THE BACK STORY

Before the shadow of addiction fell over my life, I was a pillar of my community, a successful professional, and a devoted family man. I had built a respected career in the diesel industry, with 24 years of hands-on experience under my belt. Away from work, I was an avid athlete, playing competitive men’s league hockey alongside former NHL and collegiate players, traveling across the Southeast. My life was full.

I was a fixture in my church and served on the board of trustees. I mentored boys in a local group home and was deeply involved in Scouting with my son. I spent what little spare time I had playing golf and investing in the lives of others. I took pride in being a present father, an engaged community member, and someone others could count on. I had purpose, and I was respected.
 

HOW IT STARTED

The unravelling started with something so common that the CDC reports nearly 40% of Americans are dealing with it...BACK PAIN.  A chronic injury from my youth had worsened over the years, making everyday life difficult and making the activities that I enjoyed nearly impossible.   

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A lingering cough from a bad cold led me to visit a walk-in clinic who gave me a prescription for cough syrup with hydrocodone. I was stunned to learn that not only did it stop my nagging cough, but it also magically cured my near constant back pain.  As an added bonus, it filled me with energy, drive, motivation and confidence and I didn't want to let go of that feeling.  It was magical.
 

When the cough syrup ran out, I turned to my family doctor who prescribed hydrocodone pills. It wasn't long at all before I had built up a tolerance and the prescription was adjusted to stronger and more frequent dosages.  I called them "Superman's Candy".  But over time, they too lost their power and the pain returned.   

 

Over time, I began to develop anxiety and became fearful about my 100 mile round-trip commute each day....what if something happened?  When my employer began drug testing, the anxiety became too much to handle.  So, back to the doctor I went, and soon Xanax entered the picture. It brought back the invincibility that I craved.   

 

Now, I was taking 10/500mg Lortabs plus four Xanax every day.  And that was still not enough.  I had become “Captain Countdown,” watching the clock and waiting for the next dose.

 

THE DESCENT

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Eventually, I was referred to a pain management doctor and that is where the real descent began. I was prescribed the Duragesic fentanyl patch or what I refer to as the “Patch of No Return.”  Starting with 25mcg, then moving to 50mcg, on to 75mcg, then 100mcg—each dose brought diminishing returns.  Eventually, I was given Percocet for breakthrough pain in addition to the fentanyl.  My daily life was 75mcg fentanyl, 4 Percocet’s, and 4 Xanax and it was taking a toll.

The Breaking Point

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At this stage, I was simply trying to survive.  My mind and body were no longer mine—they belonged to the drugs. I was dope sick four times a day, EVERY day. Life had become nothing more than watching the clock and managing withdrawals.  I lost interest in everything except my next dose.  I lost interest in mentoring, hockey, golf, Scouting, and worst of all my family.

 

Back surgery didn’t bring relief—it only magnified my desperation. I desperately wanted to escape the prison of addiction, but my original doctor wouldn’t wean me off. The pain clinic kicked me out—twice. Other doctors refused to help.

 

My digestion was failing. My liver was overwhelmed. My bladder and bowels barely functioned.  I was surviving on cottage cheese and applesauce.

 

Anger, depression and hopelessness ruled my life. I reached out to several rehab centers, but the prospect of being gone for 30 days to 2 years seemed financially impossible.   After being turned away by one final doctor, I drove myself to a hospital in Atlanta, filled out some paperwork, and after 11 hours, they took me in.

Cold Turkey

This is where the hell truly began.  They ripped off the fentanyl patch and took away all of my pills. I entered what I call the “Sanctuary of Suffering.”  For anyone who has never been through opioid withdrawal, it's a horrifying and scary scene.  It starts with your skin crawling like a never-ending waterfall.  Imagine your entire body feels like it has fallen asleep and you experience that "pins and needles" feeling of it waking up....only it goes on for hours and days without letting up. Then comes the waves of nausea followed by vomiting green bile every 60 to 90 minutes until you can no longer hold your head up.  The pain that you originally had now rushes back with a vengeance and is so profound that there are no words for it—only metaphors like “the storm in my skeleton.” 

 

Due to the risk of seizures from Xanax withdrawal, there was nothing they could do to lessen the symptoms of the opioid withdrawal.  I was given Tegritol to prevent seizures and by day three, I couldn’t stand. They started me on Suboxone, which brought its own hell. I stayed in detox for six days. Then I went home. Weak. Sleepless. Half-alive. I began weaning off Suboxone six days later—and entered “Day One” again.

I didn’t sleep for six weeks. Maybe 1–2 hours a night. My liver pushed out toxins, releasing a pungent, oily “Devil’s Cologne” that soaked my bedding. My mind was gone—a “mental exodus.”  My ribs showed. My body became a “Weightless Grave.” Touch was agony.  Movement, unbearable. It felt like “walking without a soul.”  But I kept going.  I prayed constantly. I begged God for healing, to allow me to do more work on Earth before I left. Every minute that passed, I told myself: *You are one minute closer to healing.* I never gave up.  Time is the only medicine that can truly heal the brain and body after years of addiction.  There are no shortcuts. Only perseverance. 

Recovery

Today, my life is a gift. A blessing far beyond what I deserve. I found my calling—mentoring young people, helping families, and giving back what was nearly taken from me.  I have my family back. My kids, now grown, are thriving. My daughter is nearly a doctor.  Though I carry regrets, I don’t dwell in them. I can’t change the past, but I can help shape someone else’s future.  Now, I share my story to offer hope to others and to help mothers, fathers, siblings, and friends understand what addiction does—and what recovery looks like. It’s not easy. It rarely goes as planned. But with hope, support, and God’s grace, this storm can be conquered.

My mission is simple yet profound: to help others escape the grip of addiction, to shine a light in the darkest places, and to prove—through lived experience—that healing is possible, and hope is never wasted.