Trigger Alert

I remember the desperation of chasing a fix. No one knew I was using again. My paycheck was gone, my body was aching, the hot-and-cold sweats had set in, and all I could think about was the next high. The obsession had me by the throat — it was all I could think about, morning to night. The compulsion to use was stronger than any logic, reason, or love I had for my family. It felt impossible to stop once the thought entered my head.

I stretched the last bag as far as I could, but it never lasted. I knew my parents had coins or cash hidden somewhere, and I told myself I just needed to be quick enough to grab it. My attitude was changing, and my mom was starting to catch on. Getting caught didn’t matter though — the only thing that mattered was getting high. That’s the kind of wreckage addiction left in its path: instant, reckless, and uncaring.

I remember one time I found money, got my drugs, and rushed home to use. In my hurry, I forgot to lock the bedroom door. My little brother walked in while I was in the middle of it. I didn’t feel horror or shame in that moment — I only felt anger that he’d interrupted me. I yelled at him to get out, shoved my stuff aside, and finished what I was doing. That was who I was in active addiction: selfish, dishonest, careless. And in the process, I dragged my family through shattered glass.

This isn’t my reality today — I want to be clear about that. But it was my truth in the past, and it breaks my heart to look back on the damage I caused. It wasn’t just my family I hurt; I broke trust with friends, with relationships, with myself. Addiction made me someone I didn’t recognize.

I remember being unable to trust myself in the simplest things. I couldn’t go into Walmart alone with a purse, afraid I’d steal without thinking. I had to retrain myself — step by step — to act differently. Even at home, if my mom left money lying around, I had to practice walking past it. Learning honesty wasn’t easy; it took time and discipline.

That’s what recovery has been for me: more than just not using. It’s been work — daily work — on my attitude, my choices, and my integrity. It’s practicing honesty when no one’s watching. It’s staying open to the perspective of others, even when I don’t like what they see in me. It’s doing the hard things I don’t always want to do. Those spiritual principles have become the cornerstones of my recovery.

My life today looks nothing like it did a year ago — even six months ago. But I’m still cleaning up wreckage.

• I’m fighting for custody of my son because my choices once put him at risk.
• I’m paying back a student loan I blew during a relapse.
• I’m rebuilding relationships with siblings I hurt.
• And every day, I’m building a stronger relationship with myself — the woman I am today, not the one I was in the grip of obsession, compulsion, and addiction.

It hasn’t been easy, but I’m grateful I’m no longer stuck in that sick cycle. Recovery hasn’t erased the wreckage, but it has given me the tools to face it — one day, one choice, one act of honesty at a time.