My Name is Daniela and I'm an...

The night I said it out loud.

I answered the call out of Egypt.

It started with a simple “God is watching over you,” over an event I still can’t explain away. Then a moment of clarity in the mirror. Followed by denial breaking in front of my friends and family. Finally, the nail in the coffin. My best friend, telling me she couldn’t stand by and watch me kill myself.

I never felt more exposed.

There are moments you look back on and wish your future self could intervene and stop you. You have no idea what your “yes” is about to do.

A couple years prior, my parents were out of town. A harmless get-together.

I stepped outside to check on a friend like any good host would. He was sitting at the backyard table with his guest, getting ready to put something up his nose. He looked up and asked if I minded him doing it in my home.

“Only if you make one for me.”

No second thought. It just came out.

That was it. The moment. The clouds parted. A euphoria I had been searching for my whole life overcame me.

I was off and running.

A yes I couldn’t take back. It was fun in the beginning. I called it partying.

That’s all it was, right?

I couldn’t see the shame coming, or the condemnation, or a dark world I didn’t know existed.

My darkest days leading up to my bottom consisted of my mom locking her purse in her bedroom and me spending time in drug dens with the winners of society.

June 2003. I’m 22.

I’m jonesing. I want to use.

God, how did I get here? A plea to something or someone I was never sure existed.

Can I do this? Like really do this? I’m so tired of being sick and tired.

Leading up to the wedding, I had told my parents I needed rehab. I was finally saying it out loud.

I need help. SOS.

I couldn’t do it on my own, however hard I tried to white-knuckle it. I was weak. Too much temptation around me. I didn’t know how to say no, and I didn’t know how to stop.

That was the plan then. Get through the wedding, the bachelorette who left me on the floor, and get clean. A perfect chance to show everyone they can trust me. For real this time.

But how?

I’ll figure it out. But it’s not that day, so I’m going to party until the wheels come off.

My friend Brandon. We partied hard, but he had a genuine heart, always looking out for the people around him. His mom is sober in AA. He tells her I want to clean up. She says she knows exactly where I need to go. Monday night, an NA meeting over the hill. A safe distance from everyone I was trying to leave behind.

Things just got real.

It’s the Monday after the wedding.

We pull up.

A church? Really?

A group of people congregating outside the meeting room. Smoking.

Phew.

Ok, at least I know they’re not saints.

I’ll join them for a cigarette later. They’re probably not even clean.

No one is really clean…

I walk in. A big half-circle with rows behind it. It’s a big meeting. Men, women, young people like me. A head table up front, someone behind it leading the group.

Stomach knots. Butterflies. Gazing at the floor, no eye contact. I sit down in the back.

They’re all looking at me, aren’t they? They can see right through me, I just know it.

My heart is pounding. My arms are folded tight across my chest. I’m terrified.

The meeting is about to begin. I look up.

I scan the room and feel a stirring from within. An emotion I’m not familiar with anymore.

Joy.

People are smiling. Hugging, greeting each other as they walk in. People are smiling at me. I think I even hear a welcome from someone who can tell I’m not a regular.

Are these people actually clean and happy? Did I see light in their eyes? There’s no way they used like me and are sober now, but also full of life…

The meeting starts with a welcome and a brief message about the group.

I don’t know if I’m going to be asked to say anything. I’ve seen it in movies and TV shows. The dreaded surrender. The admission of who you really are.

Can I stand up and say it?

“If anyone is new to recovery or at their very first meeting, can you please stand and tell us your name?” the leader asks.

Dang it.

I look around quickly. I’m not standing if no one else does…

Before I can finish the thought, people get up. Brandon’s mom looks at me. I give her a smirk and a shrug and slowly get out of my seat.

Heart thumping as my turn edges closer.

“Hi, my name is Daniela. This is my first meeting ever. And I’m an addict.” My voice shakes.

People shout welcome. Clapping.

I breathe out, relieved it’s over, and sit back down. People are looking at me with big smiles.

Can they really be this happy I’m here? Are they really clean? I know someone is lying.

The shift.

They’re celebrating people staying clean. First, they’re handing out key tags. 30 days.

How does anyone not use for 30 days straight?

Now 60, 90 days, six months, nine months, a year?!

No way.

I watch the cheers, the smiles, people so happy for the ones hitting milestones I never thought I could reach. People sharing how they stay clean one day at a time, sometimes one minute at a time. Sharing the struggle, what they went through, how grateful they are to be clean. Mending relationships. Getting their lives back.

That sounds like me…

The adrenaline from standing and identifying starts to pass. I settle into my chair and let myself think about a life without using.

The meeting ends and I’m bum rushed. People hugging me, welcoming me, so excited I’m there.

It actually feels genuine…

They tell me to call if I want to use and write their numbers on a meeting list. They tell me I need to find a sponsor. They hand me pamphlets.

A glimmer of life in their eyes. I remember having that once.

I didn’t realize what I was stepping into. A promise. That I could stop. That the desire could leave. That there was a new way to live.

I smiled as tears welled up in my eyes. Maybe I can…

- No one is too lost to be saved.

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