What It Was Like

On June 11, 2022, I took my last drink. The week leading up to that day was hell. I had been drinking non-stop for years—24/7, 365 days—and by that final week, I reached a point where alcohol would make me throw up the moment it touched my throat. The idea of withdrawal had always seemed impossible when I first started drinking, but that week, I learned the true meaning of delirium tremens. Words can’t describe the relentless physical pain. The shakes I’d gotten used to were nothing compared to these. Hallucinations—something I never imagined would be tied to alcohol—became a constant. I would see and hear things, lying on my bed, unable to move, unable to think clearly. I became paranoid, confused, and terrified.

I thought, This is it. I’m going to die here. My mom will worry when she doesn’t hear from me, and after a day or two, she’ll call the police. They’ll break down the door, and they’ll find me—lifeless, covered in my own mess, surrounded by empty Bacardi bottles. (I have pictures to prove it. Thank God.)

What Happened

At that moment, I had enough. I tried to take another drink, but as soon as it hit my stomach, I threw up. I collapsed to my knees and prayed the most sincere prayer I’ve ever said: “God, please help me.” I immediately called my mom, begging for help. I was lucky to have a family that supported me unconditionally. They took me to Phoenixville Hospital, where the nurses helped ease the worst of my alcohol withdrawal.

My brother gave me the number for Pennsylvania Recovery Center (PRC). With no idea what else to do and unable to make decisions for myself, I was ready to follow any suggestion. We called PRC, and they referred me to a place for detox. I was desperate. I said yes. And I went.

On June 12, 2022, I entered  detox and rehab program. I had also been using suboxone daily for over 10 years. I rarely used heroin—only when I couldn’t find suboxone—but I had no idea what suboxone was actually for or that it would block heroin from working. I was a complete mess.

Randy P. picked me up from my parents’ house and drove me to the facility in Mahanoy City, PA. I was still groggy from the Ativan the hospital had given me, and there was a strange sense of relief that I didn’t have to drink anymore. But I was also terrified.

When I arrived, I had only a change of clothes, my guitar, and the gift of desperation. I hadn’t put in my contact lenses the night before and had stepped on my glasses, so the first few days were a blur—literally and figuratively. I remember hazy glimpses of the nurse’s station, a snoring roommate, and trying to sleep through the fog. I remember thinking, How is this going to work? Can I really live without drinking?

The first few days were repetitive. Wake up, take detox meds, try to sleep, pray, shower, repeat. I was supposed to stay for just five days, but by day four, when the fog started to lift, I begged them to let me stay longer. I ended up staying 30 days.

During my stay, I started to surrender—surrender to the process, to the support around me, and to the suggestions. Pray. Take my meds. Eat. Shower. Go to group therapy. Try to socialize. Slowly, I began to open up. I started participating in group therapy instead of sitting silently, feeling sorry for myself. And I realized that if I wanted to move forward, I had to stop looking back.

In my individual therapy sessions, I started digging deeper. One of the biggest moments came during a family session. My mom and dad joined via Zoom, and I couldn’t even look at them. The guilt and shame were overwhelming. I had apologized to them so many times before, but I knew that this time, my words wouldn’t mean anything. My therapist and I had agreed that I would listen and not speak unless spoken to—and I wouldn’t say, “I’m sorry” again. For once, I just wanted to show my parents that this time, I truly meant it. Because I felt different this time.

What It’s Like Now

I had been to rehab before, about 10 years earlier, but I wasn’t honest or open-minded back then. I still had one foot in addiction. But by 2022, I was broken. I was ready to give everything I had to never feel the way I did again. I followed every suggestion. I did my chores. I attended all the groups—even the ones I didn’t believe in, like yoga and reiki. I spoke to everyone I could—anyone who had been where I was and made it out. I asked them what I needed to do to get what they had. And they told me.

They told me to find a AA meeting on my first day out of rehab. I did. They told me to get a sponsor and work the steps. I did. They told me to get a home group and a commitment. I did. They told me to pray every morning for the strength to stay sober and thank my Higher Power every night. I did. And it worked.

In the last two weeks of my stay at the detox center, I became a reliable and respected member of the community. I started chairing in-house meetings, eating three meals a day, playing basketball, and throwing around a baseball with other patients. I had entered rehab at 260 pounds, and by the end of my stay, I was starting to feel physically better.

On July 4th, the staff held a BBQ for the clients. We played backyard games, listened to music, and laughed until I forgot I was in rehab. I realized that life could be joyful again. Bringing my guitar with me was one of the best decisions I made. Another client had brought his, and we had jam sessions by the campfire. I was beginning to understand what it meant to connect with others and what spirituality could look like.

A pivotal moment came when I received a Big Book from my sister-in-law’s brother, who was also in recovery. He wrote that he had heard I was in rehab and offered to talk. I called him, and hearing his story, his strength, and his hope lit a fire in me. Here was someone who had walked the same painful path and made it to the other side—someone who was living a life beyond what he ever dreamed possible. I wanted that.

I started asking everyone at the detox who had what I wanted—how they got it, and what I needed to do to achieve it. They told me. And none of them asked for anything in return. In fact, they told me that by asking them, I was helping them stay sober too.

I did what they suggested. I went to my first meeting the day I left rehab. I found a sponsor. I worked the steps. I got a home group and a commitment. I prayed for strength every morning and thanked my Higher Power every night. I followed the advice of those who had walked this path before me—and it worked.

Today, I’m over 2 years and 9 months sober, and I’m living a life beyond my wildest dreams.