Rehab?

You know what's fucked up about addiction? The way it makes you cling to things that are literally killing you. I was homeless, surrounded by people who'd steal my last dollar, yet the thought of rehab terrified me because I'd "lose everything." Lose what? My spot under the bridge? The "friends" who only called when they needed something?

But here's the truth that kept me using: The idea of being completely alone was more terrifying than slowly dying on the streets.

Think about that for a second. I was so afraid of being alone that I chose to stay in hell. Because at least in hell, there were other people burning with me. At least in hell, I had company in my misery. How fucking twisted is that?

What's wrong with me? Why can't I let go? These questions played on repeat in my head like a broken record. Until life made the choice for me.

Pregnancy. Birth. Death. Resurrection.

I actually died during childbirth. Hemorrhaged. Nothing like literally dying to give you a new perspective on living. But that was just the beginning. My son ended up in NICU, and there I was, trying to get clean while watching my baby fight for his life through glass. A month of pure hell, trying to quit on my own, failing, hating myself more with each failure.

Then came the call. Akua. Anyone who knows, knows. For someone on Medi-cal, getting into Akua is like winning the rehab lottery. One of those once-in-a-million opportunities that the universe sometimes throws at you when you're at your absolute bottom.

I thought I'd go for a quick detox. Fourteen days, get clean, get out. The universe had other plans.

Those 14 days turned into 90 . Something I never expected. Something I needed more than I knew.