This blog discusses substance misuse, abuse, and suicidal ideation. If you or someone you know is struggling with substance misuse, talk with your care team or visit samhsa.gov for support.
As a child, my mornings started early enough to fit in my routine of meds, tube feeds, and breathing treatments before I started school. I knew I was different from other kids because I saw how different my routines were from those of my friends. However, I guess because I was so used to my regimen, I never fully understood my diagnosis.
Then when I was 14, I remember sitting in my room being curious and looking up ‘cystic fibrosis.’ I was MORTIFIED by what I read. I felt betrayed, like maybe the extravagant Christmas gifts and birthday parties were given to me out of pity and not a genuine heart. I watched a video that talked about life expectancy and featured families of CF patients who passed away. I was in shock. Will I even make it to graduate high school? I thought. It hurt to look at my two younger siblings in the face, whom I spent every day with and loved so much.
I had a burning desire to find someone who would understand me, only to find out that people with CF cannot be around each other because we could give each other infections that could potentially be fatal.
This led me to become depressed and even suicidal. I spent time in and out of the psychiatric unit for the next couple years and even started experimenting with drugs and alcohol. I figured if I wasn’t going to make it much longer, I had the right to be in control of my final days. Of course, now I realize this wasn’t fair to my family or myself. It led me down a very dark path and my addiction eventually completely took over my life.
When my grandmother passed away the day after my 19th birthday, my world shattered. The regret of everything I put her through ate at me. Rather than putting my trust in God to get me through her passing, I turned to the streets to embrace my loneliness. I quit taking all my CF medication. I could barely get myself out of bed.
I’d keep using drugs until I was too sick to walk or overdosed. Then I’d go back to the hospital for a few weeks, find God again, and then leave the hospital just to go right back to the same cycle. I remember thinking, how come it is so hard to follow through with my CF regimen and take care of myself properly, but it's so easy for me to follow my street drug regimen? It was like second nature for me to destroy myself.
Eventually this behavior severely damaged my health. My weight went down to 60 pounds. Something had to give. As much as it brought me (temporary) peace, the fentanyl I was using was indeed not my friend. One time while hospitalized, the social worker called every treatment center in my state and not one would accept me because my CF was a liability. So, I resumed my self-destructive habits.
Eventually I was able to find a few treatment centers that could take me with my health issues, but I wasn’t ready to change. Altogether, I had overdosed more than 20 times. I ended up getting my first felony right before my 20th birthday; and, from then on, I was in and out of jail. Before I knew it, I was in a court room being sentenced to 11 months in prison, wondering if I was going to survive and if they were even required to properly take care of my CF. Being incarcerated taught me a lot and was actually a huge blessing for me. I was forced to get back on a proper CF treatment plan, which helped me gain weight, and I ended up being the healthiest I ever was. I learned that the world owes me nothing just because I have an illness.
After I was released from prison, I lost myself all over again, this time because of people who manipulated me. I suddenly found myself stranded in another state with no medicine, no phone, and no clothes. Everything was taken from me. I was promised love, family, and protection — only to be completely robbed of not only material necessities, but my sanity. This lasted for five long months, and I withered away inside and out every day, numbing myself with drugs. I quit daydreaming that some angel would come save me and just prayed God would end my life.
On New Year's Day 2025, before the sun came up, I decided it was the last time I would let my abuser have any power over me. He had destroyed the tiny ounce of dignity that I had left. I managed to escape successfully and, in a hotel lobby, I met my angel. She protected me, and if it weren’t for her, I don't know how that morning would have ended.
I relocated and spent the next five months hospitalized. During this hospital stay, I ended up going into cardiac arrest and was on life support for a few days. Thanks to my Heavenly Father, I was able to make an amazing recovery and get back to properly treating my CF. Since then, I met my fiancé who has loved me through every stage of my healing and has been so patient and understanding through it all. We got engaged in August and just moved into our first house together.
Thankfully, I have been able to mend many relationships that I had ruined during my addiction, and I can finally be a woman that my little sister can look up to. I’ve been asked if I regret anything in my life — I can admit that I should have made some better choices. However, if I didn’t experience the losses and lessons, I don’t think I would appreciate life as much as I do now. During the storms, it’s hard to see the reasons why we go through hardships, but now I can look up and thank God for showing me that we really do, in fact, need a Savior.
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