I’ve been homeless, trafficked, beaten, held at gunpoint, and left for dead. I’ve buried the person who felt most like my brother, abandoned my own child in the grip of addiction, and stared down men who saw me as nothing but a body to sell. I’ve survived ten‑day meth binges, nights in the woods fighting for my life, and mornings where I didn’t want to wake up at all. This isn’t a pretty story. It’s the truth — raw, ugly, and mine.
Story:
I was 17 the first time I used. A woman asked if I’d ever tried coke, and when I said no, she asked if I wanted to. I didn’t even think — I said yes. As she cut the line, my stomach flipped with excitement and nerves. The second it hit, I felt confident, talkative, and numb in all the right ways. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel broken. I felt alive.
Back then, my mom and dad had just split. She told me he wasn’t my real dad. We were homeless, and I’d dropped out of high school. Home felt like emptiness and betrayal. My “dad” cut me off completely.
At 19, I met a girl on Facebook who invited me to meet her boyfriend. They gave me Xanax and promised fast cash and “protection.” Instead, they kept all the money, took my phone, and moved me to Lexington. For five months, I saw up to 15 men a day, sometimes with no protection. My mom and sister saved me the day I was supposed to be sent to New York. My testimony later put my traffickers away for 15 years.
In 2021, my best friend Shelton was murdered. I dove headfirst into coke — reckless, staying up for days, abandoning my daughter. My lowest point was sitting at his grave at 4 a.m., six days into a binge, crying and begging him to come back.
I met Chris in 2018. He once held me at gunpoint for hours. Years later, he choked me and tried to drag me from a car. Two days later, I tried meth for the first time. It hooked me instantly. Ten‑day binges, manic episodes, abandoning my daughter again. My addiction became a disease I will fight for the rest of my life.
If you’re still in it, I need you to hear me — you are not too far gone. I don’t care how many times you’ve relapsed, how much you’ve lost, or how ugly your story feels. You are still here, and that means there’s still a chance. Survival is strength. And one day, you’ll look back and realize you were building your comeback the whole time.
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Wow - someone always has it worse! You are a true phoenix rising from the ashes!! You have so much to offer because you have experienced so much - I feel so proud of you for realizing no matter how far down you’ve gone, there is still hope ! 
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Thank you for sharing your story and I hope people who need to read this do. You are a recovering inspiration 
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Kayla, simply awesome!
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