My friend had no idea about my addiction. In my mind, I convinced myself that this time would be different—that somehow, I’d magically get a job and keep it, that I’d somehow stay clean, despite never making it past 30 days. Reality, of course, had other plans.
In the meantime, I found my own way to survive—stealing from stores and returning items for cash. It became a daily routine, a cycle that gave me just enough to keep going. Wake up. Find a ride to the store. Get a ride to Miami. Get high. Go back home. Sleep. Then wake up and do it all over again.
I wasn’t living. I was just existing—trapped in an endless loop, still believing I had control, even as everything was slipping further away.