For years, methamphetamine shaped my life in ways I never expected. I had built a professional identity as a lawyer — someone who was supposed to be in control, professional, and able to think clearly and rationally. But addiction didn’t care about that. It cut underneath all of that, and also thrived on the parts of me that I didn’t show the world. And in my case, it invaded those hidden spaces at the exact moment I was least prepared to defend them.
Methamphetamine didn’t take hold overnight. It came gradually, slowly, but surely. It arrived disguised as relief — relief from the chronic fatigue I suffer with, from internal conflict, and from the psychological and emotional wounds I didn’t yet know existed, let alone have the ability to face. At first, meth felt like energy, focus, confidence. Important things that chronic fatigue and some of the disappointments in my life had taken away. Eventually though, after several years as a somewhat functioning addict, it became the opposite. Hangovers from meth left me exhausted and horribly depressed as it burned through vast amounts of dopamine, the neurotransmitter of the brain that helps regulate energy, confidence, and motivation. Very quickly, my life began to shrink around the addiction. Relationships strained or broke entirely. I lost interest in things I once loved. I found myself moving quickly away from the person I believed I was and the man I wanted to be towards someone I did not recognize. Nor much care for.
What I’ve learned since then is that addiction is not a matter of willpower or morality. It is a disease that thrives on shame, secrecy, and isolation. And like many who fall into methamphetamine use, I carried more pain than I was willing to acknowledge or was aware of. The drug offered an escape — until the escape nearly destroyed me.
My turning point was dramatic. In the deepest and darkest depths of my addiction to methamphetamine, I used the internet to verbally abuse and harass a woman I had briefly dated. I wrote some of the most hideous and ugly things about her. And as I was doing so, I felt no guilt or remorse, as I had no empathy for her. Meth addiction had taken that away. Eventually, I was arrested and sent to a low security federal prison for three years for the crime of cyberstalking. It was only then, once I got to prison and lost access to meth, that my recovery began. My brain began to heal, and I began to think more clearly and more rationally, and I began to recognize myself again.
Therapy, community support, and confronting the truths I had buried became the foundation of my healing. I had to face the emotional wreckage I had avoided for years: the guilt, the unresolved traumas, the heartbreak, the patterns I kept repeating in relationships. I had to learn to forgive myself for the hurt I had caused. Furthermore, I had to slowly but surely learn how to be me again. It was painful, and sometimes it still is, but it was also the first time since addiction took hold that I began building a life that felt grounded and authentic; something I had not had for years. Meth had taken that away from me as well.
Today, I am fully recovered and have been sober since June 1, 2018, the day I was arrested. I am now done with the coursework required for a master’s degree in mental health counseling, with a specialization in addiction, and look forward to attending residency soon, where I will begin meeting with real clients who struggle with co-occurring disorders like addiction and depression. Helping others isn’t just a goal — it feels like the natural continuation of the journey I’ve already lived. And I feel passionate about this career choice, much more so than I ever had been about the law. And much more so than I had ever been about anything while addicted to meth. My experiences allow me to meet people where they are, without judgment, because I know what it’s like to feel lost, to feel ashamed, to feel like your life has slipped out of your own hands, and you become someone you do not recognize.
Recovery is not simply about abandoning a drug. It’s about rediscovering who you are without it. It’s about learning to sit with discomfort, to rebuild trust, to create stability, and to reconnect with the things that bring meaning — whether that’s relationships, personal passions, or, in my case, the simple joys of golf and getting lost in a good book.
If there is one thing I hope others suffering with addiction take from this story, it is this: addiction can be defeated. Not easily, not quickly, and not alone — but it can be. Every step toward honesty, connection, and self-compassion and forgiveness is a step toward reclaiming your life; the one you were meant to live before addiction took it. I’ve lived through the destruction of methamphetamine abuse, and I am presently living through the rebuilding that comes after. And I can say, without hesitation, that the rebuilding is worth everything it takes.
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