Day 103 – Crawling Through the Cold

Day 103

4 AM. Cold concrete beneath me. A towering wall in front of me. I was lost, disoriented, and confused. Hours earlier, I had jumped off that wall and passed out in below-freezing temperatures. A few degrees colder, and I wouldn’t have woken up.

When I finally did, the pain was unbearable. My ankle was shattered, but I didn’t know it yet—I thought it was just a sprain. All I knew was I had to move. Crawling was my only option. 200 yards felt like miles. Every inch was agony.

I saw runners in the distance, their breath visible in the cold morning air. I screamed for help, but they couldn’t hear me. How small and invisible I felt. Two hours of crawling through the cold, every inch a battle just to stay alive.

And for what? At the time, I thought I was fighting to get back to “Hope.” But in truth, I was running from myself. Addiction had numbed years of pain—trauma I hadn’t confronted, the little boy who felt like he didn’t belong.

Now, at Day 103, I’m still fighting that fight. Recovery hasn’t been easy. It’s meant therapy, pain, and the hardest part: letting go of the grip I’ve held on to Hope.

But I’m here. I’m alive. I’m facing the monsters head-on. If you’re walking this road too, remember: we can fight this together.

One step, one punch, one round at a time.

—Your fellow traveler in recovery