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Twelve years ago today I had an epiphany, and I knew that if I didn't stop using meth I was going to die - and soon. Suddenly, I wanted to live. So I tried to check myself into an inpatient rehab in Sonora, California, called Maynard's. Unfortunately, when the lady called me back to finalize everything, she told me that my insurance didn't cover inpatient treatment. I remember sobbing uncontrollably and begging her, but there was nothing she could do.

I called my husband at work and told him that I had to stop or I was going to die. He laughed at me. He wanted nothing to do with getting clean, or with me if I was getting clean. I was so desperate, and suddenly, so afraid. I'd been an addict for 13 years, but never did the reality of that fact hit me - until that day. That day I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I needed help or I was going to die.

My choices were two: go out and buy the biggest bag of dope I could find and do it all and end the madness, or, get the hell out of Dodge and get clean some how, some way.

So I packed up some belongings and drove my car north through Northern California, Oregon, and Washington. I stopped when I got to a small town on the Olympic Peninsula and I could go no farther. Canada was right across the bay. I rented a camper at a KOA campground and I found an NA meeting. For the next 3 months I went to every NA meeting I could find on a daily basis.

After that, I went back home and turned myself in for a crime I committed, and that was eating away at me. I knew that if I didn't clean the slate my guilty conscience would lead me right back to using. I spent a year in prison. After that, I returned to Southern California where I grew up and began the arduous task of trying to rebuild my life.

Much has happened in the twelve years since that July 1^st, 1996 - some good, some bad. By the time I got out of prison I was pretty much still in shock over everything and I remained that way for a good 3-4 years. I felt like an alien around other people, and I was always afraid that I'd be found out somehow - that people would learn of my past and judge me by it.

I've had the opportunity to reunite with my siblings and my parents, and we've shared quality times together that I never thought were possible. I've had my heart broken a couple of times - always loving the wrong people - that's me! I've met some of the most amazing people in recovery from this very community, who have inspired me, and embraced me, and allowed me to feel like I'm an okay gal - not a criminal.

I've had the joy of reuniting with my son, my only child, who is the most amazing and forgiving and wonderful and kind young man, and who loves me unconditionally, and says so right out loud. And of course, I've known the incredible joy of seeing my child's eyes in the eyes of his children. I've been blessed with God's forgiveness and love, and now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am worthy of His love and mercy because I have witnessed it firsthand.

I've buried friends who didn't get out of that life in time enough to save their own lives. I've traveled to London, England, and to Paris, France, where I was able to visit the former apartment of my all-time, hands-down favorite artist in the world - Vincent Van Gogh. I got to touch the very door handle to his apartment building that he touched when he was alive, and I got to walk on the same cobblestone streets where he lived in Montmartre.

Ever-so-slowly but surely I've even been able to forgive myself, and have learned to not allow myself to drown in my mountain of regrets. I've had my bouts with some pretty dark depression, as I have had all of my life, but I no longer go to that place where I could take my own life. Not once since I've been clean have I gone to that place. That, in itself, is a miracle.

These twelve years have been quite a ride; a ride I would've missed out on had I continued killing myself with meth. Sometimes I wonder why I keep myself involved in the meth world by coming to this forum. Then I answer myself quickly and confidently: it is because I want others to know that we do recover, and we go on to experience great joy and all of the other human emotions that come with living life on life's terms...and you know what?

I wouldn't have it any other way.

A moment of silence, and prayers if you pray, for the addict who still suffers.