My Journey from Addiction to Recovery
It started on Purim. Like my friends, I drank. The only difference was what happened afterward.
My first time getting drunk, I blacked out. Immediately, I told myself I’d never do it again. Until I did. A few months later, I tried again—this time, determined to “perfect” it. Soon, I was drinking at every chance I got. Shabbos? Perfect time to drink. Weekdays? Also perfect. Snowing? Sunny? It didn’t matter. I didn’t see a problem with it. In fact, I saw it as my solution.
For as long as I could remember, I didn’t fit in. I didn’t feel like I belonged. But suddenly, all it took was a few shots (or more than a few), and my problems disappeared. I thought it was a gift from God—a miracle drug.
Little did I know how true that was.
Within months, I was drinking daily. I’d go to sleep drunk, wake up in the middle of the night and drink, down a hard seltzer just to get to work. But in my mind, everything was still fine. I had a job, a car—I thought I was functioning.
Things spiraled when the “miracle drink” stopped working. No matter how much I drank, I couldn’t escape my problems. I decided I needed to leave the country.
I flew to Israel, but my drinking only escalated. I put myself in dangerous situations, and my body started rejecting the alcohol. I was in severe pain. I finally called for help and was immediately sent to detox and rehab. It helped—I stayed sober while I was there.
But I also learned about something new: pills.
Shortly after leaving rehab, I started using pills, and that’s when things got really bad. I was living in my car, driving high from state to state. Entire months of my life are blocked from memory. I cycled through rehab after rehab, state after state, job after job. Homeless, sick, hopeless—I just couldn’t stop using.
Then, in December 2023, I was in Florida, living in my car, still using. I got a call that my friend had overdosed and died—the same friend who had taken me to rehab months earlier, trying to save me. I lost it. I went to his funeral, buried him, and promised I’d stay sober.
But addiction doesn’t care about promises.
Two weeks later, I woke up in a hospital. I had overdosed. I was done.
I called Kall Shea, and they helped me find a rehab in LA. I packed up my things, flew to LA, and told myself I’d give life one more try.
This time, I did things differently.
I started going to AA meetings. I got a sponsor. I worked the steps. I did therapy—honestly. I listened to suggestions. I spent six months in rehab, then moved into sober living and outpatient for another five months. All I did was listen to the people who were sober. I stopped doing things my way.
By the grace of God, as I write this, I have 426 days clean and sober.
I wish every struggling addict could hear my story and know that miracles do happen. I know—because I wouldn’t be here today without them.
God is good.
Today, I have a place to live. I have a job. A car. But most importantly, I have a relationship with my family, my friends, and HaShem.
If you’re struggling, know this: there is hope.
Comments