was long, painful, and filled with darkness—drugs, toxic relationships, prostitution, self-harm, overdoses, psychiatric hospitals, and countless treatment centers. I grew up in the metro Detroit area of Michigan, and even as a child, I had what people call an addictive personality. I battled depression early on and always felt like I didn’t quite belong anywhere, like I was missing something everyone else seemed to have.
When I was in middle school, my parents divorced. As the oldest of four kids, I felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility to stay strong for my siblings while watching my family fall apart. The weight of it all pushed my depression even deeper, and my addiction first took shape through self-harm. I learned how to hide my emotions so well that I eventually became numb to everything. Cutting myself with razor blades became my release—it was the only way I could feel anything at all. Over time, the pain escalated into suicidal thoughts. When my parents realized something was wrong and I finally told them what I had been doing, they admitted me to a psychiatric hospital. While I was there, I met a girl who introduced me to the idea of drugs. She told me they made her feel invincible, like nothing else mattered. I remember thinking, that’s exactly how I want to feel. That moment planted a seed that would grow into something destructive.
By the time high school started, my downward spiral was already in motion. I entered an extremely abusive relationship with a boy I believed loved me. He was physically and emotionally abusive, constantly tearing me down until I truly believed I deserved nothing better. When that relationship finally ended, my drug use exploded. What began as occasional drinking and smoking quickly escalated after I pushed away my good friends and started spending time with an older crowd. I felt completely alone, overwhelmed, and exhausted by life. I started going to school high and drinking every night just to escape my racing thoughts, anxiety, and depression. I grew close to a girl who was heavily into pills—Xanax, Percocet, OxyContin—and the moment I decided to try them, everything changed. They say in recovery, “one is too many, and a thousand is never enough,” and that became my truth. I felt invincible, free, and completely consumed. Nothing mattered except my next high—not who I stole from, who I hurt, or how dangerous the situation became.
Over the next year, my pill addiction worsened rapidly. By the middle of my sophomore year, I could no longer hide it. I was skipping classes, failing school, and constantly high. My parents were terrified and unsure of what to do. One night after a binge, I attended a family holiday party while still heavily intoxicated and drank multiple glasses of wine to avoid withdrawal. On the drive home, with my entire family in the car, I blacked out. According to my mom, I was loudly talking on the phone about getting loaded and demanded to be dropped off at a friend’s house. When my parents refused, I completely lost control. I punched my mom, attacked my little brother—hitting, biting, scratching him—and tried to jump out of the car on the freeway. My brother held onto me, crying, while I continued to hurt him. That was the breaking point. My parents took me straight back to the psych ward, where I detoxed for nine days and was pulled from school. When I came home, I was angry, confused, and still desperate to get high.
I continued acting out and began abusing Coricidin (Triple C’s) because it didn’t show up on drug tests. That didn’t last long either. One morning, I woke up to my dad at my mom’s house—something that immediately felt wrong. He told me to get dressed because we were going to the airport. On the drive, he explained he was taking me to a wilderness program in North Carolina called SUWS. I was terrified. I spent the next 56 days in the woods near Asheville with seven other young women, hiking miles each day, learning survival skills, and living without drugs. At first, I wanted to die. I refused to talk to my family for two weeks out of anger. But as their letters came and my mind cleared, I began to understand the damage my addiction had caused. I decided to try sobriety for them—without realizing that real recovery wouldn’t come until I wanted it for myself.
After graduating from SUWS, both my parents flew out to watch my speech. I thought I was finally going home, but instead they told me I was being sent to Copper Canyon Academy, an all-girls therapeutic boarding school in Rimrock, Arizona. I spent the next 16 months there, finishing school and working through treatment. The program was strict, and I didn’t see my family for months. Eventually, I committed fully, caught up academically, and graduated—ready to return home.
But going back to my old life didn’t bring happiness. I felt judged, isolated, and rejected at school. Before long, I relapsed and entered another abusive relationship—this one even darker. Drugs escalated to cocaine, then harder substances. My life revolved around sex, drugs, and abuse. I felt empty and dependent, with no friends or stability.
Eventually, I moved to downtown Detroit with a friend and became immersed in stripping and fast money. One night at work, I was offered heroin. I tried it—and fell in love. My addiction took over completely. I spent every dollar I made on drugs, became too sick to work, and turned to prostitution to survive. I was abused, raped, and placed in life-threatening situations. When I began using heroin intravenously, it consumed the next three years of my life.
One night, I overdosed on heroin laced with fentanyl and was unconscious for five hours. By some miracle, I woke up. I cried, broken and terrified, realizing I didn’t want to die. I called my mom and told her everything. For the first time, I chose sobriety for myself. She took me to a treatment center in Manistee, Michigan, where I detoxed and began real recovery. After completing treatment, I moved to California for sober living.
I built a strong support system, stayed sober, and eventually managed a sober living home for women. Today, I still struggle—but I face life head-on. I am grateful beyond words. I will celebrate three years sober on 5/22/20—the longest I’ve been clean since I was 15. Don’t give up on yourself. There is always hope.
