0
Share on bsky
Addiction doesn’t just take hold of your habits—it hijacks your identity.
It whispers lies, masks pain, and convinces you that numbness is safer than feeling.
At my lowest, I couldn’t even look in the mirror without shame. I wasn’t just addicted to substances—I was addicted to escape. Escape from my past, my guilt, my failures…from myself.
It wasn’t just alcohol or cocaine. I was addicted to attention. I needed to be the life of the party because deep down, I felt lifeless inside. I wore a mask of confidence, but beneath it, I was drowning in insecurity. I couldn’t stand silence because in silence, I had to face the noise in my own head.
Drinking gave me confidence. Then it gave me chaos. It opened the door to cocaine, and cocaine quickly shoved me through it. What started as a buzz turned into a bottomless pit. I wasn’t partying anymore—I was surviving, pretending, crashing, repeating. I told myself it was under control, but the truth was, I had lost control of everything.
I became someone I never thought I’d be. I was unfaithful, dishonest, unreliable. I hurt people who trusted me. I lied to cover my tracks. I wasn’t the man I promised I’d be. I wasn’t the father my son deserved. And the worst part? I knew it. Every lie, every betrayal, every broken promise chipped away at the man I once hoped to become. I felt like I was rotting from the inside out.
There were days I didn’t want to get out of bed. Days I didn’t want to exist. Depression wrapped itself around me like a weight I couldn’t shake. Anxiety pulsed through my veins. And I thought I was hiding it well, but my world was crumbling—and I was the one swinging the hammer.
Eventually, I hit a wall. Not just rock bottom—I hit my breaking point. And it wasn’t some dramatic, movie-worthy moment. It was a quiet one. Just me, sitting in my own mess, realizing that if I didn’t change, I’d lose everything—my son, my future, my life.
That was the beginning of the climb. Sobriety wasn’t a miracle. It was war. It was digging deep, owning my past, and doing the hardest thing I’ve ever done—facing myself without the crutch of a substance or a lie.
But with the pain came clarity. The fog lifted, and I started to see life differently. I began to feel things again—really feel them. And for the first time in years, I didn’t want to run from that. The little things started to matter: a good conversation, a deep breath, the sound of my son’s voice, waking up without regret. I used to chase highs. Now I chase peace. And let me tell you—peace is powerful.
Life sober isn’t perfect, but it’s real. It’s raw. It’s beautiful in ways I never imagined when I was lost in the chaos. I don’t need to be the loudest in the room anymore. I don’t need the spotlight. I just need connection, purpose, and truth.
And that’s why I’ve dedicated myself to helping others who are struggling with addiction. Because I know what it’s like to feel like there’s no way out. I know what it’s like to look at yourself and wonder if you’re too far gone. You’re not. If you’re breathing, there’s still time to rewrite your story. And I want to be the voice that reminds someone of that when they’ve forgotten it for themselves.
I don’t share all this because I’ve mastered it. I share it because I survived it. Recovery isn’t just about staying clean—it’s about coming back to life. It’s about becoming someone you’re proud of. And every single day I wake up sober, I get one step closer to being that man.
One honest day at a time.
~
This account does not have permission to comment on Elephant Journal.
Contact support with questions.