82 days ago, I was smoking crack in a bathroom, staring at a reflection I didn’t recognize sunken eyes, shaking hands, talking to shadows that weren’t there. I had burned everything: love, trust, money, time. I had people praying for me while I was praying I wouldn’t wake up.
I didn’t hit rock bottom. I dug through it scraping into places in my soul I didn’t think I could come back from. I lied to everyone, especially myself. I destroyed the woman I loved and still somehow expected her to save me. That’s how deep the sickness ran.
But here’s the part that matters: I got help. I went to rehab. I got honest. I surrendered. And now I’m 82 days clean.
That doesn’t mean it’s easy. Some mornings I still wake up with the ghost of that craving clawing at my throat. But I’ve learned to sit with the discomfort, to breathe, to choose life again and again.
If you’re in it, if you think it’s too late you’re wrong. I promise you: if I can come back from what I was, you can too. There’s light. There’s healing. There’s hope. But it doesn’t come easy. You’ve got to fight for it with everything you’ve got.
And I’ll be fighting right there with you.