By Nicholas Mercier (Overcoming Addiction)

    I have landed softly at Freedom’s Door, as though on angel’s breath, my feet lighter on the earth than they have ever been. It is Monday, the fourth or perhaps fifth day since I arrived last Thursday. Today I rose at five a.m.—a promise kept to myself from yesterday—a victory that tastes sweet, yet humble, like cool water in the desert.

    Humility, I find, comes easier now, shaped by the blade of repeated failure. Each stumble grinds down the jagged edges of my pride, revealing a softer, truer core.

If I cast my eyes back to nearly a year ago, when I first came to Freedom’s Door, I was a man hopped up on steroids, striding in swollen with ego, cloaked in heavy clothes and jewelry—trappings of a self I was desperately trying to create. A costume of the “new Nicholas,” even though I had no idea who Nicholas truly was, neither in addiction nor in the years long before it.

    Today, I walk slower. My footfalls land softer. My spirit is more open—willing to bend, willing to learn, willing to love.

    I am visited by dreams—astonishing, vivid, electric dreams that rush at me with shocking colours, strange symbols, and feelings that ripple through my waking mind. They’re sometimes terrifying, sometimes erotic, sometimes deeply spiritual, leaving echoes behind my eyelids. Sleep is no longer a dark ocean I dread, but a quick dive into another realm.

    I have laid down marijuana once again over the past ninety days—a triumph etched into my bones. So often, I’ve returned to cannabis for comfort, for escape, for a gentle cushion against the world’s edge. Yet now, though the memories remain—and though I still savour the fragrance when it drifts past—I feel no desire to spark it into flame.

    I pray to my Lord Jesus Christ that He transfers this same deliverance, this same freedom from craving, to my battle with the deeper, darker lure of crack cocaine.

    Earlier this year, I left the program just days shy of graduating to move in with a friend and business partner I’d met inside. From the day we stepped outside those walls until mere days before I returned, I became completely lost, ensnared by addiction’s iron claws.

    What began as cocaine spiralled into crack—a darker adaptation. I found myself anchored to a couch for months on end, my dog beside me as I drowned in grief, self-loathing, and relentless self-sabotage. Crack cocaine. Cannabis. Alcohol. Each a different demon, yet all speaking the same twisted language of escape.

    Those months were a demonic battle—a crucible of anger, hostility, frustration, and bondage. I tasted the thought of death more than once. Rage lived in me, sometimes aimed at myself, sometimes at my roommate. Other times, I was a man so hollow I cared nothing for my life, nor for the cost of my actions.

    I juggled debts in a vicious dance—taking one to pay another, rotating the wheel of obligation, always owing, always pursued. Never leaving the dealer without his pipe or his payment, though he’d wait longer than promised.

    Through six or seven months of relapse, I slipped in and out of NA rooms, collecting those small plastic tokens like fragile medals of war. I’ve got perhaps fifteen of those key fobs, and now, I look forward to watching their colours deepen as my days of sobriety lengthen—a tangible rainbow of redemption.

    I ache for a relationship that’s true and raw and holy—a bond built on vulnerability and love, not fantasy and escape. I yearn to grow closer to Jesus Christ, the Father, and the Holy Spirit. I crave peace. I long to transmute the fire of my old desires into a burning passion for life—for discovery, for travel, for purpose, for the quiet pleasure that comes from giving back and knowing myself and my God more deeply.

    I pray my damaged relationships will heal in time, and I believe they will. I forgive those who trespassed against me, and each day I beg forgiveness for my own failings.

    I’m eager to return to the gym. My body calls for motion, for strength, for rebuilding. And my gratitude toward Freedom’s Door—and to my Lord—is immeasurable. They welcomed me back with open arms.

    Sex. Drugs. Alcohol. These have been formidable giants in my life, shaping my story for many years. It’s fascinating to witness how my personality shifts, subtly or sharply, as each day of sobriety passes. I’m wrestling old habits, untangling reactive, blaming, self-serving thoughts. Instead, I strive to be calm, forgiving, kind—to be of service, the way so many have been of service to me.

    I’m honoured to be here. I no longer want to live self-seeking, self-serving, self-sabotaging, or selfish. I want to learn to love, to grow, to support—to become a beacon of hope, a pillar of guidance for those who still wander where I once wandered.

    All it takes to lead is to be three steps ahead. And by grace, I’m at least a few steps ahead of the man I used to be. That alone gives me hope that one day, when I’ve put in the work and earned the right, I’ll be ready to help someone else find the door to freedom.

    Right now, I sit beneath the cross at the Wild Goose Chapel, gazing up at the clouds. My prayer is that the blood of Jesus washes over all of us here at Freedom’s Door, protecting and purifying us.

I am forever grateful and indebted to Jesus Christ, my Father, and to the Holy Spirit who pulses like living water in my chest. The Living God is my quest, my purpose, my future.

    I yearn for relationships that will last a lifetime, forged in truth and love. And each morning I wake up sober, I give thanks to God.

    Thank you. Amen.