Category: sobriety

Posted in Advocacy, sobriety

Harm Reduction Introduction

Posted on by Millie :)

As you may know if you follow this blog, I am sober having struggled with addiction as a teenager. It has been the most amazing thing in my life, but I absolutely know and understand that it is not the path for many or even an option. Even if sobriety is something that would work for someone there can be many reasons why it isn’t possible – namely the inability to access detox units to help them get clean safely, or community resources. For some it can be dangerous to try and get clean without these aids. And I absolutely do not look down on anyone who drinks, uses or relies on substances in any way. 

Who are we to say that prescription use of ADHD meds is different to someone using illegal  substances to get through a day? Who are we to decide what drugs are morally correct or not? No drug – prescription or not – is inherently good or bad. Of course addiction can have devastating effects, I know that all too well. But not everyone’s usage, options, or actions are the same, and it is always a personal journey of how someone uses or decides to get clean. 

You may or may not agree with this, but I encourage you to open your mind to an understanding that drugs are not inherently evil, and there is not an inherently superior drug. Nor are the people that use drugs in different ways inherently good or bad. Some are of course inflicted with the pernicious disease of addiction – and that is devastating. I know and have watched that first hand; it is an awful awful disease that destroys the lives of those affected and those surrounding them. But it is each person’s journey to travel; all we can do is provide support. And just like not everyone who drinks is an alcoholic, not everyone who uses is an addict. The thing that can help all drug users is harm reduction information. 

Whether you self medicate, are struggling with addiction, like to go out sometimes, harm reduction is really important. It takes as much of the physical (and mental) risk out of using as possible. It is knowledge which can be applied to help keep you and others safe. Being informed about drugs is really important. And I know in moments of need, desperation or excitement we may not remember or be able to apply all this information – but I know from personal experience having it in the back of your mind really does make a difference, both personally and in order to help others. You never know when it might come in handy, even if you don’t use personally. 

But harm reduction should also refer to policies that aim to help those using drugs (including those with addiction) rather than criminalising and stigmatising them. 

So here is some very basic harm reduction information to be aware of, with some much better websites linked below. I personally really like Frank – it gives a clear breakdown of names of different drugs, how they feel, how long their effects last, risks etc. It’s super useful to know of and be able to share with others when they have questions. 

  • Naloxone – Naloxone goes by a few different names including Narcan, Prenoxad and Nyxoid. It’s an emergency antidote that reverses the effects of an opioid overdose (from heroin, fentanyl, codeine, methadone, morphine etc). It is widely available to get in the US and is becoming easier to get in the UK (now available as an over the counter medicine). It is lifesaving, a very good thing to carry around with you especially if you are around people who are at risk of an overdose. You can get Naloxone in the US for free here, along with free fentanyl test strips to make sure you’re not being spiked or your drugs cut with it. For more UK information click here, or type naloxone and your area into google
  • Overdose signs – Knowing the signs of an overdose is also extremely important, so you can know if to use naloxone, call for help etc. Here are some signs of opioid overdose: pinpoint pupils, blue lips, pale skin, shallow breathing, snoring, unresponsiveness. Cocaine overdose signs and warning signs: elevated heart rate, rise in body temperature, pain in chest, nausea and vomiting, severe panicking, delirium, irregular heart rhythm, seizures. You can google the overdose symptoms of any drugs that may be more relevant to you or those you know to be informed. Bottom line is if you know or suspect someone has taken drugs and are now suffering from severe physical symptoms, it’s time to call for help 
  • Calling an ambulance – It’s important to know that if you call an ambulance for a suspected drug overdose, they are not going to call the police. In almost every case they will only call the police if there is another reason to warrant this – usually if the ambulance crew is being threatened. Their job and main concern is to treat the overdose. Saving a life should always be the top priority for someone so please please do not hesitate to call for help – you can find more information on what to do in the case of a suspected overdose here
  • Learn the recovery position – Honestly this is useful for all areas of life so just do it 
  • Needle Safety – you’ve probably all heard about not sharing needles. What you might not know is that many areas in the UK and US offer services such as needle exchange programmes to help safely and legally supply clean needles. If this is relevant to you it’s worth looking into 
  • Taking MDMA – Molly is a popular party drug, but it is getting stronger. I know we can all have some idea that something bad could never happen to us, and it’s true you are more likely to be ok than not. But it’s worth mitigating the risks. If you’re taking ecstasy it’s best to take a quarter – half at most – of a pill first, or dabbing a bit of powder to start feeling effects before taking more. You may find it’s enough. Also many people don’t realise that drinking any fluids (including water) can be dangerous on ecstasy because it can cause the body to release a hormone that stops it from making urine. Users should drink no more than a pint of water or non-alcoholic drink per hour. 
  • Mixing – Mixing drugs without knowing how they interact is one of the most risky things with using – including drinking alcohol while using other drugs. Before you mix drugs just have a quick look to see how they interact. Frank has really clear information on mixing below each drug so it’s a quick way to find out if you’re safe or not 
  • Drug testing kits – Buying illegal drugs means not knowing if you’re getting what you think you’re getting. Even if you’re buying from someone you have bought from before, you don’t know what you’re getting for sure. But don’t worry! There are loads of drug testing kits available to see if your drugs have been cut or are what you think they are. Just look up what you need to test and you’re likely to find results; local drug services may also offer free testing kits, and in the US you can get the fentanyl test strips for free from End Overdoses as mentioned above

So there’s some very brief and basic information for everyone. You probably know what’s most relevant to you, so here’s some great links to explore with way more specific information. Stay safe and full of love! Xxx

https://www.talktofrank.com/

https://endoverdose.net/

https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/recreational-drugs-alcohol-and-addiction/drug-and-alcohol-addiction-useful-contacts/

https://harmreduction.org/about-us/principles-of-harm-reduction/

https://www.drugwise.org.uk/harm-reduction-2/

Posted in Advocacy, autism, Mental Health, neurodiversity, Personal Growth, sobriety, therapy

Hurt by Psychiatry

Posted on by Millie :)

Content warning: ED, psychiatric abuse, suicidal ideation, any mental health topic really

I want to write a really strong and defiant letter. I want to write some crazy, proud, creative theatre piece. I want to write something truly hopeful. And while I do have hope, and I do have gratitude – because it is essential to my survival – I also have a lot of pain. And anger. I can talk openly about so many traumas and just general shitty things that have happened in my life. But the one I’ve never been able to write about, never even been able to get through a conversation about without screaming and crying, is the pain endured under the psychiatric complex. Because they were meant to help me. Time and time and time again I have gone looking for help and time and time and time again I have been turned away with only more hurt. I know help is a brave word. I’m not afraid to say it. But I am afraid that when I say it no one will listen. This is my story of a journey through the mental health system. 

Just a disclaimer, because as a writer on mental health I feel it is my responsibility – if you are in a bad place and looking for professional help, please do not use this as your excuse not to. I do know some people have been greatly helped by the mental health system, and you could be too. This is not intended to invalidate anyone’s good experiences, but rather to say that all of us deserve to have those good experiences. This is simply my story as someone who feels they have slipped through the cracks. If you feel this may affect you negatively I implore you to take the decision not to read any further. 

I first asked for help from the mental health system when I was 12 years old. I was experiencing mood swings and distress that were really bothering me – maybe just normal teenage things, maybe not, but the point is it doesn’t matter. They were bothering me. Anyone who wants help, even just to navigate daily life, should be given it. I was assigned a counsellor from the early intervention team. I didn’t like them, so I asked to change. I was discharged from the service – I took that as a message that if I had an opinion on my care, my care would be withdrawn from me. 

My first contact with CAHMS (child and adolescent mental health services) was due to an eating disorder at 14. My life was being ruled by it – I had complete meltdowns when I couldn’t exercise, was hyper fixated on food all the time, was weak and angry and alone; I was really hurting. They weighed me. They told me I wasn’t a low enough weight. I took that to mean I wasn’t sick enough. Without any regard for how I felt, or how food was ruling my life; without anyone trying to find out anything about my experience they denied me the help I so desperately needed. Suggested possibly a meal plan – with no support to implement it or formulate it. If a teacher hadn’t sat with me at lunch every single day for a year and coached me through it because she’d been there too, I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through it. 

I severely relapsed with my eating behaviours twice more, and I still struggle with some thought patterns and triggers to this day (though I am in a much better place, largely due to recovery in other areas giving me the tools to transfer). But I never felt like I really recovered from it, or had the support I needed. Even 9 months ago that teacher would still notice when my old behaviours around food crept in – even before I did – and help me to recognise and head them off. I am immensely grateful for that… but it wasn’t her job. It was never her job to be the main guidance and support in eating disorder recovery. 

CAHMS did offer me six sessions of group therapy. This was to deal with my overwhelming anxiety – much of it around socialising – and deep depression. They didn’t see it as deep depression. It was. It was really, really dark. I stopped going to any lessons and lost all sense of self and hope. But yeah, six sessions would be enough apparently (obviously not). I freaked out at the thought of group therapy, it was entirely unsuitable for me. Once again I received the message in response that if I had an opinion on my care, I wouldn’t get any care. They wanted to discharge me right then, but my wonderful mum stuck up for me so they offered me three – I repeat THREE – CBT sessions. They were not useful. I was put on a years long waiting list for an autism assessment. I was offered no more support. I continued to struggle. 

My mum’s determination to get me the help I deserved was incredible, and probably the only reason I got any support at all. (My mum is probably reading this, so thanks mum). She found a charity that was amazing in supporting us through my teen years, and funded me to see a private psychiatrist – this would not have been possible without them. However I wouldn’t say that was particularly helpful either. That psychiatrist did diagnose me with autism (side note – the assessment for autism really needs to be changed), anxiety and depression. I am eternally grateful for my autism diagnosis – it truly did change my life knowing I was autistic. But it changed my life because I went away and learnt about it, as did my family. The psychiatrist did not formulate a treatment plan for any of this, or provide any further support. Some medication that didn’t work was all she offered. 

In this time I also saw a few therapists – I didn’t like them, one of them didn’t like me and kinda dumped me. All of them were privately paid for. The subpar care I received was paid for privately – can you imagine how much worse it would have been if we hadn’t been able to afford it?

I know this is all a lot of information, but stick with me here. This journey is important to understand because it is something so so many people face. I slipped through the cracks of this system – even with the privilege of being a white, cisgendered woman. I had it reasonably easy. 

In February 2020 I had what I now recognise to be my first (and most intense) mixed episode. I cannot even put this experience into words but essentially it was all the darkness of depression with all the heightened energy and irritability of mania at the same time. I felt reality slipping away from me and I have never been in such intense distress. Two teachers stayed with me at school hours after school ended to try and keep me safe. They eventually helped me calm down, but I later found out they were so concerned they were about to call an ambulance or the police, as the crisis line wasn’t helping. I went to the GP during this episode begging for help. She prescribed me valium to calm me down, but when I begged her for more support I remember her chastising me for being so emotional because she had other patients waiting. I took that as a message that I still wasn’t sick enough; still wasn’t important enough. 

In March 2020 the private psychiatrist diagnosed me with cyclothymia. We had to pay extra for an emergency appointment. She decided I was now too complicated to be under her care and needed more support so referred me back into the NHS. They did not follow up on her recommendation for more support. By the time they saw me I was a bit calmer so apparently that meant I didn’t need help. In her eyes I was too bad, in their eyes I wasn’t bad enough. So I was left with nothing. This was the trend that would continue for the next three years. 

In September 2020 I wound up in A&E. I was broken and desperate. When the CAHMS crisis person finally arrived she acted annoyed about me being there, annoyed she had to be there, uncaring. She essentially asked ‘if things are so bad then why haven’t you killed yourself yet?’ and sent me home with no support. They didn’t follow up on any support because I calmed down a bit after, so I was no longer considered in crisis when they finally did get in contact (even though they hadn’t helped me when I was in crisis) and because I was drinking at the time. Just so we are all clear – if a young person is drinking as heavily as I was, that is exactly the time they need support. I went to my first AA meeting after I left the hospital that day. And excuse my french but thank fuck I did. I have no idea if I would still be alive otherwise. And having connected with others who have been subjected to inpatient treatment, I am incredibly grateful I did not have to bear that extra trauma. This is how bad the surface level service is – it’s even worse inside. 

After I got sober in July 2021 I was still struggling. I finally got to see a psychiatrist on the NHS in October 2021 because of my mum’s insistent fighting for me. When he asked me what I wanted from the meeting, he chastised my response. He was unclear. He shouted at me, and revoked what I thought I had been diagnosed with in a letter. I was meant to see him again in 10 weeks and he cancelled. I got discharged from CAHMS without them ever asking to talk with me about how I was doing. 

The one professional who has been a saving grace is my therapist. She is autistic herself and very flexible. But again – if I wasn’t able to fund that privately I don’t know where I would be. After my charity funding stopped when I turned 18 I had to take the sessions down to every 2 weeks, even with her sliding scale, which is significantly less helpful. Luckily I’ve also found amazing peer support, especially through AA, and spent a lot of time reflecting and doing my own work, so I’ve managed to build myself a much brighter life. But it’s been hard. And sometimes I really do need some more help – no one should have to do this alone.

I Went back to the NHS this October and had my first ever good meeting with anyone, just someone in my GP clinic. Why? He was honest. He genuinely seemed to care, but there was nothing they could offer me. He explained that as far as the system saw it, I had already been helped.

In late 2022 my mental health really started to decline again. I went back to the NHS this October and had my first ever good meeting with anyone, just someone in my GP clinic. Why? He was honest. He genuinely seemed to care, but there was nothing they could offer me. He explained that as far as the system saw it, I had already been helped. So from October I was searching for a psychiatrist who would see me. 

I was turned down by over 10 private psychiatrists for being too complex, having comorbidities, or my favourite way of putting it: ‘them not being able to offer the support I need at that time’. So I was again too bad for private and not bad enough for the NHS. One of the only people who would see me charged just under £1000 a session. Others said they would consider seeing me, but were booked up until 2024.

Finally in March 2023 – 5 months later – I got to meet with a private psychiatrist. And wow, he was amazing. We had three meetings so we could cover everything. He was kind, listened to me – really listened – and didn’t patronise. He treated me like an adult, and made it clear I would have a say in my care plan and the final report that would be sent to my doctor. I would have a say? I almost thought that wasn’t allowed. I’m still sceptical, it still doesn’t feel real. 

He diagnosed me with Bipolar type 1. Just think about that for a minute – an 18 year old has been dealing with undiagnosed bipolar 1, unsupported, emerging from 12 years old. I have no idea where I would be without the angels placed in my life along the way; without the undying support of my family and friends; without the flexibility of my school. I knew something more was going on, I knew how much pain I was in, and no one in the mental health industry was listening. I was screaming into a void and not even hearing the echoes of my own screams. (A separate issue is that we shouldn’t need labels to validate that level of human distress, which is what it is at its core, but diagnosis can be so validating. Read more about that here). 

I am not in any way saying this one experience erases all the rest. It does not. It absolutely does not. And it doesn’t not mean that psychiatry isn’t built on an oppressive, harmful foundation whose history has been hidden. It is. But it was a little hope given back to me. A relief at the very least. Before I went into that meeting I said ‘I’ll take them just not being actively mean to me’. How sad is that? What a desperately low bar. 

I’m still scared. He has instructed my GP to refer me back to secondary care teams in the NHS, which I still – like always – hope might offer some help. But the main thing offered seems to be medication, which I have some serious and valid concerns about. But I am terrified of raising these concerns or asking about alternatives for fear that a) I will be labelled as disordered and my new diagnosis weaponised against me or b) I will be labelled as non-compliant/ not wanting help enough, and sent away again. I wish I didn’t want help from them, and maybe one day I’ll be able to find a path that avoids dealing with the mental health system altogether. But I’m not there yet. Nor should I have to avoid it. It should be an inclusive, varied, accessible service. It should have community and individualised care. It should have alternative treatments and input from patients. It should see the human condition as a spectrum. But it doesn’t. And being mentally ill makes me scared that if I voice any of this, I will not be taken seriously. How can anyone ever prove that they are sane?

I deserve better. Everyone deserves better; we deserve to know that no matter what we’re going through there will be appropriate support for us. But it’s not there. And this broken system is quite literally killing people. We can’t just say fund the system either, the system needs to change. I need it to change, we all need it to change. 

I think I’m sharing this because the younger version of me wanted desperately to read it from someone else. So the core message is that you are not alone. You are not alone in the hurt psychiatry has caused you. You are allowed to be angry about it, and distrusting of it. You are allowed to choose your own care and your own path – even if others don’t understand it! (And that applies to all paths – mental illness should not be policed). Your pain is valid, completely valid, and I see you. I see you.

Sending love and support to you all today xx

Posted in Mental Health, Personal Growth, sobriety

Teenage Alcoholic’s Sober Story

Posted on by Millie :)

Trigger Warning: mentions of specific drinks, alcoholism, eating disorder

I’m an alcoholic. To be more specific, I’m a teenage alcoholic. I got sober 15 days before my 17th birthday and so I have never had a legal drink. I find that entertaining to think about, but it’s also a block to my recovery sometimes. How can I say I’m an alcoholic (which is vital for me to accept in order to recover) if I’m so young? 

While getting sober at any age and for any reason has huge challenges – that may vary and cannot be compared – getting sober young comes with a unique set of difficulties. One of the very first struggles is that it seems no one else in recovery is your age; it feels like there are no teenage addicts and alcoholics out there. So it can be a very isolating experience. Especially when the rest of your life stretching out ahead of you seems so long to go without a drink. So I thought today I’d share a little of my story of getting sober young to show everyone that we exist! And we’re thriving.

Before I dive in I will be honest and say I was very apprehensive to post this. I’m used to being open, and sharing my other mental health battles to some extent, but this is scary to post. Much scarier than anything else. And I think much of that is to do with stigma – fear that if someone reads this they might not want to know me, might not want to hire me etc. But I have decided to post it anyway because that’s exactly why it should be posted. So often fear keeps people quiet about important experiences that need to be shared and understood. I don’t want another teenager out there to feel alone like I did. I don’t want people to be afraid they won’t be able to move forward in life because of something in their past. So this is my story, and I’m not ashamed of it. I wouldn’t be the person I am today and the person I’m going to be in the future without it. If it can help just one person, then it’s worth it.

I ‘only’ drank heavily the way I did for a year and a half/ two years, but looking back I can see I was different in how I drank from the very first time I had a drink at 13 years old. Everyone else was fine to stop the next day, to stop that evening, but for me it finally made being in a group something that felt easy, and I wanted to drink again right away. I always took it further than others or was more excited about it than everyone else when the opportunity to drink arose. 

I did stop drinking for a period of a few months, but only because I was struggling with an eating disorder, and the calories in drink scared me shitless. In a strange way I feel very grateful for that, because I don’t know what my path would have been if I had been drinking at that time. You can’t exactly buy other substances at the corner store, so I was saved from that spiralling off in a way; alcohol became my drug of choice. 

In the space of two weeks I went from drinking a can of gin and tonic every night to a bottle of vodka every evening, and within a few months I was drinking in the morning and had to start changing my routines to fit around when I would be able to drink. I don’t remember once going to the cinema or visiting my grandma when I was drinking – it would have been impossible. I’ve heard a lot of people talking about how this transition from low amounts of alcohol to day drinking took years, decades even. And that used to make me feel very alienated; it played into the idea that this was just a phase for me. But now I see it like I took the exact same path, I just did a speed run of it.

This began in the months before the covid lockdown and carried on through the return to schools and socialising. I won’t go into the details of what I did, because some of it’s personal and also I don’t think it really matters overall. Because every alcoholic has a different path, different consequences and patterns of drinking. But the one thing we do have in common is once we start we can’t stop. So what I will talk about is my feelings, how it felt to be like that. 

Some people may say I was a high functioning addict, and I suppose in a way I was. I could drink a huge amount and still be able to hold a conversation or even write coursework graded A*. My blackouts were very very rarely passing out or waking up somewhere I didn’t recognise – they were walking blackouts. Whole weeks have gone missing from my memory and it’s only now that small moments are returning to me; it’s a very strange experience. Terrifying really. So yeah, in a way I was high functioning – but being a functioning alcoholic is like saying you’re painting a house with a toothbrush. Yes you can do it, but nowhere near as well as you could. 

I was also the star student. And I’d already had to grapple with my identity as the perfect A* student when I stopped being able to go to all my lessons a few years prior. But when I was drinking it was like losing this part of my identity entirely. I had to leave (was asked to leave) school 3 times in year 12. I became the total opposite of everything I thought I was; I lost myself and I used the disappointment to fuel my drinking more. Nowadays I choose to try and see the light in what I went through and put others through, so in a way I’m grateful for having to deconstruct my perfect student persona, because now I see more of the parts that make me who I am. 

Although there are many many ways to recover, I use AA (alcoholics anonymous, a worldwide peer support group) as the foundation of my recovery. I went to my first AA meeting on 28th September the year before I got sober, and though it would take me another 10 months for me to stop drinking, I continued going to AA. Because really I knew I needed to be there. And that’s the thing – just because I knew I was an alcoholic and would later want to stop drinking, doesn’t mean I could just stop. It wasn’t that simple. But AA being there throughout, welcoming me when I felt like nothing, and slowly helping me build up whatever it was that allowed me to stop, was invaluable.

I hurt the people closest to me, people I could never have dreamed of hurting. I lost touch with reality and who I was. I lost a view of the future. All there was every day was the planning and expedition to get drink. It was the only thing that shut my head up. And the second it started wearing off, or the search showed up empty, the panic and hurt and self loathing and anger would all start to creep in again. It was like I wanted total oblivion. 

Some of it looking back is truly laughable to me – the ridiculous extent of the lies, convincing myself that one piece of chewing gum would cover the smell. And the best of all – hiding bottles all over the town, not just my house or the school, the town. And not just one town – 3 towns! You have to be able to laugh at the ridiculousness to survive I think. It also does no good to tell myself it was all awful, because I did have some good days while I was drinking. Several good days. And if I try to convince myself it was all awful it’s easier for me to forget what it was really like long term, and I run the risk of relapsing. I had some wonderful times and great fun, but overall it was so crushingly painful, even if I didn’t realise the full extent at the time. 

I was always trying to escape, trying to distract. But in doing so I was throwing away all the love and brightness in my life too. I didn’t even realise how sick I was physically! All the time there was something wrong with me, and not always something small. I didn’t get hangovers, but I was always in pain in some way. 

I swung between wanting to stop drinking more than anything in the world and deciding it was pointless to try. It was never really that I wanted to keep living like that but rather that I couldn’t conceive living any other way. I came up with several schemes to help me stop that are ridiculous in hindsight – split the same amount into more than one bottle, change the mixer, listen to a particular song before drinking again etc. None of them worked. There were so many more logical times to stop drinking than when I did: times when I hurt worse and hurt others worse. But I couldn’t. And that’s the thing – an alcoholic can’t simply put the drink down, and if they do by some miracle manage it they can’t sustain life without dealing with the emotional symptoms beneath. 

I was given an ultimatum from school a week before my last drink. This wasn’t what made me stop, but it did however allow me to see, even slightly, a future without alcohol. Or rather refuelled my want for that. And this happened to coincide with me being in the headspace I was; truly tired of it. My rock bottom didn’t coincide with events in my life or chaos of my creation. My rock bottom was when I realised I had completely lost myself. 

It was a serendipitous concurrence. My last drink was nothing spectacular or awful. It was just my last. And I knew it when I woke up the following day. I felt it. The relief, the lifted weight. And I can’t explain that. It was not a renewal of will power, it wasn’t a specific motivation. It was a miracle (if you possibly believe it). I was done, I was free. Within days I started to see my life return in colour around me, though it would take months for the fog to truly lift in my brain and trust to be regained. To this day I dream about it and wake up thinking about it (one major sign my relationship with alcohol is not normal). 

My journey – which is not the same as everyone else’s – included a remarkably easy first few months. I was free from cravings and the opportunities that came to me were amazing. I got to go back to school, continue rehearsals and deepen friendships. But in a way I was white knuckling it. I sprinted forward like I was making up for lost time and in later months I would have to grapple with how hard I had fought to get where I was. For me though I wouldn’t have had it any other way. The cravings emerge still in full force, as do life’s challenges, but now I have a fighting chance. And I have so much love and support around me.

Stopping drinking was the bravest decision I ever made. I got my future back. I got my friends and family back. I got my dignity back. And I got so much more than I could ever have dreamed of. No it’s not easy; some days it’s a real fight. But I’d rather fight this fight and grow than shrink myself back to what I was. And do you know how great it is to remember all the fun I have?? Being sober means I get to honour what I actually enjoy doing. 

I made a list the very first day I got sober of all the things I wanted to achieve through sobriety. It had things like do my A-levels, get into drama school, gain my family’s trust back, feel more physically healthy and more and more. I’ve done every single thing on that list. In a year. Every single one. That is beyond my wildest dreams. With the words ‘I am proud of you’ my list was complete and the second I heard them I burst out in tears. My path is not what I expected, even with all the things I hoped to achieve completed, life is always unexpected. It’s different from how I imagined, and I’ve had to deal with some real upheavals sober. It’s not always fun, but it’s always worth it. If I can grow that much in just one year of sobriety, I cannot wait to discover what else lies on the horizon. 

If you’re a young person struggling, know that you’re not alone. I’ve found young groups of alcoholics and addicts too now, and it was such a breath of fresh air the first time I went to one! It reaffirmed that I was not too young, I was not being dramatic. I was being very very brave, and so were all these other amazing people. You can get better and there is a future waiting for you. 

So much love and support to you all today xx