It’s one thing to leave a bad habit.
I wasn’t just a witness to the mess. I was the architect.
I was dating the dealer. I was moving the weight. I was the one people called when they wanted to lose themselves.
I wasn't just in the fire; I was the fuel.
And when you decide to stop burning, the people who were using your heat to stay warm get real cold, real fast.
The Loyalty of the Lost
In that life, we talk a lot about "loyalty."
But the truth? It isn’t loyalty. It’s a mutual agreement to keep the fire going so nobody has to look at the dark.
When I was the girl with the drugs and the "dangerous" boyfriend, I was surrounded by people.
I thought I had a tribe.
I thought I had a family.
I didn't realize that they didn't love me—they loved the access I provided. They loved the drama. They loved that as long as I was the "biggest mess," they didn't have to worry about their own.
The Quiet Exit
When I stopped, I expected a confrontation. I expected people to fight for me.
Instead, most of them just... vanished.
It turns out, when you stop being the fuel, you become useless to the fire.
The hardest part of this "majick" isn't just getting clean or staying safe. It’s the silence that follows. It’s the realization that the "ride or die" lifestyle was actually just a "die" lifestyle, and you were the only one who decided to live.
Saying Goodbye to the Villain
To the world, I was a dealer. I was a problem. I was a "bad person."
And I had to own that.
But I also had to grieve that girl. Because even though she was destructive, she was powerful. She was "somebody."
Moving into the light meant becoming a "nobody" for a while.
It meant trading the high-stakes adrenaline of the street for the mundane task of grocery shopping and feeding a dog.
It felt like a funeral.
I had to bury the version of me that knew how to navigate the dark so that the version of me that deserves the light could finally breathe.
Why You Can't Go Back, They don't want the new you.
Your peace is an insult to people who are still in the chaos. When you show them it’s possible to leave, you become a mirror they don't want to look into.
The "High" is a Lie.
The adrenaline of that life is just a distraction from the fact that you are terrified. Safety is "boring" only because it’s unfamiliar.
You owe them nothing.
You might feel guilty for leaving them behind. Don't. You aren't "saving" anyone by staying in the fire with them. You are just burning together.
The Bottom Line
If you had to walk away from a partner, a paycheck, and a "family" to find your peace—you did the right thing.
It’s okay to miss the power. It’s okay to feel lonely in the quiet.
But don't you dare mistake that loneliness for a reason to go back.
The funeral is over.
The fire is out.
Now, it's time to see what you can build with the ashes.
