I entered into recovery as a teenager. I recall the nurses giving me an evening pass from the detox centre to go see the Lion King on my 19th birthday. From there I moved into a halfway house with other female addicts. I did my best to fit in. I was a very “low bottom” so they told me. I had a really hard time that first year. I had no idea how to connect to people, especially other women. I kept to myself mostly. I couldn’t carry on conversations all that well, and my outside appearance matched my insides perfectly. My entire wardrobe, make-up collection and hair accessories consisted of nothing but black, and I powdered my skin an even lighter shade of white to accentuate my expiry date. Those were indeed different times.

One morning, as part of my rehabilitation, I had to get on a bus at 7:00 am and head to a 12-step meeting in another part of the city. I remember it was a cold morning. I had about six months clean, and there was a frost on the ground. As I waited for the bus I became more and more intolerant, but a new voice was beginning to immerge. The voice of reason and sanity, a quiet voice at the time, but she [...] continue the story