There’s a moment—sometimes after a panic attack, sometimes after a long stretch of numbness—when someone looks up and realizes they can’t do this alone anymore.
There wasn’t a single moment I “knew.” No dramatic rock-bottom scene. No intervention. No bottles crashing to the floor. Just a slow erosion of things
There was a stretch of time where I didn’t want to be here. Not dead, exactly. But not… alive either. I wasn’t making plans or
I used to think getting sober would make me disappear. Not physically—I mean the me I actually liked. The one who felt everything too hard
There’s a loneliness that surprises people in early recovery. You expect withdrawal. You might even prepare for cravings. But no one really warns you about
For years, my art lived in the same space as my addiction. I couldn’t separate the two. If I wasn’t high, I wasn’t inspired. If
“I already tried that, and it didn’t work.” We hear it all the time—spoken with folded arms, eyes downcast, or sometimes with a slight smirk.
There wasn’t one big moment. It was the slow bleed of little ones. The promises that dissolved before dinner. The excuses that turned into full-blown
You’ve got it handled. That’s what you keep telling yourself. And in a lot of ways, it’s true. You’re getting things done. You’re showing up.
I didn’t go to treatment to find connection. I went because everything else had stopped working. At 24, I felt like the only person in
© 2025 All rights reserved by Warsaw Recovery | Privacy Policy