How Hopkins Medical Association Helped Me Rebuild My Body, Mind, and Spirit

It Wasn’t Just the Drugs; It Was My Whole Body Breaking Down

I didn’t wake up one day in Richlands, Virginia and say, “I want to become addicted to meth and fentanyl.” My descent wasn’t fast—it was slow, sneaky, and brutal. By the time I realized how far I had fallen, it wasn’t just the addiction that had consumed me—it was the medical fallout that came with it. That’s the part most people don’t see.

Yes, I was using every day. Yes, I was chasing that numb, float-away feeling that fentanyl gave me, or the edge and energy I craved from meth. But while I was doing that, my body was shutting down.

I had lost over 40 pounds in less than a year. My teeth were crumbling in my mouth. I had developed constant skin abscesses and sores from injecting and scratching. My vision blurred constantly. I coughed up blood more than once but was too scared to go to the hospital. My heart would race at night so violently that I thought I’d die in my sleep.

What scared me more than anything, though, was the mental unraveling. I was hallucinating—seeing shadows and hearing voices. My paranoia became so intense that I’d stay locked in a room for days, convinced someone was watching me. I’d gone weeks without sleeping, and I hadn’t eaten a real meal in even longer. I didn’t just feel sick—I was sick.

I was living with untreated infections, malnutrition, heart arrhythmias, possible organ damage, and serious mental health disorders like PTSD and severe anxiety. But when you’re trapped in addiction, you don’t have the capacity—or the resources—to treat those things. All I could think about was the next high. And the deeper I fell into that cycle, the sicker I became.

Addiction almost killed me. But it was the combination of medical neglect, untreated illness, and overwhelming hopelessness that nearly finished the job.

Why Recovery Was More Than Just Getting “Clean”

People sometimes think recovery means just stopping drugs. And while that’s a part of it, it’s so much bigger than that. For me, recovery meant coming back to life—physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. It meant addressing all the damage I had done to my body and my mind—and learning how to heal from the inside out.

My Physical Health Was the First Step

Once I got clean, the first thing I noticed was how much my body had been begging me to stop. The sores on my arms finally started to close. My digestion improved. My face filled back out. I started drinking water, eating food, and sleeping through the night—things I hadn’t done in years. Most importantly, I got tested and began treatment for hepatitis C. I saw a doctor for the first time in forever who listened—who didn’t look at me like I was too far gone.

I Got My Mind Back

I didn’t realize how fogged up my brain was until the fog started to lift. In recovery, I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and major depressive disorder. Therapy helped me understand that I’d been self-medicating deep emotional pain from past trauma. With proper medication, support groups, and daily coping skills, I could finally think clearly. I wasn’t afraid of my own thoughts anymore.

I Rebuilt Relationships

Recovery gave me back my relationships. I wrote letters of apology. I started attending family support meetings. I even got invited to my nephew’s birthday party last year—something I never thought I’d live to see. I’m still working to rebuild trust, but every day that I stay sober is a brick in the foundation of that trust.

I Found a Reason to Keep Going

The biggest gift of recovery was finding purpose. I began volunteering at a local shelter. I shared my story in group meetings and helped others take their first steps. I now see myself as someone with value—someone whose life matters. That’s not something I believed back in my using days.

Why Hopkins Medical Association Made All the Difference

I tried to get clean before. I detoxed on my own. I went to a couple meetings. But nothing stuck until I got whole-person care from Hopkins Medical Association. It wasn’t just about addiction treatment—it was about treating me as a full, complicated, hurting human being. And that made all the difference.

They Treated My Medical Conditions, Not Just My Addiction

At Hopkins, they didn’t send me away because I was too complicated. They ran bloodwork. They checked my heart. They helped treat my infections, arranged for a dental consult, and managed my chronic fatigue. I got on a medical treatment plan that addressed everything I was going through—not just my drug use.

Their medical team helped me manage my hepatitis C, worked on stabilizing my nutritional deficiencies, and tracked the healing of my injection wounds and abscesses. They also helped me understand the toll meth and fentanyl had taken on my heart, lungs, and nervous system—and gave me the tools to start repairing that damage.

Medication-Assisted Treatment (MAT) with Dignity and Support

I was started on Suboxone, which helped calm my cravings, level out my mood, and gave me the mental space to focus on recovery. It wasn’t a crutch—it was a ladder. MAT gave me the strength to engage in therapy, show up for appointments, and rebuild a daily routine.

There was no shame in it at Hopkins. They explained the science behind MAT, helped me understand how it worked in my body, and made it a central part of my care plan. They combined it with therapy and chronic care support so I never felt like I was just “switching addictions.”

Therapy and Mental Health Care That Got to the Root

Hopkins offered me trauma-informed therapy, which was essential because I had years of bottled-up pain and unresolved trauma. They helped me deal with the root causes of my addiction—not just the symptoms. I met weekly with a licensed therapist, and even had access to psychiatric evaluations that led to proper diagnosis and medication management.

Their team didn’t treat me like a list of problems—they treated me like a survivor. And that empowered me to start believing in myself again.

Chronic Care Management and Ongoing Support

I was enrolled in their Chronic Care Management (CCM) program, which means someone was checking in on my vitals, meds, lab work, and goals regularly. That gave me structure. It kept me accountable. It reminded me that someone cared enough to keep showing up for me.

They also helped coordinate other services like food assistance, transportation, and even peer recovery coaching. I never felt alone or forgotten.

They’re Local, Accessible, and Understand Our Community

Richlands is a small town. You can feel invisible here when you’re struggling. But Hopkins is in our backyard—and they get it. They know the toll addiction has taken on Southwest Virginia. They know how poverty, isolation, and stigma make things worse. And they’ve built a clinic that works for people like us—not just some generic program copied from a big city.

They meet you where you are, whether that means flexible appointments, help with insurance, or just someone to talk to when the cravings hit.

If You’re Still in the Fight—You Don’t Have to Do It Alone

If you’re reading this and still using, or struggling with the aftermath of use, I want you to know something:

You’re not the only one.

You’re not too far gone.
You’re not too broken.
You’re not beyond help.

I lived with open wounds, liver damage, mental illness, shame, and silence. And I found a way forward.

With the help of Hopkins Medical Association, I found a path to health, recovery, and hope. And you can, too.

Take the First Step—Hopkins Medical Association Is Ready to Help

Whether you’re struggling with fentanyl, meth, or the long list of medical complications that come with it, Hopkins Medical Association can help. You don’t need to have everything figured out. You just need to be willing to take that first brave step.

You Were Meant for More Than Survival—You Were Meant to Live

Not just exist.
Not just get through the day.
Live. Fully.

With health.
With hope.
With purpose.

Hopkins Medical Association helped me find that life again—and they can help you, too.

Make the call. Show up once. Stay open. Everything else will follow.