78. Journals from Rehab With a Sober Reflection
During my time in rehab, I committed to keeping a daily journal—a space where I could pour out my thoughts, struggles, and reflections as I faced the challenges of recovery head-on. Writing became a vital outlet for me, helping me process the rollercoaster of emotions that came with detox and healing. These passages reflect the highs and lows of my journey, from the depths of withdrawal to moments of clarity and growth. Each entry is a raw reflection of my battle with addiction and my determination to rebuild my life. Please keep in mind that I was fresh off a relapse when these entries were written, so my thoughts may not be as clear or organized as usual. What you’ll find here is raw, honest, and deeply personal—my unfiltered experience of trying to piece my life back together.
Day 4 – Rehab (05/31/2024)
I’m trying to write this out, but the words feel heavy, like dragging my heart across the page. Today was harder than I expected. There’s a constant noise in my head—a sharp ache of guilt and shame. Every corner of my mind reminds me of the times I let people down: my family, my friends, the kids I coach, and even Bumpy. I keep replaying those moments like a bad movie I can’t turn off.
In group today, someone said something that hit me like a punch to the gut: “We’re not just recovering for ourselves. We’re rebuilding trust, one brick at a time.” It made me realize how far I still have to go. I know I’ve taken steps forward, but the road ahead feels endless. Sometimes it’s hard to imagine ever earning that trust back and even harder to imagine forgiving myself.
I miss my old self—the one who could laugh freely, the one who wasn’t drowning in this fog. But then I wonder if that person ever really existed. Maybe I’ve always been running, hiding, numbing. The truth hurts in ways I wasn’t ready for.
But there’s this tiny flicker of hope. It’s quiet, almost fragile, but it’s there. I felt it today during my one-on-one with my counselor, Tawanda. She told me, “The fact that you’re here, fighting, means something. Don’t forget that.” I want to believe her, but believing feels dangerous, like hope might shatter me if it slips away.
Tonight, I’ll pray for strength. Not just to stay sober, but to face the parts of myself I’ve been too afraid to look at. I’ll pray to hold on to the small things—writing, soccer, my dog’s wagging tail, my family’s love—even if I don’t feel like I deserve them yet.
For now, that’s enough. It has to be.
My Reflection (While Sober Today)
Reading this again after so much time feels like stepping back into a storm I barely survived. It’s strange how distant that version of me feels, and yet, the pain I wrote about is still so vivid. I can almost smell the sterile rehab walls and hear the hum of the fluorescent lights.
I want to hug that person, the me who wrote this, and tell them they were stronger than they thought. That flicker of hope I wrote about wasn’t fragile; it was the beginning of something unbreakable. I’ve rebuilt so much since then—my relationships, my career, my faith in myself. It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t some days. But that little prayer for strength? It worked.
Looking back, I see someone who wasn’t broken, just bruised. Someone who hadn’t yet learned that forgiveness isn’t a gift you wait for; it’s something you give to yourself, piece by piece. And trust? It comes back too, slowly, like the tide.
I’m proud of that person. They fought to be here today. And if I could, I’d tell them this: You’re a work in progress. You’re on the right path.
And remember, if you’re struggling or know someone who is struggling, please don’t lose hope. If that had happened to me, I wouldn’t be able to help spread awareness today.
