As soon as I walked through the Phoenix House door, I had an overwhelming sense of relief; I had made it. Today, when I remember that moment of clarity, that feeling of gratitude still washes over me and brings tears to my eyes.

I remember sitting in jail and looking at myself, 42 years old, realizing that I had just thrown away the best years of my life and I could never get them back. That realization devastated me to the point where I just cried for a week. I thought, “This is it. I can’t do this anymore.”

At Phoenix House, I realized that just days before I had been on the streets with nothing but the clothes on my back. I broke down. I began feeling emotions wash over me that I hadn’t felt in years. One of my first counselors told me, “if you want to learn, you just surrender and start over.”

This was our search to find our son again, after helplessly watching him go from a happy, healthy person towards complete self-destruction. It’s impossible to explain the fear and desperation that the parents and family members of addicted teens experience. But there is a way out.

By age 25, I was using all the time, and cocaine and heroin were my drugs of choice. I was working as a fashion designer at the time so that’s what I had in common with the whole fashion crowd: drugs and parties. I enjoyed the career and the whole scene, but it didn’t last long because pretty soon my #1 priority became drugs.