What Was My Breaking Point?
People often ask me what led me to get clean. Truthfully, it wasn’t one single moment but three devastating events that forced me to face myself.
The first was the loss of my best friend, Travis. He called me a few days before he passed away. I didn’t answer. I was too busy getting high on fentanyl and told myself I’d call him back later. Travis was the one person who could hear my voice and know immediately that I was using. I didn’t want to hear his disappointment or his pleas for me to stop.
Later never came.
A couple of days later, a friend called to tell me the news: Travis had died in a motorcycle accident. They said he was racing a car, clipped the bumper, and was thrown into oncoming traffic. He died on the scene.
I was crushed. All I could think was that if I had just answered his call, he might not have been out that night—or at least I would have been there with him. Travis wasn’t the type to take reckless risks, so I knew something was wrong when he called me. But instead of being there for him, I chose drugs.
The guilt and regret were unbearable. We had been friends for 28 years. He was always there for me, and the one time he truly needed me, I wasn’t there. I cried harder and longer than I ever had in my life. The pain was so overwhelming that I turned to fentanyl even more just to feel numb.
Then came the second event.
My 14-year-old son, Peyton, confronted me. He had figured out what I was doing and told me he was moving in with my EX. My other son, who was 17, had already moved out for the same reason. Peyton said he couldn’t watch me self-destruct anymore and told me to let him know when I was clean.
It broke me.
Not only had I lost my best friend, but now I was losing my kids, too. I felt abandoned and completely alone. A couple of days later, I sat down with my 8-year-old daughter and told her she needed to stay with my ex as well. She didn’t want to go, but I told her it was something I had to do to get clean and be the mom she deserved. That weekend, she left.
Now I was truly alone. The regret and shame consumed me. I didn’t see any reason to live anymore.
The third event came a week later.
My ex lost his temper and became violent with my oldest son. For the first time, my son fought back. The police were called, and so was I. When I got to my ex’s house and saw my kids were okay, I realized just how close we had come to tragedy.
That was my wake-up call.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to get clean—not for me, but for my kids. If I didn’t, the next time could end in disaster.
It took me three weeks of hell to get off fentanyl and start feeling like myself again. My kids weren’t ready to forgive me right away, and I understood why. But I stayed clean, and eventually, they started to trust me again.
A month and a half later, I moved in with my ex to be closer to them. Three months after that, we got our own place.
Looking back, those three events were the most painful moments of my life. But they also gave me the push I needed to reclaim it. Losing Travis, my kids, and nearly losing everything taught me one powerful lesson:
Sometimes, rock bottom is exactly what you need to rise again.
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