ADDICTION — MENTAL HEALTH
Hope Is The Anchor of The Soul
How the recovery community saved my self-worth
If you told me two years ago that I would be knee-deep in recovery programs for addiction and mental health, I would have told you how crazy that is and that there is no way I am like “those people." I do not need help! I am fine, and I have it all together.
That was the understatement of a lifetime, if there was ever one. I was so far from fine; needing help was exactly what I needed, and it took an earth-shattering world shift to get me to see it. It came in like a wrecking ball, and it effectively knocked me out of my orbit.
I was broken in every way there was to be broken. I was a shell, and empty on the inside. My fuel had run out, and I had nowhere else to hide. Shame started to surface and it in itself was a crippling vine of weeds that was pulling me down with no chance of ever getting back up.
One day, I walked into my first group of recovery like a wet puppy from the streets that had just destroyed something of value. My head was down, and my tail was tucked between my legs. You know the look I am talking about when a dog has done wrong, and they know it. That was me all the way.
