Apologies for the delay again — I’ve spent the last few days in the wasteland running around with folks and, in general, having a lot of fun.

 

The wasteland reminds me that there are still good people out there, even if you know absolutely nothing about them beyond their gamertag. That’s completely fine. It’s apolitical, free of spiritual debates, and — most importantly — we don’t talk about the Great Pumpkin. Honestly, that’s a good set of boundaries for everyone.

 

Over the past few days, I’ve helped two players through one of the more tedious questlines in the game. It’s not especially hard, but it takes patience and persistence — two things the modern world isn’t exactly famous for. One part of the quest took me almost three weeks to complete back in the day, and that was before my strokes. But once you finish it, you earn the ability to launch a nuke. For the uninitiated, remember: this is a game, and the “nuke” is just the key to unlocking an endgame boss.

 

Then and Now

 

I started this blog in 2018 to share my experiences in healthcare and to talk about real-world issues. Over the years, I’ve covered everything from chronic problems in medicine to government policy, and I’ve laid bare my own experiences with grief, loss, and substance use.

 

And since I brought up substance use, let’s go there again — because it never gets talked about enough.

 

No one just wakes up one morning and thinks, “Hey, maybe leaning too hard on this particular substance every day will improve my life.” It’s not a decision; it’s a breakdown in coping.

 

Back in the Stone Age — the 1980s — one of my college professors called us the “MTV Generation.” If something couldn’t be wrapped up in five minutes and thirty seconds, we lost interest. Before us came other generations who also had things a little easier than their parents. And now, the internet age has produced even shorter attention spans and an even deeper craving for instant gratification.

 

That’s where substance use creeps in — when you’re dealing with a massive stressor and the progress feels glacial. You just want something to make the pain stop now. But that instant relief comes with a price tag. The more you rely on it, the more you need it — and before you know it, you’ve given yourself a second problem while trying to solve the first.

 

The Double Burden

 

On top of that, there’s shame. Even when the substance is legal, there’s still stigma. I had a hard time dealing with my husband’s substance use while he was alive. I was ruthless about it — judgmental, angry, and honestly, self-righteous. I thought I understood it.

 

Then karma came knocking, and I learned what it’s like to be the one using. Different substance, same road. I learned empathy the hard way — and I also learned how unforgiving society can be when you’re on the other side of that judgment.

 

These days, I have empathy and distance. I’m proud of both.

 

Some friendships didn’t survive the fallout (pun absolutely intended). I’ve accepted that. For some people, substance use is a hard line they won’t cross, and I can respect that even if it still stings. Friendships fade. People walk away. But those who remain — they matter more than ever.

 

Rebuilding After the Blast

 

Recovery isn’t just about quitting. It’s about rebuilding your life from the rubble — taking inventory of everything you do, why you do it, and whether it still serves you. You don’t have to toss out everything, but you do need to look at your coping tools honestly and decide what still works and what’s just a relic of survival mode.

 

For the record: none of my strokes were caused by substance use, which is something of a miracle. But the strokes still happened. So now I’ve got the same mountain to climb — only steeper.

 

Here’s the reality: when you add substance use to life’s existing problems, you multiply the difficulty. That’s why relapse happens. People don’t relapse because they’re weak — they relapse because life is complicated. That’s why the recovery motto is “one day at a time.” You can’t control the future; you can only control now.

 

Today, I’m 21 months sober. I’m proud of that, but I’m also humble about it. Sobriety is a path you walk every day — sometimes with confidence, sometimes on your knees.

 

If you slip, you don’t have to start over; you just make the U-turn and get back on the road. Relapse isn’t failure. It’s a wrong turn. When your GPS says, “In 500 feet, make a U-turn,” you don’t throw the car in the ditch and give up. You correct course and keep going.

 

People in recovery need that same grace — the reminder that it’s okay to make a U-turn.

 

The Real Fallout

 

Substance use doesn’t just happen in alleys or on skid row — it happens in mansions, too. We just protect those on the hill and shame those in the gutter. Addiction doesn’t discriminate.

 

And it doesn’t just hurt the user. It hurts your dog, your mom, your friends — everyone who loves you but doesn’t know how to help. My family, my best friend, and even my dogs have stood by me, pushed me, and sometimes dragged me back to the right path. I am nothing without them.

 

If nothing else, the whole experience has taught me who’s still standing with me — and that’s something worth being grateful for.