Life Transformed: My Testimony - A Journey from Darkness to Light

  They call it a drug, but that word is far too soft. This isn’t weed or whiskey. No… meth is something else entirely. Meth is sorcery.  When I was in its grip,  I didn’t feel high. I felt haunted.  It starts like any ritual.  A pipe. A flame.  A crystal shard.  A moment of silence.  Then the inhale.  And with it, something enters.  It doesn’t come as light.  It comes as a shadow. It wraps itself around your spine and begins to whisper. At first, those whispers feel like power. You think you’re unlocking something: limitless energy, untouchable confidence, euphoria.  Sleep? No. Who would sleep through something as good as this?  But it’s a lie. You aren’t unlocking anything. You’re being bound.  Meth doesn’t just alter your mood - it alters your soul.  I’ve watched people lose their reflection in the mirror, watched their eyes shift from windows to prisons.  I know, because it happened to me.  I wasn’t ...

       After my father passed away from an overdose, I was living with my mother, who was struggling to cope with the loss. She didn’t want to return to work, and when she received his death benefits, she gave me the money to buy a couple of pounds of marijuana. The idea was that I would sell it to help cover our household expenses. It wasn’t my first time dealing drugs, but this marked a deeper dive into that lifestyle. At first, I was focused on making ends meet, but things quickly spiraled out of control.     Not long after that, I began using powder cocaine heavily. What started as a way to support my family turned into a dangerous habit. I began trading marijuana for cocaine instead of using the profits to pay bills. My priorities shifted, and I lost sight of the original purpose. The night I got robbed was a turning point. I had just picked up two pounds of marijuana and my prescription for Xanax. Everything was in a backpack on the passenger seat whe...

  My father struggled with addiction and alcoholism for most of his life, though in his later years, serious health issues led him to a period of sobriety. My dad found solace in music, playing guitar and singing backup in a band called Box-o-Rox. Music had always been a lifeline for him, a way to connect and express himself. But as his health declined, he could no longer keep up with the demands of performing. His bandmates, concerned for his well-being, had to make the painful decision to remove him from the group. That loss hit him hard—he felt as though his music, and a piece of his identity, had been taken from him. After leaving the band, my father’s addiction resurfaced. Though he was under medical care and prescribed oxycodone for pain, he began abusing it, injecting the medication with diabetic needles. I remember walking into the bathroom and finding him unconscious, having to pull the needle out of his arm. Those moments were deeply traumatic, and they left lasting scars...