The Early Years and the First Detox

I remember when I first started going into rehabs and treatment, they'd say relapse is part of the process. I honestly hated that saying. My body would tense up.

Playing sports my whole life, I understood commitment and working within a system. But that saying also made me question whether recovery was even possible. The younger, more defensive version of me kind of enjoyed using it as an excuse — and I think part of me despised that side of myself.

I don't have a number for you. I think relapse is a unique experience, but there are some commonalities in why it happens and how we respond.

My First Detox — Acadia University

The first detox I ever had, I didn't even know I was dependent. I had just returned to Acadia University in Wolfville, Nova Scotia. I couldn't sleep. I had anxiety — which up to that point I had never really experienced.

I was detoxing off oxys. I went to a student walk-in clinic and made up a story about back spasms. I had never experienced restless legs until that point in my life.

It lasted around five days, but ultimately it passed. I got busy with football and school, and I told myself over the Christmas break: that wasn't so bad. I'll just stop snorting and pop them on weekends. Forever the deal-maker with myself — the start of pushing the line on my own ethics, morals, and self-respect for the next decade or two.

My First Jail Detox — Canada Day 2011

The first time I experienced withdrawal in jail was Canada Day 2011. I was hiding in my old childhood room, warrants out, my parents gone, and the cops rolling in.

I tried to hide above the furnace. They caught me, handcuffed me, and transported me to the Guelph police precinct. Pretty quickly it hit me: the joke was over, I wanted to go home. Then I got angry and escalated — yelling, crying, acting like a toddler, throwing myself against the plexiglass. I even pretended to rip my underwear and tried to fake a hanging.

I was eventually transferred to Maplehurst. I was really sick over a few days. I didn't understand prison rules. At one point I used a phone that belonged to someone else on the range. Someone told me it wasn't mine to use. I didn't really care.

Then I saw the guy coming down the stairs. He was practically running at me. When he got close I hit him with the phone. The next thing I knew I was dragged into the shower and beaten up.

Jail detoxes saved my life. There are immediate consequences, and I found they helped me turn my brain off — stop the constant scheming for another hit.

After that, things changed. I stayed on the range, asked what the rules were, and learned them quickly. That was a lesson I never forgot. I learned there's another set of rules. I learned that if I went to jail, I would get clean before I got out.

Withdrawal Management Detoxes

I found withdrawal management detox harder than jail detox — that's my unpopular opinion. I end up in the staff room saying I'm calling my dad, then I beg him for money, call him repeatedly while he's at work, escalate, and leave.

I did successfully quit in a detox twice. The first was in 2012 when I first got to Ottawa. I went from detox to a sobriety house. During that process my world opened up to street life — detoxes and shelters that would be a big part of my life whenever I wasn't in custody or healthy and roofing.

The second time I successfully quit in a detox was probably my most successful comeback. I ended up in Owen Sound, Ontario — coming from Ottawa, really sick off fentanyl and benzos. I was on methadone. I ended up quitting all of it. I was in detox for a month. I had a very minor episode of psychosis — sleep deprivation mostly — but it opened my eyes to what these drugs can actually do to your perception and your grip on reality.

My Worst Experience — 2023

My worst detox was my last. I've suffered worse consequences in my life — I've served federal time. But the amount of damage I did to my brain in 2023, in such a short period of time, was something else.

I had a seizure quitting dope in Deep River. I should have been hospitalized. I refused treatment and ended up locked in a cell, incontinent.

Later I had another seizure on a big flat roof while roofing. I recognized the warning signs and walked to the drain in the middle before I lost consciousness. The next thing I remember was paramedics climbing down a ladder. I came to halfway down. That was luck.

Then in the fall I ended up in provincial jail with a very complicated withdrawal — seizure, delirium, emergency transfer to hospital, shackled to a gurney with two guards watching over me.

What I learned: be honest with healthcare. For some reason I never knew how to advocate for myself, or I believed they wouldn't help me, or I'd be judged. I let things escalate into dangerous situations regarding my brain — because at some point you know you're not thinking straight, and that's terrifying.

I'm extremely lucky to still have my cognitive health. The biggest thing I learned: be honest. It's not easy. I thought no one cared. I believed I'd be judged.

Withdrawal used to mean a few miserable days. With the modern drug supply, it can mean seizures, delirium, and a hospital bed — if you're lucky enough to make it there.

The drug supply right now is nothing like we've ever seen — and it's my belief that we're going to see a significant spike in delirium and seizures over the next few years, as unregulated benzos and xylazine become more common in the supply.