The next few months moved at a dizzying pace. My friend from home, fresh out of the Marines and carrying the weight of losing close friends in Iraq, decided to stay. By the end of the weekend, we had signed a lease together. The plan was simple—he’d head home to pack and take care of loose ends, and I’d stay behind to settle in.
Looking back, this was another moment where I can clearly see the chaos of addiction steering my life. The way I treated people then wasn’t a reflection of who I truly was—it was addiction making the choices for me. I’ve since made my amends and forgiven myself, but the memories remain. And in a way, I’m grateful for them. They remind me that people can recover, grow, and change. That who I was then is not who I am now.
But at the time, I wasn’t thinking about healing. I was just trying to survive.