The Power of Recovery: A Journey, A Mission, A Movement : Part II

April 14, 2025

Chad Perdue & Christy Perdue, Co-Authors

Tom O’Connor, Co-Author & Publisher

Topic

The Power of Recovery is based on the life journey of our co-author, Chad Perdue, as he confronted his substance use disorder alongside his wife, Christy Perdue, who offers her insights from her personal experiences.

In Part I of The Power Of Recovery, Chad shared how his addiction began and what changed his life. 

In Part II, Chad will share details about his present life and ongoing recovery. His wife, Christy, will share her life story and the factors that brought them together. 

According to Chad Perdue:

How It Is Now

Recovery wasn’t some grand revelation. No choir of angels, no booming voice from the sky, no moment where everything suddenly clicked into place. 

Substance Use Disorder Recovery and Treatment

After detox and inpatient, I went into sober living. Then, someone suggested a therapeutic community where they usually had people out for three months. I figured, alright, get in, get out, keep it moving.  Three years later, I graduated. That's when I learned the truth: Some are sicker than others.

For three years, I dug deep. I attended three brutal, 1.5-hour-long therapy sessions a week. Seven days a week of recovery meetings.  I surrounded myself with people who wouldn’t let me fail. And let’s be honest—I didn’t want to stop using drugs, not one bit. I wanted to recover. I tried to smile, for real, for once in my life. I wanted to be okay with myself. So I stayed. I stayed through the tears, the screaming, the days I tried to run. I stayed through COVID-19 while people fought over toilet paper and hoarded hand sanitizer; I was hoarding clean time and breakthroughs. And then? I finally saw a psychiatrist while sober. That was a trip. We played with different chemicals, trying to get my brain right. No narcotics—just serious medications. It was so severe that I ended up with one final DUI. My seventh DUI.

Three years into recovery. Detox, rehab, the clubhouse, condemned sober living, stepped-up therapeutic community—I had a damn driver’s license for the first time. And still, I got an effin’ DUI on mental health meds.

Enter Kentucky Court. 

The judge? Good ol’ boy. The gold spit bucket is sitting right there on the bench. And this man? Precision. Every time he leaned back in his seat, five feet, dead center, right in the bucket. This should have been “Welcome to Sh*t’s Creek—no paddle for you.”But my people showed up. The therapeutic community showed up. My counselors showed up. Even my damn doctor showed up. 

I still had to go to jail. And when I got out? Five years of the strictest parole conditions ever. GPS and Alcohol Monitoring — two bracelets on my legs (not gold ones, either). I had to call a number daily and listen for my number or color. If they said “evens,” or “red,” or the number “6”, I had to go in. For five years, I did this dance. That was my God keeping me accountable, back to the Block.

Homefront

When I left the therapeutic community, I was heading back to my house. My neighborhood. At my home front, we ran an open-air drug market. And my homeboys and homegirls? They didn’t know what to do with sober Chad. First reaction? I was DEA, CIA, and FBI. I was different until I sat them down and told them the truth. I broke our number one rule. I used our product. And it had nothing to do with them—it was me. I was the problem.

So, I made some choices:

• I stopped gambling. (Because losing mortgage payments on a “sure thing” wasn’t the move.)

• I deleted the numbers. (Because every time I relapsed, I called for it first.)

• I stopped touching, smelling, and even seeing the product. (If I had, I’d have justified using it.)

I kept it honest: I can’t be trusted around the stash. And that was that. Stacking W’s. At some point, the small W’s started turning into BIG W’s. Brushed my teeth daily. Took real showers. Put on fresh socks. Stopped using shampoo as body wash. Realized “clean enough” isn’t clean. 

And then? I started thinking bigger. I got my teeth handled. For years, my teeth were a casualty of war. I figured the damage was done. But now? Nah. New smile. New confidence. New me. Hollywood White baby! My wife would not allow me the gold or platinum ones I wanted. So yeah—my perspective has shifted.

I still have both feet in recovery. I still hit my meetings and surround myself with people who keep me accountable. Still, deal with mental health issues. And 1000% if I were to put dope in my pocket, I would use it.  I don’t just want to be sober. I want to live. And if I can do it? We all can do it.

According to Christy Perdue:

I met Chad in high school. I was 14, and he was friends with my older brother. Like any good brother would do, mine asked me to leave his friend alone when questioned who the tall, handsome guy was. And, of course, I did what any good younger sister would do and started dating him. We dated briefly, but then I moved out of town, and we would eventually lose touch.

Fast-forward 18 years. Both of us are divorced with kids, and we reconnected on Facebook. Our first conversation lasted over five hours, and the second lasted six. We picked up right where we had left off nearly two decades earlier. If everyone has a soulmate, Chad is mine. We started dating in 2010, got engaged in 2011, and married by 2012, blending our family of seven.

Two Marriages with Addicts

I must preface our story of addiction with my past. You see, my last marriage was to a person with an addiction. My ex started off taking pain pills that he was prescribed. He then abused them, and before you know it, he was addicted to them. When I found out he had five doctors giving him pain pills, I gave him two options: get clean or get out. He couldn’t get clean, so he got out, went continuously downhill, using heroin, cocaine, and whatever he could get a hold of, and eventually died.  Not only did he end up dying, but he passed away while our kids were at his house, during their first visit with their dad in over three years, on his first day home from rehab.  Yes, he died the day he got out, after being clean for 10 months, and was found by the kids.

So, I made it pretty clear when Chad and I first connected on Facebook that if he had ANYTHING to do with drugs, he should not bother calling me. Chad told me about his dad having an addiction, how my story resonated with him, and how he would never put me or my kids in that position again. People with an addiction are good at lying and manipulating. To his credit, he was on Suboxone and thought he had his addiction under control, which for a while he did. Until he didn’t…

Shortly after we were married, I noticed Chad acting differently. He was falling asleep sitting up, lying about little things that seemingly didn’t matter, and then about things that did matter. I had seen it in my past and tried so hard to ignore it because what are the odds I would have to go through this again? Because, you know, it was about me at this time.

I broke down when I stopped ignoring the obvious signs. I loved Chad and the life we were building so much. I decided this was my opportunity to help him instead of giving up like I did in my last marriage. I would fight to keep it as long as he was willing to fight. 

So, off to rehab, he went. He would come home and do great for months, and then there would be signs. He slept during the day, his pupils were pinned, the money went missing, his speech was slow and slurred, and I was being gaslit. 

I reached out to recovering people with an addiction across the country, who helped me compile a book called Get Clean. Stay There (published on Amazon). It was a compilation of stories from people with an addiction who figured out the secret to recovery. I wanted to know how some people got clean and stayed there while others ended up dead, in jail, or battling demons their whole lives. I found a common denominator. No one in that book wanted to be an addict. They used, then abused, and before they even knew it, they were addicted. They didn’t know how not to be. When everyone told their story of use, abuse, addiction, and finally recovery, I was surprised to read that there wasn’t “an answer.” There were several. Every story differed from the one before it. Some leaned on their religion, some attended meetings, many cut people off, and others had to move. Ultimately, they had to be sick and tired of being sick and tired, and they had to change the surrounding people, places, or things related to their addiction. 

I begged Chad to read it and do what the recovering addicts in my book were doing. It was my way of trying to fight for his life, our life. I figured I had tried everything I knew how to do (threaten, support, shame, ignore, beg, plead, cry, pray, and wait), and since it wasn’t working, hopefully, someone who added to this book could shed some light.

I kept fighting until I realized I couldn’t. I was done. I knew I couldn’t help Chad. Chad had to support himself. One of the hardest lessons I have learned throughout my role in his addiction is that you can’t want something for someone more than they want it for themselves. 

Another Divorce

I had nine toes out the door, and the 10th one finally joined during Christmas of 2017 when Chad stole money from one of the kids. That was the final straw for me. He tried and tried (or so he said), and I decided he had enough time and wasn’t going to get clean and stay there, so I wasn’t going to watch him kill himself or tear our family any further apart. I wasn’t in a place where I could be supportive of him, and I was in denial that I also needed support. I was angry, frustrated, heartbroken, disappointed, and didn’t understand how anyone could choose drugs over their family. What I ended up learning, or at least my understanding of addiction, is that people decide to try drugs. They even choose to misuse and abuse drugs. But I don’t believe anyone chooses addiction.  

I filed for divorce in 2018, moved out of our home, and eventually moved four states away. I changed my job, home, and marital status within two months. Talk about a mid-life crisis! I felt like I was in survival mode. As difficult as life was for me then, I knew Chad’s life would become even more challenging. I felt selfish. I also felt a massive relief and guilt for looking out for myself. 

Three years after we split up, I would send Chad a message wishing him a happy birthday, and it was met with a different response this time. We texted back and forth and ended up having an actual conversation. It sounded like the Chad I once knew, but seemingly even better. I didn’t want to have false hope, and I didn’t know my expectations because I had had hope followed by letdowns before. In the back of my mind, I felt from our first phone conversation that we would end up back together. It took us several trips back and forth from Ohio to Florida to rebuild that trust. It took more boundaries, a ridiculous amount of understanding, counseling, and time to return to where we knew we could be. But we got there.

Chad and I remarried in 2024. Our family is back together, stronger than ever. We go to church, and we pray daily. We remember where we were and are so grateful for where we are. We are thankful that people and their families recover with consistency and desire. 

If you want further information from either Chad or Christy, their email addresses are as follows:

• Chad Perdue mr.chadperdue@yahoo.com

• Christy Perdue christy.perdue@ymail.com