Ryan comes from a loving family. His parents are happily married, and he was always cared for. They did not know how to deal with his addiction when it came up because no one else in the family had gone through it before. A lot of his family was in denial, and his addiction was being swept under the rug. It was effortless for Ryan to manipulate his family into thinking that he was not a drug addict even though Ryan’s teachers and counselors told his family that he had a problem with drugs and alcohol as early as high school.  

The first time someone told Ryan that he needed help, he was 17. His friends started to get together and say to his parents that they were worried about him. Even though they were doing the same drugs, it said a lot about his state because he was doing more and more to the point where it was no longer acceptable, not even to his friends. People were starting to tell him he should stop. It was around 13 years ago today.  

Ryan was suffering from mental health issues as well. Anxiety and depression coupled with addiction amplified his use. The only way to quiet his mind was drugs.  

It was hard to deny his behavior anymore. When Ryan was a senior in college, his substances, Heroin & Cocaine, made him look drastically different. He was a shell of himself. Eyes concaved, cheeks burrowed down like slopes, his eyes were gray, there was no life, no sparkle anymore. There was no more denying that he was not a drug addict.  

Ryan did not want to accept that he was a drug addict because he would have to stop using drugs. He dug for deeper bottoms before getting help. He just kept digging. His first bottom that made him realize that he had a problem was in San Francisco, California, where he was stuck between Crystal Meth and Heroin. He was working all the time, using around the clock. He worked in software; he was 24, he thought he could effectively use these substances at work. He would take uppers during the day and downers at night. He was 30 pounds underweight. He was no longer performing at his job: He was coming in late, if at all. Eventually, he lost his career, and he realized he couldn’t function. He could not get out of bed without using. He could not get in bed without using. He was a slave to the substance. He realized he was living a lonely existence. He went home and came clean to his loved ones, his family. At this point, he knew his life was unmanageable.  

He gained time in sobriety and then went back out. Even when he got sober, he longed to use and normally drink without going overboard. He fantasized about having one drink or smoking a blunt with friends without being stuck in full-blown addiction. He had a reservation that he could be a “normal” drinker and occasionally take drugs with no consequences. Once enough people trusted him again, he thought he could sneak something, and no one, including himself, would get hurt. Once he got five months sober, he decided to use one night. That one night turned into a vicious bender of several nights. He found himself in some scary neighborhoods in Philadelphia. He had bouts of homelessness. He would live in Air B&B’s for spurts at a time, so no one would bother him when he was getting high. He thought he wouldn’t hurt anyone if he were alone. His idea of paradise was a bag of Heroin and a room and a bed. That is what his addiction told him to aspire to. The isolation was used as a protective factor. It protected his addiction. He did not want to be around people who cared about him because he did not want to stop. He wanted to listen to the dark side of his brain.  

*** 

Ryan was strong. He set a foundation for himself. He gained and deserved 23 months of sobriety. He had so much that he never thought would be possible. He was in the MBA program at Drexel graduate school. He had a 4.0 GPA. He had more money saved than he ever had before. He had more passions and hobbies like the stock market, which he frequently taught his mom and sister about. He had a dog who helped him with responsibility and accountability. He had healthier relationships with his parents and friends, and he could take care of himself.  

Ryan could genuinely smile at others. His golden doodle was his “little banana.” His feet banged down the steep steps, always looking for the precious doggo he spoiled with toys. His dog had dreads that he would carefully cut off with a sharp knife. He refused to get her groomed until our roommate pointed out the hair in front of her eyes. She came back looking like a teddy bear, and Ry had a field day with the pictures. 

He used to call his friends “babies”; Ryan had a heart of gold for the people he cared about. He would come up to one of our roommate’s room with his left hand full of cinnamon buns and his right clutching a colossal bottle of Apple Cider. He participated in girl time while we all tried to focus on our essays.  

When one of our house managers left, he gave her a stuffed puppy so she would always think of cuddling his little doggo when she moved away. She was a big reason he stayed sane and sober. While everyone would come and go in the house, Ry and her stuck and stayed for two years. 

Ry’s warmth was unmatched. He hugged me, saying, “I am so glad my baby is safe,” when I returned from the hospital. Then he would ask me what it was like and if I had sex with anyone there.  

He had a provocative sense of humor that made the room still with silence and then filled with laughter. He had one friend that always brought out this side. They would dance in the living room, hands swinging in the air. They would slap each other’s butts for fun.  

He had the best taste in horror movies and orchestrated movie nights. Ry would sit there cuddled in a blanket with the dog on his chest. He would watch the best parts of the movie and then go back to his phone to swipe on Tinder. He never liked slow films. Ry was watching a horror movie or on his five-thousandth re-watch of The Office.  

He spent about fifty dollars a day on take-out food until he decided to go on the keto diet. The windows would fog while he cooked his seafood like a chef in Hibachi. Around mid-December, the black ice littered the sidewalks. We all watched as Ry tried to walk into the Chinese restaurant carefully; he almost made it until he slipped and fell straight on his butt. He watched and laughed when I tried to get out to get my food and slipped as well.  

He was the peanut butter thief. Around three in the morning, Ryan would be in the kitchen with a spoon in his hand, scarfing down the house’s peanut butter. There was a prank war about to happen. One of the roommates lost her phone, and when she called it, Ry pretended to be someone else who got her phone on the black market. We girls decided to fill the peanut butter jar with horseradish, hot sauce, and mayonnaise to trick him back. Luckily, he did not steal the peanut butter for the next two nights. We decided to throw it out because we knew his retaliation would be incredible.  

Ryan comes from a loving family. His parents are happily married, and he was always cared for. Every Sunday in the summer, he and Riley would pack up and go for a swim in his parent’s pool. We could hear the laughter and see his smile from the millions of videos where Riley splatters the camera with chlorine-filled water. His sobriety meant a lot to him because it brought him back to the people in those memories, the people he loved. It is not what he thought his adult life would look like, but through reviving these essential relationships, he learned that his sobriety was worth everything!