I laid, staring at the ceiling, wondering how I had let my life become this way. I knew in my head that I should feel sad, but I didn’t feel anything. I was numb. I reflected over the last nearly two years of my life—out of 565 days I had spent 560 of them high. I didn’t even know what it felt like to be sober anymore.
Growing up I had been sexually abused on several different occasions, I witnessed domestic violence at its worst degree, but I had dealt with life very well considering the circumstances. And then, in December of 2015, I found out that my three-year-old daughter had been molested by my stepfather—the same person who had molested me as a child.
That event was the catalyst for the destruction of my life.
Two years later, I was so far away from sobriety that I couldn’t even fathom what it was going to take to get there. As I stared at the ceiling, I prayed as hard as I ever had—asking God to give me the will to stop using. As bad as I knew I needed to stop, I didn’t want to. I prayed to feel, anything, everything, I just wanted to have feelings again, which is ironic because I began using so that I wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore.
The next day I woke up, the first thing I thought about wasn’t about going to get high; it was about keeping myself busy that day so that I could make it through. I flew through the first five days and reached day six feeling very nervous. I had made it five days before so that seemed attainable, but anything further than that was inconceivable. But then two weeks went by, and then a month, and I hadn’t even thought about using. I was so proud of myself.
Then I got the call—they had reopened my daughter’s case—they were going to prosecute.
I had finally reached a point that I wasn’t thinking obsessively about using anymore. I was doing good, and now this. After that call, the first thought I had was to go get high. I contemplated going and sitting inside the police station until I could make a meeting. That day I had to take it five minutes at a time because I knew that if I tried to think about it even by the hour I wouldn’t make it. But I did it—I made it through that day.
And now, I am ninety days clean.
I still don’t look too far into the future. I realize that my addiction is patient, and it’s waiting for the perfect time to slip back in. I have reevaluated my life, trying to focus on what is really important to me. My foundation went from being made up of drugs, to being made up of relationships.
Addiction causes us to isolate ourselves from people, including the people who mean the most. I have learned that in order to stay sober I have to maintain those relationships, and keep people as close to me as possible. I am slowly but surely climbing my way out of the deep hole that I dug during my addiction. I hope to use my story as inspiration for others around me.
Success is not measured by how fast you climb to the top but by the number of people you take with you, and I plan on taking as many people as I can.
This piece was submitted by Jessica Allen.