And I’m overjoyed that you’re here. I’ve been heroin free since 09-27-2013. I’m sharing my heroin recovery story with you for the purpose of educating and the hopes of inspiring.
Recovery looks different for everyone.
My story involves the unusual circumstance of being abducted by the cult of Scientology. My ambition in sharing my experiences with you is that you will become, (remain) a believer in a person’s ability to change. It’s possible and I am evidence of that fact.
By the Grace of God, I am alive and continue to enjoy a life without heroin.
However, this is a trigger warning for those in marijuana recovery. While I don’t use narcotics, I smoke weed. It’s outlined in the Weedlapse part of the story in the table of contents above.
Additionally, my series, Epidemic, is linked later in the content. It’s a very raw heroin experience and it shouldn’t be read by anyone new to opiate recovery. Please, I don’t want to trigger anyone. Recovery is possible. God bless you in yours.
My goal in sharing this story is not to disparage or shame any of my friends or family members that have been a part of my recovery.
Furthermore, I realize that some of the truth isn’t nice but it’s reality. I love my family and don’t hold them accountable for my drug use but they have made many mistakes.
Certain circumstances are addressed in the story that serves as a message for families dealing with drug addicts they love. So that they don’t make the same ones.
This post may contain affiliate links. Read full disclosure here.
No one wakes up one day aspiring to become a heroin junkie. I’ve never met anyone who uses heroin that didn’t start with prescription opioids. It’s the common beginner story to heroin addiction.
In fact, my story reads similarly to far too many other people affected by the global opioid epidemic.
After experiencing back to back car accidents I was prescribed pain medication. My doctor gradually increasing my dose over the course of five years. Eventually, reaching a script of six Percosets each day.
During that time, I was a single mother working forty hours and attending college full-time. Narcotics became my fuel, my energy, and provided me with the immense speed I needed to make it through my exhausting schedule. I felt invincible and happy, despite pouring drinks for dirty old men in a run-down bar. The pills became my smile and I felt happy. But I was numb inside and merely going through life’s motions.
Turn to Heroin
In spite of being prescribed 180 Percosets each month, I’d binge and have to buy more off the streets. Pills are very expensive on the black market and impossible for a struggling, single mother to afford.
Eventually, my opioid dependency took a fateful twist when I was introduced to heroin.
Naive to its nature, I believed heroin was only a needle drug. But found out quickly that it can be smoked. Looking back, one of the stupidest moments in my life was my first time.
After chasing the dragon, I instantly threw up, (something I detest doing). However, I immediately reached for the foil again! Drugs are a terrifying business. You literally make yourself sick before it gets good. That’s how desperate you are to escape the mental turmoil brewing within.
It doesn’t take long before heroin causes you to spiral. Trying to maintain the job I held for over thirteen years was impossible. I quit all of my responsibilities, including caring for my child. There is no greater shame.
One day I was sitting on the bathroom floor at home and my daughter came to the door. I don’t remember what I said but I unleashed on her fragile existence and terrified her into the other room. She was shaken and sobbing.
My daughter was four years old at the time and I was out of control. I managed to keep my heroin use a secret for months and I needed help. I was reaching demonic levels of an absence of conscience and control. Eventually, I reached out to a distant relative and before I knew it, my family was finally listening to me about my opioid addiction.
I’d spoken with my father about my desire for rehab three times regarding my Percoset addiction. But he always dismissed my pleas. Turning the conversation into one about himself and his bottle of 20 Percoset that lasts him all year.
Elaborating on how good it makes him feel on the golf course. Especially, after a couple of beers. Followed by laughter and a complete dismissal of me acknowledging I had a problem. Because they are prescription pills and they make you feel better. That’s what they do. Many of us have done that, haven’t we? I believe more often than we even realize.
It’s so easy to dismiss someone else’s experience as invalid when we experience something entirely different ourselves. We need to stop this.
Because it doesn’t negate the fact that my experience was my own and it is real. Furthermore, I can’t conserve a bottle of 20 pain pills for an entire year. In fact, that was a consistent daily dose for me. It took my father finding out, (third-party) that I was using heroin to listen to me about my opiate addiction.
Unfortunately, it isn’t uncommon to dismiss the seriousness of narcotics that are being prescribed as a legitimate drug problem. If your loved one expresses any concern about being addicted or dependent, listen to their concerns and get help immediately. Don’t wait for it to become something bigger.
The Free Rehab in My Heroin Recovery Story
Attending a state-funded rehab facility was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. I haven’t written about it until now. It was the year 2013 and I attended A.B.H.S. Chehalis in Washington State.
My family was unwilling to send me to an expensive rehabilitation facility my first time.
Instead, they assisted in finding me a state-funded rehab that would accept the Medicaid insurance I carried at that time. It was a huge mistake. I was one, of only a few people, who were there voluntarily. Everyone else being court-mandated criminals.
The atmosphere is similar to county jail. I’ve never been to jail but relate to Season One Of 60 Days In, so that is saying a lot. Honestly, I am terrified by how much of this show is relatable to my free rehab experience.
My biggest takeaway from attending a tax-funded free rehab was that I wasted heroin by smoking it.
My curiosity was heavily peaked about needle use because my junkie roommates reenacted their IV drug use daily. I’m working on an article now that outlines the neglect and abuses that I witnessed and experienced at free rehab.
Including being left unattended and uninstructed for over ten hours a day. Resulting in a very uncomfortable sexual encounter in the shower room that still stirs my anxiety. Sign-up below to be informed by email when it posts. I don’t share or spam emails.
Three days after completing my 30-days, I met up with a girl I met in rehab and we immediately relapsed together. My parents had planned a vacation and left the state for a couple of weeks on my second day out of rehab. In retrospect, they understand that it wasn’t smart.
My sister is naive about drug culture and is easily manipulated because of it. She watched my daughter while I began recklessly binging on a new drug to me, called crystal meth.
Within six weeks I was shooting both heroin and crystal meth. I’d abandoned my daughter to the care of my parents and was entering the unchartered territory of criminal activity.
Hitting Rock Bottom
Repeatedly, I remember begging the Lord in prayer to let me hit my rock bottom. And in retrospect, the prayers of my heroin recovery story were answered pretty quickly.
My life as a homeless heroin junkie on the streets was only a few months stint. It could have been much worse. While I don’t encourage the dangers of perpetuating the, hitting rock bottom myth, my personal heroin recovery story has a definitive rock bottom moment.
One day visiting with my then, four-year-old daughter, she asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks. “Mommy, are you going to die?” She elaborated that she had a dream about me dying and its reality frightened her. Soaking her shirt with her tears, she silently wept.
I assured her that I wasn’t going to die but that we all die someday and meet again in heaven. Later that night when I left to get high (as I always did) I couldn’t shake the intensity of our conversation and the fear in her eyes. As I stabbed at my arm, my daughter’s words haunted me.
What if I were to OD right now? What if the last thing I ever told my daughter was a lie and tomorrow I was dead? Two days later I was on a plane. Only, I never made it to rehab.
Scientology Rehab of My Heroin Recovery Story
So, not so funny story, Narconon is actually a Scientology Front Group. And not a drug rehab at all. Furthermore, it’s not the only Scientology front group that exists. Unfortunately, what that means is that there isn’t any treatment going on at these facilities.
I’ve written (and continue to write) the details of this rehab scam and you can read my extensive Introduction to Scientology Rehab Details Here.
Home From Scientology Rehab
To be honest, (almost) no one in my real life took a sincere interest in my recovery. And no one understood the trauma I had escaped at Narconon (including myself). No matter who I tried to talk to about it, I was always dismissed with the same statement,
Well at least you’re sober and healthy now and that’s all that matters.Literally Everyone
Talking about heroin addiction and Scientology makes people uncomfortable. I think it’s much easier for people to dismiss your words with those words above.
Usually accompanied by nervous laughter, head nods, and sympathetic pats on the shoulder. But I didn’t feel listened to at all. My family resumed life as normal. Not knowing or understanding that they should have prepared for me coming home. Families need to be hands-on and involved in the recovery of the addicts they love.
I didn’t come home to an aftercare plan or even any stipulations moving forward. It was obvious my parents cared. But addicts need to come home to boundaries, outpatient treatment options, and an aftercare recovery plan. Or, at least encourage and involve yourself in creating one with them.
After arriving home, that second morning, I opened a cabinet to a bottle of 40 Percoset that my sister didn’t put away. Talk about a heartstopping moment. I was faced with my first real-world choice in seven months.
I yelled at her to come and collect them and she quickly complied. But I watched her throw them into her top dresser drawer. She made no attempt to conceal it because she didn’t know any better.
She’s never done drugs and is naive to the culture. My mind wrestled a little with knowing those pills were in the house, on more than once occasion.
Because of the circumstances prior to going to rehab, my entire room looked like an episode of Hoarders. No exaggeration. Also, my cat hadn’t been well cared for and he had urinated all over my bed. My fairly new pillow top queen was additionally covered with a thick, black layer of my cat’s hair.
It was disgusting and I had no choice but to take it to the dump. Naturally, I was livid but the cat ultimately was my responsibility and no one asked me to abandon my responsibility on them.
Most of the piles were urinated on during the seven months I wasn’t home. It all had to go and there was no hesitation. But that honestly wasn’t the worst of it.
During my clean up, I found used needles, methadone, charred foils, broken pens, straws, and baggies with tar residue.
Do you understand how badly that experience could have gone? If I had found heroin to go with the needles, I’m not sure what I may have done. I realize that my room was a disaster and overwhelming. But that was an overlooked and major failure on my family’s part.
So I hope by sharing this with families who have addicts in rehab, that they will understand the significance in transforming (or creating) a clean and wellness space. Or at the very least, make sure they aren’t coming home to cat piss, needles, and drugs.
My parents are wine drinkers and wasted no time pouring up my first night home at dinner. They asked me if it bothered me and repeatedly professed that they wouldn’t drink it if it did.
My dad chimed in about alcohol never being my problem and eagerly anticipated my blessings so that they could pour their wine.
I didn’t know how to respond. The wine itself didn’t bother me and wasn’t a temptation. But the question was unbelievable and I regretted my compliance later. Being around people when they are tipsy is annoying.
Furthermore, watching people become inebriated can absolutely trigger a desire to go score the drugs you really want and relapse on them. Don’t do that to newly recovered people even if they say they’re fine. How many times have you said those words and didn’t mean them?
Furthermore, my parent’s behavior from the start allowed me to know that they were alright with me drinking alcohol. They are completely clueless about how selfish and enabling that is.
I’m not blaming my family at all. They didn’t (don’t) know any better and I am responsible for my own behavior. But I am warning other families to put their own drugs and alcohol away. It doesn’t matter if that wasn’t the vice in your drug addict’s life. It’s absolutely detrimental to their sobriety to indulge your own addictions in front of them. Read more about what to do (and not do) to help an addict recover post-rehab here.
Having spent seven months at cult camp, I wasn’t equipped with the knowledge or tools to maintain my sobriety. The 12-Steps Model isn’t introduced and I didn’t attend any meetings.
Moreover, Narconon taught me that the 12-Steps wasn’t legitimate drug treatment. So I denounced them to the two friends in my life that related and were willing to go to meetings with me.
Pushing them away from offering further assistance or concern about my sobriety.
I felt very alone. Until I found community in r/opiates, a subreddit of Reddit. Of course, I didn’t realize it at the time, but r/opiates acted as my NA meeting in an unconventional way. I’d begun writing and sharing my story, Epidemic, in the community and addicts (some in recovery) began sharing their stories with me.
After coming home from Narconon, I worked for my cousin ghostwriting SEO content. He had a website he didn’t use and insisted that I start a blog because of my passion for writing.
After surviving life on the streets as a heroin junkie and a cult kidnapping, the name Crazygirlblogger seemed fitting. I began publishing very real and raw content about my street life and time as a homeless junkie in my story titled Epidemic.
It’s a 38 chapter series that is full of triggers and shouldn’t be read by those who are new to recovery, or who are triggered by very graphic details. However, it’s a real warning to our youth and the families of drug addicts and a fairly quick read packed with heart-pounding moments for everyone else.
Epidemic Reach Out
While writing my series many people reached out to me (they still do occasionally) sharing how reading Epidemic had affected their lives. It’s an amazing testimony to the power of sharing your story.
A couple of readers went to rehab and have their own heroin recovery stories to share now.
Others message to express how my story helps them to better understand the addicts in their lives. Furthermore, that through their new understanding they are able to extend forgiveness they hadn’t been able to extend before.
Several active users message me to let me know that because of my story they will never use needles or methamphetamines! That’s a glorious victory and the glory belongs to Christ.
It feels surreal to reach so many suffering, lost souls with a little bit of hope in my truth. Writing Epidemic gave me a purpose that helped me stay sober my first year home from Scientology rehab.
I’m grateful for each and every one of my readers. Furthermore, to all of my readers who have reached out to share Epidemic’s impact in your life, your messages help fuel my desire to stay heroin free.
Honestly, to be able to witness God using my horror story for good has been my biggest blessing in sharing it.
Your stories make exposing all of the disgustingly-gory, intimate details surrounding the worst time in my life, unequivocally worth it. Thank you for reaching out and please continue sharing with me.
One Year Into My Heroin Recovery Story
Something I learned gradually over the years in my recovery is that there is always an opportunity to relapse. I’ve included a story from each year of my recovery to demonstrate this truth. Sometimes it’s a subtle passing thought and other times the devil’s sinisterly placed himself directly into your path.
You have a choice. There is always a choice. Stay Well.
Roughly, one year into my recovery my cousin shut down my original blog. I had over 10,000 readers following me in only a few months. Which is largely-successful in the world of blogging.
The worst part was that he honestly believed that by shutting my blog down that he was erasing my book. A book that I poured my heart and soul into and I was devastated by his evil.
Fortunately, only one week prior to his unbelievable act of hate, I had saved all of the chapters into a word doc. And with a little help from my dad, I was up and running my new website within a week.
He is an alcoholic and was actively raging in addictions grasp. I was in a Tai-Chi class with my mother who was recovering from breast cancer and he was on a binder. He blew up my phone that I had silenced for class.
After Tai-Chi, I discovered several missed messages that read in a frantic countdown demonstrating his complete loss of control. He warned me that if I didn’t answer him right away that he would shut down my blog.
Furthermore, he elaborated that he would give me ten seconds to respond before he hit delete on my book. The following ten messages were single digits counting down from 10 to 1. Followed by an angry confirmation voicemail about my blog being forever erased, along with all of its SEO value with Google.
How spiteful, evil, and vindictive can a man get? He’s never expressed remorse or attempted to make amends.
So naturally, we don’t speak. But I’ve heard he has quit drinking and I pray that he will experience a lifetime of sobriety. But way the hell away from me.
Two Years Into My Heroin Recovery Story
My second sobriety birthday was only a few days away when my town was hit by a tremendous wind storm. The type of storm that threatens a power outage by bringing down trees.
As I was doing dishes, I observed the large, heavy door to my shed swing open violently. The next thing I know, my daughter is walking out into the backyard. Her hair twisting and curling in the large gusts, teasing at sweeping her off her feet.
Panicked, I pounded on the kitchen window to grab her attention and motioned for her to meet me at the back door.
She expressed to me that she thought there was a hurricane coming and she wanted to close the shed door! I quickly ushered her inside and returned outside to close the shed myself. Laughing o myself about my daughter’s insinuation of a hurricane in Washington state.
A Sinister Circumstance
As I got closer a familiar orange cap haunted me from the doorway. A bright, brand-new looking syringe was lying directly in the pathway of closing the door.
My heart raced frantically and a wave of emotion caused me to shake uncontrollably. How did this get here?
When I first began shooting dope, I use to do it in the shed. Was it possible that this needle was from two years ago and the force of the winds blew it free? It looked too new.
Had a junkie been on my property? Was someone from the streets scoping me out, or casing my place? Had they read Epidemic and were back to do me harm? My mind raced with fear and speculation.
The devil was in my face. As the wind howled viciously around me. Pushing me towards the needle. Immediately, I called my parents and informed them of what was unfolding. Sympathetic to my panic, they offered to come over and dispose of it for me. And they were there in less than fifteen minutes.
I didn’t know where it came from and was worried about disease and the possibility of an accident. So I put on gloves and disposed of it myself. They bore witness and I’m grateful they showed up and calmed my nerves during that point of my heroin recovery story.
A Few Months Later
About two years and three months into my heroin recovery story, I began experiencing panic attacks again. Despite being in recovery, a doctor was willing to prescribe me Xanax. A known benzodiazepine that addicts crush up into their spoons.
I was appalled and opted to not even fill the prescription. The doctor was disgusted by my inquiry about medicinal marijuana and offered me no help in that direction. Making it obvious that he was disapproving.
It had been years since I smoked marijuana and it’s become legal in Washington state.
My first time into a dispensary was overwhelming but I quickly found strains that help with my anxiety and that provide natural pain relief for body and headaches.
Weedlapse of My Heroin Recovery Story
I’m currently experiencing what I affectionately refer to as my Weedlapse. Meaning, I initially started smoking marijuana to combat anxiety and panic attacks. But because I’m an addict, over the years it’s escalated to daily use.
I’m not naive about the addictive implications of my daily dependence. But it doesn’t derail my life or cause me to commit crimes. So for now, I continue to smoke it. My family is aware of my marijuana use and I was honest with them from the beginning. They’ve expressed zero concerns about it.
That being said, my father could only accept it by announcing and reiterating that it’s legal now.
The truth is most of my family drinks. They aren’t raging alcoholics. They’re functioning drinkers like many of the 68-73% of Americans who drink alcohol. With these statistics, it’s obvious why so many people trade vices (or relapse) with this wildly accepted addiction.
Some people may disqualify my story as not being about recovery because I smoke weed. But I hope that won’t shy you away from appreciating or learning from my experiences. I believe everyone’s recovery looks different and that I am right where God wants me to be.
Three Years Into My Heroin Recovery Story
One day, a few weeks before I was about to celebrate three years clean, a new neighbor moved in across the street from me. He walked towards me and introduced himself with these words,
Hey, I’m new to the neighborhood. My friends call me Trigger.
Before getting to how ridiculous that is — do you see the irony of his name? Until just now, I didn’t notice it! My mind immediately registered the trigger of a gun, as he intended with his bad-boy demeanor. But in retrospect, wow.
It was obvious he was up to no good but I wouldn’t realize the magnitude of the danger until much later that year.
It started with unusual amounts of foot traffic cutting through the parking lot of the business across the street. Unusual suspects with backpacks. Tons of them flooded the area on BMX style bikes. Eventually, familiar little plastic bags began polluting my front lawn.
Even worse, every time I came outside to smoke a cigarette, (I’ve since quit) he would find a way to come outside to talk to me. Moving so quickly, he held onto his pants so they didn’t fall off his ass while he ran over to me. It was obvious he was attracted to me and wanted me to know it.
My sister wanted to call the police after witnessing several drug deals while she was outside smoking cigarettes. But I refused to participate in talking to the cops. Opting to completely avoid inviting that drama into my life.
As previously stated, there is a business directly across the street from my old residence. It borders the drug house I’m speaking about. Incidentally, this business installed security cameras and was monitoring suspiciously illegal activity occurring in their parking lot after hours.
The business was nice enough to inform us of this reality and assure us that the police were surveilling the situation. Despite not directly involving myself with the situation, I was relieved that police actions were being taken.
By the end, there was so much traffic parked in the parking lot across the street that I was bothered by coming home at night. It meant unloading my daughter out of the vehicle in the dark and racing to the door before Trigger could chase me down to be neighborly.
The Raid of My Heroin Recovery Story
One day, I arrived home from work to discover a raid actively playing out. Cops were everywhere and in big vehicles. Some being military-style looking SUVs. One officer, (parked on my lawn) pulled a large rifle out of his trunk as I was exiting my vehicle.
He assured me that I was alright and that they had the situation under control.
My sister and I watched from the porch, (as did all our neighbors) as cops climbed on top of the roof. They began spraying something underneath the roof shingles. One officer began wailing and it was obvious it had got into his eyes. I think they were flushing the attic with tear gas to make sure no one was hiding up there!
It was intense to watch. It resulted in the building getting new ownership and a complete remodel. Which was much needed after kicked in doors and torn down fences.
Four Years Into My Heroin Recovery Story
My fourth year of recovery, I was the new manager at a cell phone store. A new hire was definitely off his rocker but I didn’t recognize why right away. He was exhausted and falling asleep on his first day.
After voicing my concerns, he explained that he worked for his father the night prior and hadn’t gotten much sleep. So I let it go but was suspicious of his nodding.
The next day, I walked into the employee bathroom as he was coming out. A sweet familiar smell infiltrated my nose and I instantly knew what it was. But that wasn’t the worst part of it.
The taste hit the back of my throat and I was involuntarily reacquainted with heroin.
Even speaking about it now, reproduces the intensity of that moment for me and the relapse potential the event held.
I didn’t handle it well. At the time, I was pregnant and I excused myself from the store. Once outside I phoned my bosses but they were all at a convention.
Eventually, I spoke with another manager who instructed me to stay outside until she got there. That was a rough day. And by far, the worst opportunity for relapse. Smelling and tasting my demon again triggered me. Thank you, Jesus. By his grace, I walked away with nothing more than a traumatic experience.
The Drug Test
In order to fire heroin homeboy, he had to undergo drug testing. As a learning experience, my district manager insisted I accompany the other manager to the facility.
Additionally, we had to inform him of what he was suspected of and ask him if was willing to be tested. He agreed.
My heart was pounding the entire time we explained the situation and on the drive to the testing. What if I was wrong? No, I couldn’t be, could I? Did I syke myself into something that wasn’t real? No way, I tasted it.
All of these thoughts toyed with my mind, even as I watched him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Why couldn’t I shake the taste away? It was gross. But sweet and familiar.
As I knew deep down, he was guilty and failed his test. He was fired and I’ve not been put into that situation again. But I was reacquainted with the taste and it hasn’t left me.
Five Years Into My Heroin Recovery Story
A couple of months after I had my second daughter, I experienced a dissection in my neck that caused a stroke. It was extremely painful and warranted an IV pain medication called Dilaudid.
While I had initial reservations about receiving IV drugs, the pain was so bad that I couldn’t move my neck and ultimately, the pain won. I had a two-week hospital stay and was on IV pain management every two to four hours that entire time. Additionally, I was administered a 5mg Percoset every two hours during my stay.
Once the drugs were in me, it became obvious how easily I could lose control. And I thought I was strong and over it. But drug addiction is, unfortunately, a lifetime battle.
Gratefully, I have an amazing husband who dispensed my medicine for me. Honestly, if that wasn’t my circumstance, I know I wouldn’t have exercised control. Despite feeling better, (no longer in pain) I had a few days worth of Percoset left and continued to take them every four hours regardless.
Playing up the pain so my husband would give me my pills. That’s embarrassing and shameful to share but also a very scary reality. Who knows what direction my heroin recovery story would have led without him.
Embracing Year Six of My Heroin Recovery Story
Today my focus is on being my best me. I realize that sounds cliche. But it’s a reality I’ve never embraced until now. Setting and crushing goals is a newer development in my growth and mental health wellness.
I’ve only now begun to work on changing the patterns of behavior that have caused me to abuse drugs and alcohol.
I feel stronger every day. These last couple of years have been the best years of my life. My husband is a partner in making positive life changes and we continue to grow.
Together we quit smoking cigarettes and he also quit vaping all on his own. We’re on the path of doing our best works and living our bests lives. Together I know we will eventually overcome smoking marijuana too. We are a power couple and I trust in our strength and ability.
While I sincerely love and care about a lot of people, I only keep a few friends. I am lucky enough to be married to my best friend and have a few ladies that I love dearly and who love me. My life experiences prove that the smaller my circle is the happier and more successful I am in life.
Crazygirlblogger will continue to educate about the deceptive cult practices of the Church of Scientology. But I will also be writing about other topics. What would you like to read about? Overcoming unintentional racism, changing your mindset for positive mental health, or perhaps, how to start a blog? Let me know in the comments below.
I can’t wait to share my successes with you. And I’m even more eager for you to share your successes with me.
Please add your own heroin recovery story and/or sobriety dates in the comments below to make this page extra special– thank you. Additionally, please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org to contribute a guest story. God bless you and your loved ones in recovery.