The Exhaustion of Being in Active Addiction

April 20, 2026

Author of the Month

Michael Cline, Author and Freelance Writer

Tom O'Connor, Publisher

My name is Michael, and I'm an addict and an alcoholic. Although I'm 26 years heroin-free and 16 years sober, these two labels I still stubbornly hold onto. Part of me feels as if I need to identify daily with who I was, while the other half wants to live a sober lifestyle without the stigma of my past. Fortunately, I'm no longer running on the treadmill of drugs and booze that never lead to anywhere positive.

For anyone beginning their journey down the path of active addiction, I can tell you with great certainty that you never realize you're on the wrong path until it's too late. Those couple of beers to numb the workday away can easily become a fifth of bottom-shelf booze to stop your hands from trembling. And that inviting line of coke or dope with friends at the nightclub somehow eventually ends up in a needle, and your arms are loaded with holes, regret, and shame.

This is how it happens. What first appears to be a way to blow off steam, relax, or maybe numb the pain from some kind of trauma can quickly become a demon that demands to be fed. You can no longer function normally without that drink, pill, or other substance. For some of us, the transition from occasional user to full-fledged addict can happen fast. And once it does, it's exhausting.

It's like a full-time job with endless overtime and no benefits.

My dive into heroin addiction began when I was living in the East Village neighborhood of downtown Manhattan several decades ago. This occurred at a time when purchasing drugs of any kind, mainly heroin or crack, was as easy as buying the New York Times from a corner bodega. No one batted an eye at street drug sales, not even the police, who disregarded the neighborhood's primary source of income for young street-smart entrepreneurs.

Although dope was widely available, I never really had an interest in trying it. I knew it was bad news, and I had a healthy fear of getting anywhere near its deadly grip. However, once a neatly placed and harmless-looking line presented itself to me, I dove into the deep end of the pool. I was open to experimentation, but believed that I was smart enough not to get hooked.

Within three months, I had progressed from sniffing lines of dope a couple of times on the weekends to mainlining it several times a day. I thought I had found my miracle cure, the thing that quieted the childhood trauma that I had for years tried to suppress. What I had actually discovered was the substance that would take everything away from me slowly over time.

Soon, I had reached the point where I could no longer work due to my addiction. But one needs money to buy drugs, so I went from working 40 hours a week to working almost every single hour that I was conscious. I drained my savings and sold every last thing of value I had. My every waking moment went to finding ways to come up with the cash to buy the dope that my mind and body craved.

The life of an active addict is a merry-go-round ride of the same day, every day. Wake up dope sick, figure out a way to get money, buy the drugs that I needed to function, repeat. It was a 24-hour-a-day job with no benefits, no paycheck, and no time off. It was pure hell.

The absolute worst part of the job of active addiction is that you don't get to take a sick day, and without a fix every few hours, you are most definitely sick. I can recall on more than one occasion being incredibly dope sick, but I had to hustle up ten dollars for a bag so that I could feel normal. There was no high involved anymore. Trying to hustle when dope sick is like trying to swim while wearing boots. It can be done, but it's not easy.

I lived this horrible lifestyle for about six years. Towards the end of my career as a professional heroin addict, I quit several times, only to be pulled back into the gutter due to the obsession to use and stupidly thinking, "Well, I've been clean for two weeks, I deserve a bag. I'll only do it one more time." Fortunately, I'm now celebrating 26 years heroin-free.

Eventually, I quit my job as a full-time drug addict. Sadly, the pink cloud of early recovery didn't last long, and like changing seats on the Titanic, I swapped the needle for the bottle. "Heroin is illegal, but booze isn't, so I'll be fine," is what I told myself.

What started as a beer or a glass of wine with dinner spiraled into a liter of vodka every day, even more on the weekends when I wasn't working. This is precisely what you have to look forward to if you have alcoholism. It stops being fun and starts being necessary.

I never felt like "me" until I had a minimum of a pint of straight vodka in my gut, and it had to be consumed from the bottle within a minute or two. That's how low I had sunk. My return to drinking didn't start like this, but it most certainly did end up there.

Somehow, perhaps by the grace of whatever deity watches over me, I never got a DUI, nor did I lose a job because of my drinking. But that's not to say that I was careful or safe with my toxic relationship with the bottle. While I never drank on the job, I was, however, usually hungover for the first few hours of every workday.

Like most alcoholics, my biggest fear (other than getting caught sneaking quick mouthfuls of the booze I'd hide strategically) was being somewhere that didn't serve alcohol. This could be at a friend's backyard BBQ or a new restaurant. So, to ensure I had an ample supply at any given moment, a vodka-filled water bottle would do the trick. And if someone asked for a sip because they were thirsty, I'd tell them that I was coming down with a cold and didn't want them to get sick.

I wound up in the same predicament as I did as a heroin addict. My body and mind needed alcohol, and it became tiring trying to hide my drunkenness from friends, family, and romantic partners. They all knew that I was a drinker, but somehow I was able to hide exactly how much I was consuming daily. It became very tiring, and the guilt of lying to those people I cared about brought a lot of hidden shame to my life.

Fifteen years ago, I had my last drink along with my last hangover. Luckily for me, it was much easier than giving up heroin. Once I finally admitted to myself that I had a problem—a big one—I surrendered. I can honestly say that I've had very few moments when I wanted to drink, and those moments haven't lasted longer than a millisecond.

No matter your circumstances, life becomes worlds easier when we give up these addictive substances that completely control our lives. There's no perfect scenario for drinking or drugging, something that would justify a relapse. And as any addict or alcoholic in recovery will tell you, once the fog clears, life does get better.

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Michael Cline can be reached at michaelcline2323@gmail.com.

Michael is the author of: NEW YORK CITY JUNKY DAYS and its sequel NEW YORK RECOVERY DAYS, both available on Lulu.

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