My intention in going to rehab was never to get sober. I saw it as a thirty day relief from the world I was living in. As a matter of fact, when a doctor prescribed me Naltrexone, an opiate blocker meant to prevent relapse, my excitement was in how many more drugs I would be able to consume once I left rehab. As I approached my discharge date, my sobriety was extended at the offer of a new adventure. My counselor presented to me the idea of continuing treatment on the west coast. From rehab, I was driven straight to the airport where I would fly to Orange County, California.

I was drug tested nearly every day at my sober living, making it impossible to use anything. It was in treatment that I met my recovery sweetheart. The day he got kicked out of treatment, I left with him. With only a few hundred dollars between the both of us, it was not long before we were homeless together. After scrounging together just enough for a penny flight from Spirit Airlines, we were able to fly to his home town in Oregon where we intended on showing up at his family’s house in hopes that they would open their doors to us. Unfortunately, this was not the case. It was in Eugene, Oregon that we pitched a tent which we would call home for a month. Our quality of life was far from acceptable. I remember the highlight of my week being an outdoor shower we came by. We were stuck in a cycle of surviving where the only constants were the drugs we used to make our circumstances more bearable.

After many tears, I was able to convince my family to allow me to come home. They booked me a flight for June 8th under the condition that my boyfriend and I consistently pass drug tests and attend Narcotics Anonymous meetings if we wanted to live under their roof. I agreed effortlessly all while texting drug dealers and letting them know I would be home soon. There was no suffering harsh enough to pull me out of the hole I had dug for myself at a young age.

Two weeks before my flight, I missed my menstrual cycle. I knew what this meant, but could not afford a pregnancy test to confirm. After trading enough plastic bottles for fifteen cents a piece at a recycling center, I was able to afford a five dollar gas station test. It was the evening of June 2nd that I called my parents, apologized for everything I had done, and begged them to help me get back in school. I never touched so much as a cigarette again because I was going to be a mom.