At the beginning of every March, I realize that I am approaching another anniversary, and I can never remember if the date is March 5 or 6. So every year, I hop online, look up the date of the LA Marathon in 2003 (Sunday, March 2), and move forward three days.
On March 4, 2003, I was newly married—to someone I should have never married (And, to be fair, he should have never married me either; I was a hot mess), and I was three months pregnant. I was also addicted to heroin.
And I didn’t know how to stop.
The longest I’d ever been sober was ten months (after my first trip to rehab in September 1997). For the more than five years that followed, I relapsed constantly. I lied. I took dirty chips and dirty cakes (markers that celebrate milestone days and years of sobriety in 12-step programs). I’d become increasingly convinced that the only way out of the addiction I had been drowning in since age 13 was death. Because I did not know how to live. I did not know how to get through the day without fighting the urge to tear my skin off, to unalive myself, to leave.
When I found out I was pregnant, against all rationale, I decided to have the baby. And when the father of that baby asked me to marry him, I said yes. I am still unsure why I made those decisions, outside of hoping they would magically make me stable. Flawed thinking, I know.
I’d reached out to various doctors and programs that offered help for pregnant folks addicted to opiates. Their protocols all involved putting me on methadone for the duration of the pregnancy. While I knew people who had done this, I was afraid of methadone. So I kept looking. My dear friend, one of the only people I used with (“Diana” in my book if you’ve read it), found a doctor who would detox me using buprenorphine. The FDA had just approved buprenorphine for use in treating opioid dependence four months earlier (in October 2022) and was not yet widely used.
So on March 4, 2003, I had my appointment with this doctor—whose name I don’t even remember but who helped save my life. He gave me an injectable form of buprenorphine, followed by a pill form, with just enough to taper me down and off over seven days. It wasn’t a pleasurable week, but the medication made it bearable.
While I knew I could stay clean for the duration of my pregnancy, I didn’t have much faith in my ability to sustain recovery. But…. Through therapy (talk, CBT, EMDR), psychiatric care and medication, rebuilding a community for myself among friends and family, and finding a spiritual practice that resonates, from March 5, 2003, to today, March 5, 2024, I have sustained that recovery.
21 years ( I was a few years shy of 21 in the photo up there.👆)
I have been in recovery longer than I struggled with addiction.
While I don’t subscribe to the recovery adage that my worst day in recovery is better than my best day in active addiction, I am grateful for every single one of these 7671 days—even the bad ones, even the painful ones—because my life today, while far from perfect, is full of joy, pleasure, love, friendship, purpose, and meaning.
I want to stay.
For anyone struggling with addiction, I can promise you this: as long as you are alive, recovery is possible. If you are using drugs, please use them as safely as possible. Free harm reduction supplies are available—naloxone, sterile syringes, fentanyl test strips, xylazine test strips, etc. If you are in New York, OASAS (NY State’s Office of Addiction Services and Supports) can help. Outside of NY, you can learn about laws and access in your state HERE. You can contact me via DM or email (askerin@erinkhar.com) if you need help navigating region-specific resources.
Parents, every single one of you should educate your children about harm reduction. In my house, that means naloxone training, providing test strips and naloxone, and giving neutral, fact-based information about substances. We talk openly about these things without any shame or judgment. I was eight years old the first time I took an opiate. I shot heroin for the first time at 13 and hid it for nearly a decade. I didn’t present like I was using drugs. It can happen in ANY home.
Empowering your children with knowledge and access to life-saving resources is not enabling; it gives them the agency to make informed decisions that just might save their lives or the lives of someone else’s child.
For people in early recovery, or any point of recovery when it feels like a slog, you will come to find, just as it is for any struggle, that it is fluid, that the bad days do not last forever, that you can feel joy again. I have not experienced a craving for many years. Just yesterday, talking to “Diana” (she entered recovery right after me and is also reaching 21 years!), we talked about the point in our recovery when things stopped triggering cravings. The only thing that ever gets triggered for me now is the fear of ever feeling dope sick again. I’ve had dreams about that. I shudder…
I have not woken up dope sick for 21 years (minus the week of detoxing 21 years ago). It’s a damn miracle. In the past 21 years, I have lost so many people I love to addiction, and despite putting in the work, and I really have done that, I sometimes think that part of it is luck. How am I still here when others are not? It is not because I am special or they didn’t want it enough. I don’t know. But I feel so lucky to be here.
Thank you, universe, for the past 21 years of growth.
I hope I get at least 21 more.
I don't know if 'congratulations' or 'well done ' or 'holy fucking shit what an incredible achievement I'm so proud of you!' are appropriate here, but if they are welcome, please accept them from me, along with my warmest wishes for the future, and some internet hugs.
I am so glad you clawed your way through the thorns. You inspire me, make me happy, and I love reading your thoughts.