My aunt Kelly brought me to the Grace Center on August 8, 2023. Check-in 1:00pm.
We arrived sometime in the afternoon. The Grace Center is in Harbour Grace, Newfoundland, and the building reminded me of an old school. There were locked double doors at the entrance and security checking people in.
Standing outside with my suitcase, I knew there was no pretending anymore.
I had packed clothes, books, toiletries and an old MP3 player. Just basic things to get me through however long I was going to be there. I didnt really know what rehab would feel like, or if I was even ready for it.
The staff were welcoming, which helped, but the check-in still took awhile. They searched through everything I brought. They even took my mouthwash because it contained traces of alcohol.
That small moment made everything feel real.
Inside those doors, the rules mattered. It didnt matter that mouthwash wasnt what brought me there. Anything containing alcohol could become a risk, and they were taking my recovery seriously before I fully knew how to.
Then came the paperwork and questions.
We talked about my cocaine addiction, everything I had lost and how badly I wanted to stop. We talked about the psychosis and what my life had become. These were things I spent a long time hiding, avoiding or trying to make sound less serious.
Now I was saying them out loud to people I had only just met.
After the intake, they gave me a tour. The building had a cafeteria-style kitchen, a computer room, gymnasium, TV and snack room, workout areas and a craft room.
Then I saw the music room.
Out of everything in that building, that room immediately felt the most important to me. Music was one of the few things that still felt like mine, even after addiction had taken so much.
I also met some of the other people staying there. Everyone came from a different walk of life. Different ages, different addictions and completely different stories. At first, all we really had in common was that our lives had brought us through the same locked doors.
We were all given a private room with our own shower. It was simple but very clean, and there was a desk.
That desk ended up being perfect for writing.
The first night, I wrote so much. Lyrics, thoughts, song ideas and things I didnt know how to say out loud. Some of the writing was messy and barely made sense, but getting it onto paper gave my mind somewhere to put it.
I wanted to leave at times. I think part of almost everyone does on that first day.
But I kept thinking about my son.
He was still a baby, and I didnt know him yet. That is difficult to admit, but its the truth. I knew that if I wanted any chance of being part of his life, something had to change.
He didnt know I was sitting in that room writing. He didnt know the promises I was making to myself.
But he was the reason I stayed.
The first day of rehab didnt fix my life. It was paperwork, locked doors, uncomfortable questions and sitting alone in a room with everything I had been trying to escape.
But it was also the first night I started writing what would eventually become hundreds of song ideas.
Sometimes walking through those doors isnt the moment everything gets better.
Sometimes its just the moment you finally give yourself a chance.