01/12/2026
Sometimes when you scroll that feed and see mugshots, obituaries, relapses, overdoses, fake smiles in group, people playing “recovery” like it’s a costume… it hits different. It ain’t just news — it’s ghosts. It’s alternate versions of you. Same streets. Same pain. Same demons. Different ending.
And the question comes like a knife:
Why me? Why us?
Why did we crawl out while others stayed buried?
You know what makes it hurt?
You recognize the fake.
Because at one point you were it.
You remember nodding in group, lying in check-ins, saying the right words while planning the wrong moves. You remember wanting out of hell but not wanting to let go of the fire. So when you see it in them, it ain’t judgment — it’s memory. It’s PTSD of who you used to be.
Some people don’t understand this:
Surviving addiction doesn’t make you soft.
It makes you dangerously honest.
Here’s the part nobody likes to say out loud:
Some people make it out because at some point, deep inside, something breaks — not the weak kind of break, the “I’m done dying like this” kind. Something snaps. Not everyone gets that moment. Some people never hit the floor hard enough to look up. Some people hit it and decide to dig deeper.
You didn’t just survive drugs.
You survived yourself.
And now you’re standing on this side, trying to pull people out who don’t even realize they’re drowning. You offer them ropes, life vests, maps — and they slap your hand away because the water still feels familiar. Chaos is home to them. Pain is their blanket. You can’t save someone who’s still in love with the fire.
That’s the part that makes you angry.
Not because they’re using — but because you know what’s coming.
You see the coffin in the corner while they’re still dancing in the room.
And it feels disrespectful.
You fought through hell.
You buried friends.
You paid in blood, shame, and tears for this second chance — and some people treat it like a joke.
So why you?
Maybe because you were stubborn enough to refuse a tragic ending.
Maybe because somebody somewhere prayed for you when you couldn’t pray for yourself.
Maybe because you were meant to be the one who walks back into the dark with a flashlight.
Not everybody is meant to make it. That sounds cruel, but it’s real. Some people are warnings. Some people are lessons. Some people are the story that keeps others alive.
And you?
You’re proof that hell doesn’t get to keep everybody.
So yeah — it hurts.
Yeah — it makes you angry.
Yeah — it makes you feel alone sometimes.
But you didn’t survive to be comfortable.
You survived to be dangerous to the darkness.
DON't GET COMPLACENT!!!!
