I’ve always been a city sort of guy. I’m not talkin’ the bright lights big city of New York but I’m proud to call Philadelphia, PA my true home. I was seventeen when my mom remarried and decided to move to a little suburb in Virginia with her new husband, my step dad. It was what it was. White picket fences, sterile Jane and Bob’s with 2.5 kids and a Labrador retriever to throw the ball for. I enrolled in a local community college and took some classes but my goal was to get back to Philly and my friends.

I did well in my classes and managed to get a job working at a well-known electronics store. I saved up seven thousand dollars, got an Associates Degree and having just turned twenty I was ready to roll. I kissed my mom, sis and step dad good-bye. I rented a small truck, packed all my stuff and started the drive North to get back to the life I loved. I moved in with one of my buddies that had been on his own for a while. He liked to party and I knew it would be a blast to kick back and just chill with him for a bit before finding a job and getting back into college. I was always ambitious and I wanted to get my Bachelors Degree in business cause I figured this gave me a world of opportunity.
My first weekend back, my buddy decided to throw me a welcome home party and invite all my friends that had stayed local instead of going off to school. We stocked the crib with everything you need to have a kick ass party, including crystal meth. Now I’m not gonna lie. I’d smoked some pot, and drank my fair share of beer and whiskey, but I’d never done anything harder than that. But it was my coming home party and I figured why not. I snorted a little and I got HIGH. I call it the best worst day of my life. I’d never felt anything so freeing yet nothing in my life was ever so binding. I was a guy out on my own for the first time. I had some money in the bank and from that day forward I had some meth in my pocket.

My addiction came on like a lion. Within a few months all I cared about was how to get more meth. I was strung out, I stayed awake for days at a time and I basically stopped eating. I hadn’t been in touch with my mom or sister for weeks and I’d gone through all of my savings with no job on the horizon. Call it mothers intuition, but my mom made the trek up to see me and she later told me it was like she walked into hell. My apartment was a filthy mess. I had sold just about anything I could to make some money for drugs. I was living in squalor and I was just a shell of the son she once knew. I think I was down to 112lbs or so and to describe me I’d have to say I looked like a dead scarecrow.

Sad thing is, that wasn’t my bottom. My mom came and went, begging me to get the help I needed but I wasn’t ready. I assured her I would stop and it would be OK but it wasn’t. Me and meth played this tug of war for over a year and it was clear to everyone but me that I was losing. It wasn’t until I was completely homeless and literally sick to death that I called my mom and asked her come and get me. If I had asked her for bus money I think I would have died because it almost certainly would have gone to drugs. My sister broke down and cried when she saw me. I was in such bad shape that I had to be hospitalized for over a week because I had such a bad case of pneumonia. But in the end, I was staring down the corridor of death and I was able to turn around and walk back toward the light. I no longer live in Philadelphia and to tell you the truth, I don’t think I can ever go back. My recovery has been a long road and I still walk it everyday. But I think it’s important to share my story and warn people against the dangers of drug addiction. You have to overcome it before it overcomes you and getting help from others who share your need for recovery is the first step in getting better.