Sometimes the most painful paths we endure are the same paths we walk barefoot.

My life started in a space of nothingness, since what I can remember. I don’t particularly remember smiles; mostly just grass-stained knees and a fear of spiders. I remember parents fightingas I sat silently on the tan and grey speckled rug stairs. I remember a “For Sale” sign, and leaving behind a short-lived life of a full family. From the age of remembrance, for me, comes the feeling of hopelessness. I started my life with the strive to end it, and that continued for a very long time. At 10-years-old, I was prescribed an opiate for an appendectomy, and suddenly the world felt nice. I looked at my Mother with a gleaming smile and I said, “Mumma, I know why people do drugs now!” And from that moment on I knew I could escape.

And the day my Father flushed the extra pills down the toilet, I remember feeling the tearing of my chest wide-open. And I decided from that moment on that I’d do anything to make my heart whole again. I spent the rest of my days dreading to live through them, and using any excuse to run away that I could. Sometimes this meant actually running away, sleeping in the snow, self-injurious behaviors, drugs, alcohol, you name it. I ripped through cabinets and cardboard boxes to find anything that would make me feel like I wasn’t myself. I didn’t want to be me; I would’ve killed to be anything but me. When I was 15, I finally went off to my first treatment facility. I wish I could say it got better, but it got dramatically worse. I found myself falling deeper and deeper into the behaviors people didn’t want me to do. I began to rebel against everyone’s wishing for me, thinking that I was hurting them, but in reality, I was just destroying myself. I spent months in locked units, years in group homes, and what felt like an eternity in a soul that didn’t care for its carrier. The more and more I broke myself down, the harder and harder it got to change. I spent time in and out of sobriety since that first treatment center, but I never stayed away from drugs and alcohol for too long. I always seemed to find my way back to it, or as it felt, it was finding its way back to me. I made excuses for my using more than I made excuses for anything else. I chose to leave behind everything and everyone I loved and who loved me. I broke my Mother’s heart more times than a heart can mend. I stayed sober for a while at 17, and on February 15th, 2016, my Mother died. After losing her, after losing the true key to my heart, I vowed to stop trying to end the life she worked so hard to keep from dying. I soon continued to use drugs and alcohol, eventually leading to IV drug use. And after running from my life as much as I could, I died. I remember one second, and then in the literal blink of the eye, I woke up on the floor surrounded by paramedics telling me I had just taken my first breath on my own. In that moment, I realized, doing drugs, drinking, all that shit, I was doing exactly what I promised my Mother I would stop doing: killing myself. I wish I could say I stayed sober after that, but I didn’t. I thought that because I had reached a year of sobriety after that overdose that I was “safe” to drink and smoke like a “regular person”. Little did I know, I’m not regular; I’m an all-or-nothing idiot who won’t stop whatever I’m doing until I can’t feel or see what’s happening in my world. And I made a choice; about 3 years after my overdose, I decided it was time to stop. It was time to stop destroying my life, destroying my career, destroying any love I had left for anything other than drugs and alcohol. I chose to change, and it wasn’t easy. At this point of my realization, I found Patricia Saint James. We talked, we shared, and as uncomfortable as it was for me to do, I wrote a rap and we recorded it over The Serenity Song. It’s hard for me to listen to my version because I’m my worst critic, like we all are. But I’d like to hope it would inspire those to do the same.

I’ve been fully sober for over a year now and I feel so incredibly honored to have shared this journey with this foundation. When I’m sober, when I’m off all that stuff, I’m the best Ava I can be. When I’m high or drunk, I’m not proud of myself. Will I always look back on the substances that made me feel like I wasn’t myself? yeah, I will. Because for a time I thought I knew love; I thought addiction was love. I thought drugs and alcohol were my truest passions in this world. But that love was one-sided, and my lover was trying to kill me. I’m not ashamed of my past; I’m not scared to say I am a recovering addict and alcoholic. What I’ve seen in this life is the reason I am the person I am today. And at least I can be proud of who my Mother’s child is turning out to be, instead of hiding beneath the blankets in the dark, waiting to perish. At least now, I can say I love living my life for the first time. Let’s Give It Up Foundation has helped me find that love I hid way deep inside myself with all the substances. With this program, I’ve found myself again; I’ve seen passion in my heart for art that I hadn’t seen in myself for a longer time than should’ve been. Active addiction rips away any and all passion; getting clean and sober brings back a new love and appreciation for a life we have forced ourselves to neglect. I deserved to live the life I wasted, but since I can’t take back that time, the only thing I can do is to change the way I live life from this point forward; just a day at a time. Join me in this journey.

My life, my love, and my story are forever in debts to my Angel, my Mother: Susan Ellen Blake.