The Door Desperation Led Me To

The Door Desperation Led Me To

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In 2016 I believed my world was hell.

Not as a figure of speech. As a fact.

I believed I would always be in physical pain. That I would never have a chance at a normal life without depending on pain medications. And somewhere underneath all of that was a belief I hadn't fully examined yet — that I deserved the pain. That it was punishment. Not for things that had happened to me so much as for who I had become and how far I felt I had strayed from who I was supposed to be.

I've come to understand that differently since then. What felt like punishment I now see as lessons my soul chose to learn this lifetime — some carried over from past lifetimes, some earned in this one. But in 2016 I didn't have that framework yet. I just had the weight of it.

I believed I was inherently flawed. Unworthy of anything other than what I had already been given. I had almost accepted that I would probably die from drugs or alcohol. That the physical tangible world was all there was. Not on a philosophical level. On a soul level. There was no god I believed in. No bigger picture. Just pain and the things I used to escape it.

That was where I was.

The curiosity I wrote about in my last blog hadn't arrived yet. Before curiosity came desperation. And strangely enough, desperation became the thing that finally cracked the door open.

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Getting sober wasn't a single moment.

And before I go further I want to say something — when I talk about addiction I'm not only talking about substances. Addiction comes in many forms. Anything that becomes the primary way we cope with pain, avoid ourselves, or regulate our emotions can function the same way. For me at that point it was primarily substances, though that wasn't the only thing. The specific behavior matters less than what it's covering.

I was prepared for how hard getting sober would be. What I wasn't prepared for was how deep inward I would have to go to make it actually stick.

Because plenty of people stop using a substance or a behavior. But it's the root of why we needed the coping in the first place that needs the most attention. And that root is the hardest thing to face. It's why so many people backslide — not because they lack willpower but because facing those deeper truths is genuinely painful work. Work that is hard to do alone and that in my experience requires the support of a mental health professional who is the right fit and truly capable of being that guide.

For me that support came through therapy. And it was in therapy, alongside my treatment, that the real excavation began.

I want to mention someone here. TJ had been one of my closest friends since around 2003. He was the one who came with me to the clinic to sign up for treatment in December 2015. Because if he hadn't come with me I'm not sure I would have gone on my own. He was that kind of person. At least when it came to me, he showed up.

I urged him to sign up with me. He didn't.

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There was also the matter of the people.

Some of them I cut off. Some of them cut me off. And both hurt in ways I didn't expect. These were people I had felt close to — or at least close enough. Some of them genuinely mattered to me. Others, if I'm honest, were people I kept around so I wouldn't have to be alone with myself. Because being alone with myself was one of my biggest fears.

When you learn to relate to people through a shared substance — or through any shared coping mechanism — you lose the language for relating to them without it. The connection was real but the bridge was built out of something I could no longer use. And so those relationships quietly dissolved — some with grief, some with relief, most with both.

What I didn't realize at the time was that the solitude I was so afraid of was exactly what I needed.

On a conscious level I wasn't ready for what it would ask of me. But on a soul level I think some part of me already knew it was time. The solitude wasn't just teaching me how to be alone. It was creating the space for a much deeper journey inward that was already waiting for me.

If you're in a period of isolation right now and it feels like punishment — I want to offer you a different frame. Sometimes the solitude isn't something happening to you. Sometimes it's creating the space you'll one day need to finally meet yourself.

That's what it was for me.

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I had already lost my friend Samie years before — also to substances. And then in 2017 I lost TJ the same way.

Two of my closest friends. Gone.

Losing both of them gave me a clarity that nothing else had. I could see exactly what the other path looked like. And I realized that if I didn't decide to fight for myself — really fight, not just show up and go through the motions — that could be me.

Looking back I know that choice didn't heal me overnight.

Recovery began when I stopped using.

But this was the first time I truly chose to honor myself in my recovery journey.

Lasting recovery came from everything that followed.

That's the story I'll share in the next blog.

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Author's Note

If any part of this resonated — whether you're in recovery, navigating isolation, or just in a season that feels like greyscale — you're not alone in it.

If you're struggling with addiction or mental health and don't yet have professional support, I'd gently encourage you to look into what's available to you. That support made a difference in my life that I can't overstate.

The story doesn't end here. In the next blog I'll share what happened after that choice — and what was waiting on the other side of the door.

With love,

— Hadija (Higher Heart Warrior Channel)

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