Nick’s Journey Through the Maze of Addiction to Long Term Recovery

Nick Dansby, RCP • Feb 01, 2024

I was raised by a single mother in the inner city of Detroit, Michigan. Coming from a broken home with limited positive male role models prompted me to grow up pretty early as a young child. Though I would feel the weight of being a “leader” as an older brother and central male figure to my younger sister, I would act out in school and get into fights as a cry for help. My mother and grandmother both emphasized the importance of education early on, and I took it upon myself to fulfill their expectations of going on to complete college. 


Born with Sickle Cell Anemia, I was thrown into opioid-based pain management at the age of eight years old. As I got older and entered undergrad poor lifestyle decisions, becoming introduced to alcohol at 17, and overindulging in experimentation with mood altering substances worsened my debilitating condition with Sickle Cell. 


Sickle Cell Anemia is a hereditary blood disorder characterized by low oxygen proteins and causes severe pain across the body. So by not fully understanding my condition, I would fully rely upon medical treatment which would mostly consist of heavily prescribed narcotics. Not yet able to separate myself from destructive habits I would find myself in jail cells and in felony court cases. Let off with probation, my habits would continue to spiral after graduation into my young adulthood and I accepted a lifestyle of dealing percocets, adderall, and marijuana to friends and family. 


After graduation I began working in higher education as a College Access Advisor. Submerged into my addictions, I lead a double life working in high schools and dealing drugs on the side. 


My recovery has been the saving grace of my life and my loved ones. In 2018, the downward spiral came to an end when I found myself in prison serving a 10 year sentence. While incarcerated I not only found sobriety but recovery. I began attending AA, NA, 7 Habits for Highly Effective People, and became a peer mentor with other inmates. Eventually I would get a peer recovery specialist credential and was paroled for early release in 2022. My old habits and double-life was laid to rest and I no longer feel guilt and shame when working with the public in “do as I say, not as I do” consciousness. 


Receiving recovery resources immediately out of prison and serving others in the midst of their crises has reinforced dignity, accountability, and self love. Regaining and repairing the relationships with loved ones, especially with my young daughter, has propelled me into a greater sense of purpose and I am eternally grateful for the chance to be productive in the circle of humanity. I am so excited to get to work with others who have shared lived experiences of trauma, personal development, and reclaiming their identities. 


By Megan Miller, CAC 29 Oct, 2024
I grew up full of fear. Everything terrified me. I never felt comfortable in my own skin. It wasn’t until I started smoking pot at 14—because I was too afraid to stand up to peer pressure—that I finally felt a sense of freedom and relaxation for the first time. I chased that high for the next 16 years. Somehow, I managed to graduate college with an OxyContin addiction, and after that, with nothing tethering me to the real world, things got a lot worse. I went to detox for the first of many times in 2005. I left there thinking I wasn’t an addict and that my use had just gotten out of control. That denial kept me in and out of treatment for the next decade. Heroin became my entire life. I couldn’t hold a job, I overdosed, I got Hepatitis C from sharing needles, and I didn’t care about anything except getting high. I was so full of shame at what my life had become, but I just couldn’t stop. I was great at trying to stop, but I couldn’t stay stopped. The gift of desperation came to me in April 2012. I couldn’t keep living the way I was. I finally wanted to live instead of die. That compulsion to use left me when I finally surrendered to it. Today, I wake up grateful for the life I have. My 6-year-old daughter is the greatest joy of my life, and she has never seen me use. Today, with the support of my wonderful husband, my family, and my recovery network, I live a full life of joy and purpose. There is no more rewarding feeling in the world than sharing the gift of recovery with others.
By Dave Aumiller, CPS, NCPRSS 03 Sep, 2024
Overdose. It’s a word that catches in my throat and a topic that stops me in my tracks. As a person in long-term recovery from Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD) and Substance Use Disorder (SUD), I have overdosed many times. I have been revived by paramedics three times. Waking up in a hospital bed with no idea how I got there—scared. Or in the back of an ambulance, sick and angry for being Narcaned, a crazed hostage of my addicted mind. Or in a front yard, soaking wet from someone throwing me in a cold shower, unsuccessfully trying to revive me before leaving me outside—confused. These experiences don’t account for the countless times I have overdosed and been revived by a concerned party—now scarred by the trauma of my disease in its final stage, trying to carry out its final act, resulting in an untimely death. Overdose. After all of this, it was the kindness and care of others that made the difference between another chance and another day. Another dose of hope and life. An opportunity to begin again. On a day like today, reflecting on a topic that is so close to the heart of everyone connected to this reality, I am grateful. I am hopeful. I am humble. Because I know how lucky I am. How undeserving I was. And I live my amends and gratitude by doing my best to embody and live the values of a recovery that works. I also keep close to my heart, at the forefront of my mind, and on the tip of my tongue, the names of the countless others who weren’t as lucky as I. In honor of Overdose Awareness Day, I will say the names of my friends who weren’t fortunate enough to receive as many chances as I did, and I will live in their names—sober today and willing to extend a hand to anyone who needs it in their journey to recover and spread hope to both the sufferer and the caregiver.  Today, let us remember those we have lost, cherish the moments we have been given, and continue to fight for a future where overdose is a distant memory. Together, we can make a difference. Together, we can spread hope.
By Shannon Schwoeble, CPS 29 Aug, 2024
I was devastated when I heard that another close friend I'd made in treatment was gone. Seven friends in my first six months—two had come into treatment, left, and passed away while I was still there. In the years that followed, many others who had walked this path alongside me were lost as well. Nine in my first year of recovery. I found myself asking, "Why am I still here? Why didn’t they ‘get it’?"  Survivor’s guilt was not something I expected to experience in recovery. It hit me hard and fast when I began my journey in 2011. I was terrified. I would sit and think about friends I had just seen or spoken to—did they seem different? Did they sound off? I was so scared of who I would lose next. Through my work with a therapist and finding my own voice, I learned to transform my survivor's guilt into hope. I realized that by using my voice, sharing my story, saying their names, and talking about the profound impact each of them had on me—in life and in death—I could help others understand that recovery is possible. Perhaps, something I share will give someone struggling a glimmer of hope that they, too, can find recovery. On Overdose Awareness Day, August 31, we remember and honor those we've lost to this devastating disease. In loving memory of Ben, Pat, Krista, Harry, Christina, Brook, Dustin, Jeff, Jamie, and everyone we have lost—you are remembered and loved, today and every day.
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