Addiction

I’m really alone. I mean, REALLY alone. I don’t have a relationship with my mother or father. I don’t even know where my father is or if he’s alive. I don’t have a great relationship with my sister, I see her once or twice a year and never on holidays…. I’m not invited. I don’t have a single friend. Not one. I stay at home with my 10 year old who is autistic. I work doing grocery deliveries while he’s at therapies or whatever, so I don’t even have a job where I meet people. I don’t know how I’m ever going to meet anyone in my life. Sometimes I can go days on end without talking to anyone besides my son who has limited communication. I love my son. I’m glad I’m the one here to take care of him. But this feels like forever. His dad died last year, but he’d been struggling with addiction for several years before. He was terrible and abusive in the end, but he was also the love of my life in the beginning and it broke me. I haven’t been with him since 2020. He was the last person I even hugged or kissed. I’m going to die alone… I don’t know if I even care if I die without a romantic partner, but I think I may die without even a real friend. It makes me feel like I’m not a real person.

The Reason I’m Still Here
By Jenn Dacey

For most of my life, I didn’t believe I had a future. I didn’t think I deserved one.
Since I was fifteen, I’ve struggled with severe mental illness — depression, bipolar disorder, and later, borderline personality disorder. The pain was overwhelming, and the darkness relentless. I survived nearly 50 suicide attempts, each one a desperate plea to end the suffering I carried deep inside. For decades, I couldn’t find a reason to stay.
But somehow, I’m still here. And I’ve finally stopped asking why. Now, I’m searching for what for.
Growing up, I never felt seen. I was bullied, silenced, and repeatedly invalidated. I experienced childhood trauma, including abuse by someone who was supposed to be a spiritual protector. No one acknowledged it. No one offered help. That betrayal shattered my sense of safety, trust, and self-worth. I was left to navigate a life I never felt equipped to live — constantly wondering what was wrong with me.
As an adult, I carried that pain into every area of my life. I struggled with addiction, broken relationships, estrangement from my children, and a total loss of identity. I couldn’t hold a job. I couldn’t maintain hope. I lived in survival mode, day after day, with no vision beyond simply enduring the next moment. I was lost.
On May 3 of this year, I made what I believed would be my final attempt to escape the weight of it all. But something happened. I woke up — still intubated — in an ICU bed. It was my 29th documented attempt. But this time was different. I didn’t feel numb or angry. I felt terrified. And then, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: clarity.
That moment became my turning point. I realized I had to make a choice — not just to stay alive, but to finally take control of my healing. To stop waiting for someone else to fix what was broken and to start becoming the person I needed all along.
Seven weeks after that moment, I enrolled in community college. I chose Human Services as my major, with a focus on Drug and Alcohol Counseling. For the first time, I set goals — real ones. I met with my advisor. I planned my schedule. And I began to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could build a life rooted in purpose, not pain.
I also completed a Partial Hospitalization Program and finally started offering myself the grace I’ve always extended to others. For so long, I thought healing meant hiding my past. Now I know that true recovery means integrating it — using it as fuel, not a weight.
I’ve spent years in therapy, and while some tools helped, many didn’t go deep enough. I’m now exploring new, research-backed treatments like Spravato — an FDA-approved esketamine nasal spray for treatment-resistant depression. I’m no longer ashamed of needing help. In fact, it’s one of the bravest things I’ve ever done.
Today, I’m not just surviving. I’m rebuilding — piece by piece — a version of myself I never thought I’d get to meet. I’m learning to trust my instincts, speak my truth, and take up space in a world I used to believe didn’t want me in it.
This journey hasn’t been linear, and it’s far from over. I still grieve. I still long for reconciliation with my children. I still face hard days. But the difference now is that I don’t face them alone — and I don’t face them without hope.
If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt invisible, voiceless, or too broken to begin again—please hear me when I say: it’s not too late.
You are not too far gone.
You are not beyond help or healing.
I’m living proof.
I used to believe I was born with a curse—to suffer.
Now I know: I was spared the curse, so I could serve.
To share.
To save—if only one person sees themselves in these words and chooses to stay one more day.
I don’t have all the answers.
But I have a reason now.
And every morning I wake up, I choose to live like I’ve been given one more chance to find out what that reason is—and to live it out loud.

#mentalhealthmatters #stillmatters #SurvivorStory #ThisPainHasPurpose
#healingjourney #Grief #ThisIsWhy #EndTheStigma #LiveAnotherDay #FromDarknessToLight #keepgoing #WhenNothingElseWorked #Spravato #strongerthanmystorm #SpravatoHope #writingtoheal

One behavior I’ve stopped tolerating is when people weaponize my growth or recovery journey while refusing to own their own actions. It’s even worse when they sabotage my progress and play innocent. “Nice” without accountability isn’t kindness—it’s manipulation. Avoiding conflict doesn’t make someone safe, and being “low-drama” doesn’t mean they’re not draining your peace.

The biggest thing we gain when we stop tolerating these patterns? Our energy. What we once spent managing other people’s egos now goes into healing, creating, and showing up for ourselves. I’ve also learned not to delay calling it out—especially when someone shows zero effort to take responsibility. You don’t have to feel bad for protecting your peace.

Here are five simple but powerful ways to stop tolerating harmful behaviors:
1. Name it clearly—don’t downplay what hurt you.
2. Use boundaries, not guilt—you’re allowed to say no without explanation.
3. Leave the door open for accountability—but not excuses.
4. Remember: silence doesn’t mean grace if it costs your peace.
5. Seek support that doesn’t require you to shrink to be accepted.

#ADHD #ADHDInGirls #Autism #Neurodiversity #Anxiety
#MightyTogether #Depression #Addiction #MentalHealth

What Therapy Taught Me About No Longer Tolerating Certain Behaviors
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