Hailey’s Story: Five Years Free from Addiction

Hailey’s Story: Five Years Free from Addiction

I can still remember the weight of the keys in my shaking hands, the hum of the engine as I turned the ignition, the overwhelming sense of fear clawing at my chest as I pulled onto the highway. My car was running on fumes, and so was I. But I had just enough money in my pocket for one last fix or a full tank of gas. For twenty years, I had always chosen the drugs. Every single time.

But on that day, something inside me shifted. It wasn’t dramatic or cinematic. There was no epiphany, no voice from the heavens telling me to turn my life around. Just a quiet, desperate realization: If I don’t leave now, I will never leave at all. So instead of turning toward the dealers, the darkness, the slow and certain death that was waiting for me, I pulled into a gas station and filled up my tank. And I drove.

I gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I could feel withdrawal already creeping in - the aching muscles, the gnawing hunger, the sweat breaking out on my forehead. I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead, fighting the urge to turn back. My entire body begged me to. Every cell in my brain screamed for one more hit, one more high, just to get through the next few hours. But I knew that one more hit meant I might not wake up this time. So I just kept driving. For two and a half hours, I let the highway carry me away from the place that had almost killed me. And I didn’t stop.

Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

By the time I arrived at my destination, I could barely walk. My body felt like it was shutting down - and in many ways, it was. I collapsed onto the bed, curling into myself like a child. My skin burned, then froze, then burned again. I was shaking so hard that my teeth chattered. The bruises and track marks on my arms were still fresh, a roadmap of the damage I had done to myself.

I was so thin, so weak - I couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds. My clothes hung off me, the fabric swallowing my wasted body. And the pain. God, the pain. It was like fire running through my veins, a thousand knives scraping against my bones. Every muscle in my body ached, as if my very cells were screaming for the poison I had denied them. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop shaking long enough to even hold a glass of water. And then the worst part came.

I tried to speak, to call out for help, but the words wouldn’t come. I had to relearn how to talk. The overdoses had done more than just ravage my body - they had scrambled my brain so completely that I had forgotten how to form words. My thoughts felt slow, tangled, as if they were trapped beneath layers of fog I couldn’t quite push through. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to die. But I had made it this far. I had chosen to live. And so, with everything I could, I forced myself to fight.

The Temptation That Almost Broke Me

After about a week, I thought I was ready.

I had survived the worst of the withdrawals. My body still ached, but the shaking had calmed. My mind was still foggy, but I could at least form full sentences again. And I made a terrible mistake - I thought I could go back. I thought I could walk into the place that had nearly killed me, stand face to face with my past, and walk away unscathed. I was so, so wrong.

Halfway there, I felt the panic start to rise. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, my skin turned clammy. My whole body was screaming at me to turn back. I looked over at my boyfriend, Tyler, sitting beside me in the passenger seat. He wasn’t saying anything, but the way he looked at me told me everything. He was scared. Scared that I wouldn’t be strong enough. Scared that I would fall back into it. Scared that this time, I wouldn’t come back at all.

I felt his fear as if it was my own. And in that moment, I realized - it wasn’t just me who had suffered through this addiction. I had dragged everyone who loved me through it too. I had broken them just as much as I had broken myself. And I couldn’t do that to them again. When we got to the house, the smell of drugs and decay and death filled my lungs. I had spent years in that house, but I had never really seen it until that moment. The needles scattered across the floor. The burnt spoons on the tables. The empty baggies littering every surface. It was disgusting. It was heartbreaking. And it was my past. I turned to Tyler, my vision blurred with tears, and whispered, "I can’t do this. I don’t want this life anymore." And I walked out of that house for the last time.

Five Years Later: A Life Worth Living

It’s been five years since that day. Five years since I chose to live. I wake up to the sound of my children laughing, not to the sickness of withdrawal. I have a home, and my rent is paid. I have food in my cupboards, and I don’t have to steal it. I have a car, and I’m not lending it to drug dealers just to survive. I have peace.

My life today is nothing like it was five years ago. I have lost so many friends to this disease. I have buried people I loved. I have watched addiction destroy lives over and over again. But I am still here. And that is why I share my story. Because if I could get clean, anyone can.

Recovery is a Choice—Every Single Day

I won’t tell you recovery is easy. It’s not. Addiction is a lifelong battle. There is no magic cure. No quick fix. But every single day, you have a choice. And I wake up every morning and choose recovery. If you’re struggling, if you think you can’t do it, please hear me, you are not alone, you are not too far gone, you are worth saving. I did it. And so can you.

Stay blessed. Stay clean. Stay sober. 💙 Hailey