By Chris T., 34, Denver, Colorado
A story about setbacks and bouncing back stronger
I was 14 months clean. Fourteen months without stepping foot into a casino. Fourteen months of budgeting, therapy, trust slowly returning to my life.
And then I relapsed. Hard.
It started with a fight at work—the kind that leaves you questioning your worth. I drove past a new casino on my way home—a shiny, slick place with neon promises—and I don’t even remember making the decision to pull in.
I told myself: “Just ten dollars. Just to feel that hit again. Just to remind myself I’ve changed.”
$10 became $400 in two hours. By the time I left, my rent money was gone. So was my pride.
The Crash After the High
That night, I didn’t sleep. I sat on the bathroom floor with the lights off, staring at nothing. I felt like a fraud.
I’d shared my recovery story with friends, support groups, even online. People told me I inspired them. I was the “guy who turned it around.”
Now I couldn’t even look in the mirror.
But the worst part wasn’t the money—it was the lie that came next. My girlfriend asked me if everything was okay. I said yes.
That lie felt like poison in my mouth. One relapse, one lie—and suddenly I was back at the bottom.
What Saved Me (And What Didn’t)
What didn’t save me:
- Shame
- Isolation
- Telling myself I blew everything
What did save me:
- Telling the truth
- Returning to my support group
- Giving myself permission to be human
I walked into a meeting the next night and said, “I relapsed.”
The room didn’t go silent. No one turned away.
One guy said, “You’re here. That’s what matters.”
My therapist said something that stuck with me: “Relapse isn’t failure. It’s information. Let’s learn from it.”
Recovery Isn’t a Straight Line
We like to think of healing as this upward climb. But for me, it’s been more like hiking a mountain in the fog. I’ve tripped, gotten lost, gone in circles. But I’m still moving.
Relapse didn’t erase the progress I made. It reminded me that my addiction doesn’t vanish just because I’m doing well. It waits—quietly, cleverly—for a crack in the armor.
Now, I don’t ignore my triggers. I prepare for them.
I added more structure to my days. I carry a recovery coin in my pocket to remind me who I want to be. I deleted the apps. Blocked the sites again. I asked my girlfriend for a new layer of financial transparency—not because I had to, but because I wanted to.
She didn’t leave. She cried. Then she said, “Let’s start again. Together.”
What I Know Now
Relapse happens. It doesn’t mean you’re weak. It doesn’t mean the first 14 months were a waste. It means you’re still in this fight. Still learning. Still healing.
If you’re reading this and you’ve slipped—whether it was last week or ten minutes ago—I want you to hear this clearly:
You can come back. You are not broken beyond repair.
One bad night doesn’t undo your whole journey. But it can be the start of a deeper one.
Struggling with relapse or recovery setbacks?
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