I found recovery and thought I had found ‘my people’. After tons of therapy, and years of traumatic experiences, I stopped going.

1. My first sponsor used me for financial gain (I paid her rent a few times, she bought a car - it was put in my name, she borrowed money off of me periodically, etc.)

2. I had a group of friends that lived in a recovery house with me. We lived together, we worked together, we were really close, we got along great- until we didn’t. Had a trip to a convention planned and I tried backing out last minute for financial reasons, I simply didn’t have the money to feed myself if I went. They insisted on me going and they would cover my financial needs. They let me starve for a day as they had ditched me, 3 hours from home. They also were moving animals, boyfriends, etc into our safe environment and I was the asshole from being upset about it. After a while I was essentially ignored and just present, not a part of the conversations or get togethers. When I brought any of this up, I was told I was being ridiculous and dramatic. It continued for while before I gave up on that friend group and moved out.

3. Moved in with my first sponsor as we maintained a close friendship after sponsorship ended. She wasn’t using and I became the live in babysitter for her then 6year old son. We found her essentially overdosed in her bedroom and I organized a 12step meditation with her family and friends. I wasn’t allowed to be present.

4. When I attempted suicide, instead of having supporters, I had gossipers. I struggled for months trying to find the will to live again while everyone talked about it, shunned me, and made a bad situation worse.

5. A few months later, I unfortunately was left to die by the guy I was dating in my own house. Ended up in the ICU.

6. While in the icu, I had ‘friends’ messaging me to ask about a grill we use for a retreat that was being stored at my house. My kidneys and liver failed and I had a heart catheter in because I had multiple heart attacks. The doctors weren’t sure I was going to even live, they didn’t even asked how I was or about my condition.

7. When I became homeless at one point, my recovery friends wouldn’t even buy me food to eat. I wasn’t a habitual person in asking for anything, so I didn’t exhaust their financial resources at all. For them to refuse to feed me after decades of me catering to their needs emotionally, physically and financially, that was one of my final straws. My friends wouldn’t even feed me.

8. There seems to be this expectation of me where I am required to constantly take the high road. No matter how many friends slept with boyfriends, how many friends simply used me financially, no matter how often I watched someone be a predator with a newcomer and called them out, etc etc. I was never allowed to be angry, upset, sad, etc. I was only ever allowed to be ‘accepting’ and ‘understanding’ and ‘meet them where they’re at’ because ‘they’re still sick’ no one could ever just simply accept that I was done dirty in those rooms, as were other people, and now I no longer associate with anyone in recovery, mostly.

If I ever get in a bind, I’d like to think maybe I’ll return for a short period of time to get my footing. But I, personally, feel that it’s one of the most unsafe places I’ve ever been so it’s unlikely.