So, you’ve found yourself at a crossroads. I can’t help but admire the guts it takes to stand where you’re standing, teetering on the edge of real change. I know it takes a mountain of courage to reach that flicker of hope where ‘maybe this time it could be different?’ The realisation that a life unshackled from the relentless grip of addiction could become a reality for you.

You may feel like you’ve been down this road before. Gripping the reigns of sobriety so tightly that your knuckles turn white, all to find yourself back to your old habits once again. I’ve been there before (hundreds of times) with each misstep bombarding us with more shame, more guilt, more lies, more deception, more masking, and more disconnection.

That’s something us addicts all have in common. We certainly are connoisseurs when it comes to the realm of ‘more’. More booze, more bongs, more lines, more hits, more pills, more social media, more binge watching, more fast food, more money, more gambling, more pornography, more risk taking, more, more, more.

 

But we soon realise that this addiction to more becomes a never-ending cycle of feeling less.

 

That ‘numbness’, the unique brand of emptiness, that only us addicts can truly understand and empathise with.

 

We all have our ‘poison’ of choice. Our twisted love affair. It becomes our world, and its seductive siren causes us to do the most creative things. We even surprise ourselves with our level of ingenuity in becoming reunited with it once again.

 

I’ve scaled absurd heights to get my fix. I’m sure you have too. In sober reflection we look back on these times with shock. If only we channelled that same ambition, hunger, and creativity towards something that breathed life into us?

 

But instead, time and time again we trade banquets for mud pies. Sure, it looks good on the outside but inside it’s just muck. The result? Depression, mental health issues, eating disorders, suicidal ideation, complete disconnection, and a life playing in our own filth.

 

This is the addicts’ lament: we loathe the life we’ve created yet chase fleeting moments of ‘okay-ness’, post-fix, to survive just another day. It’s a cycle that spins endlessly into more destruction and despair.

 

We become master illusionists, always performing, striving to reach the pinnacle of intoxication undetected. Are we fooling anyone? We like to think so.

 

But gradually, our grip on reality slips. We invest so deeply in our fabricated worlds that the line between fact and fiction blurs.

 

Am I going crazy? Have I lost my mind? Am I at a point of no return?

 

Sometimes, the thought of abandoning everything seems like the path of least resistance, and it's a perilous path that not all survive.

 

This book was born from two simple truths:

 

1. In my active addiction, I could never find a book that stripped down the raw essence of an addict’s life without the heavy cloak of clinical analysis.

2. The echoing questions on my social media accounts after being more public about my recovery asking, ‘How can I support a loved one struggling with addiction and depression?’ and ‘How did you actually break free from your addiction?’ – warranted a more solid answer than a quick, character limited, DM reply.

 

I want you to know that when I was in the depth of my addiction, I thought it was impossible to overcome. I assumed this would be something I’d struggle with for the rest of my life. You might be there too.

 

Counsellors, psychologists, psychiatrists, spiritual leaders, rehab stints, support groups, the latest pharmaceuticals, drastic lifestyle changes – you may have tried them all, only to circle back to square one, poison in hand, questioning 'how?'

 

I've been there, ticked all those boxes, and still found no solace.

 

My first dance with addiction began with marijuana and alcohol at the age of 12, a duet that consumed my very being until I was 33, despite a life that, to outsiders, seemed to have it all – family, success, material wealth, and a strong spiritual connection.

 

I was running multiple successful business turning over millions of dollars. I had my high school sweetheart (turned wife) underarm with our two beautiful daughters. I owned the latest BMW M3, had more toys than I could ever dream of and I owned the big executive home with expansive views. Moreso I was preaching and singing at my local church and impacting future generations.

 

Yet, inside, I was a void. A hollow man with a smiling face.

 

Daily, I was bombarded by dark thoughts, bouts of tears, and the latest way I could take my life.

 

In that desolate space, lies and isolation became my refuge, my home office a sanctuary where I’d numb myself with 20 cones a day and half a dozen beers, functioning, yet far from living.

The birth of my son, Samuel ‘Sammy’ Claydon, should have been a turning point, but my descent only steeped. Post-rehab, I was still rebellious to my core. I was running from my purpose and identity founded in Christ.

 

I would wake up, immediately feel the sudden ‘dread’ of the day ahead and was bombarded with countless creative ideas to end it all. I cried in hiding, drove past too many trees with a thought of ‘you could just crash into that’ and was hoping one day I might just overdose my way out of it. My family and friends will discover this truth for the first time reading these very words. I was so embarrassed. My public ‘outgoing’ persona matched in no way to my internal turmoil.

 

“My soul is not well, my wellbeing in shambles,” this became my silent mantra as I swallowed the pain each day, all under the guise of a brave and ‘enthusiastic’ façade.

 

It all felt impossible. The only answer I could think of was to lie through my teeth and isolate as much as I could. I hated every time I did it but couldn’t break the cycle no matter how much striving I put into it.

 

Smoking weed and day drinking became my functional saviour. Utilising my ‘first loves’ just to get through another day. I worked, was ultra-productive, drove around everywhere (even though I knew I shouldn’t), travelled internationally, closed deals, worked on my software start-up, I did it all!

 

Just in a ‘permastoned’ kind of way.

 

I came to realise that the birth of my son unearthed some unresolved trauma in my life. It seemed like spending four weeks in a private rehab, attending NA meetings weekly and having all the ‘accountability groups’ under the sun weren’t enough to give me the breakthrough I so desired.

 

The false reality of ‘I’m getting better’ came crashing down and my wife Anna decided it was time for me to pack my bags and really reassess my life. She couldn’t live with the lies and deceit anymore and I couldn’t blame her for a second! My son was only a month old, and I spent the next month of his life away and out of the Claydon family home.

 

I’ll never forget reversing down the driveway that Saturday morning, tears streaming down my cheeks, anger pulsating through my veins and fists, saying goodbye to everything I had built and loved over the past twelve years. It was the lowest point of my life.

 

For the next thirty days, I found myself adrift, hopping from my business partner’s couch to the familiar yet distant comfort of my parents’ home, before winding up alone in a Sydney hotel room.

 

I must confess, there was a part of me that felt invigorated by the illusion of ‘freedom.’ At last, it seemed I could live unrestrained, acting on impulse without the weight of consequence or the sting of guilt.

 

How wrong I was.

 

Here I was, being separated from the people I loved more than anything in the world yet still I couldn’t shake my addictive patterns. Some say addicts need to hit ‘rock bottom’ before they experience any real change. Here I was 6ft below rock bottom, still powerless to change. I’ve come to realise that rock bottom isn’t an external kick to the teeth that shakes you back into reality, rock bottom occurs when you stop digging.

 

In the solitude of those moments, my mind was a battleground of conflicting voices: one urging me to pull my life together, warning of a future marred by divorce and unending addiction; the other revelling in newfound liberation, tempting me to embrace the chaos. This internal clash between redemption and ruin was relentless, a seesaw of emotions that left me bouncing like a yoyo – an undiagnosed dance with Bipolar 2 disorder, which I’ll delve into later.

 

This tug-of-war within is at the heart of all inner torment. You probably know it all too well. A part of us recognises our potential for greatness, while another, darker part whispers that ruin is our only destiny.

 

There were times I genuinely wondered if ending my life was the only sole escape from this excruciating pendulum. Tragically, this cliff edge is all too familiar. Us addicts certainly know how to go ‘all in’, the thrill of total loss is eerily attractive to us. All or nothing, that’s where we like to play.

 

But over time that flickering light of hope shone a little brighter. The demons were put back in their rightful place (the pits of hell) and freedom ever so slowly began to emerge. Oh, how I delight in the fact that no amount of darkness can ever overcome even the smallest amount of light. We just need to keep that light alive, even if that looks like the tiniest of ember.

 

I’ve come to realise that addiction recovery is more like a maze to navigate rather than a straight line toward instant recovery. Sure, some people can ‘snap’ out of their addictions, never to be seen again, but for the overwhelming majority it’s certainly not the case.

 

It’s a game of two steps forward and one step back. Repeatedly. Until one day you realise just how far you’ve come.

 

This unending cycle of setbacks inflicts profound pain on those we hold dear. The uncertainty, the guarded hope – They’re justified in their caution, in the distance they keep while they gauge the solidity of our recovery. Yet, through the lens of our own struggle, the necessary space they create can feel like a fresh and familiar sting of abandonment, reinforcing the very core of addiction’s grasp.

 

Abandonment doesn’t always manifest in dramatic departures or stark absences, like a father who never shows up or a mother who walks away from their kids. Often, it starts as something small, an insidious notion planted early that grows unchecked with time.

 

It could be the invisible bruise left by childhood bullying, the rejection of not making the team, the cut of a teacher’s dismissive remark, or the cold shoulder from someone you longed for romantically.

 

These moments accumulate, leading us to question our own worthiness. Doubts start to whisper to us that we’re not enough – not smart enough, not strong enough, not attractive enough. It’s a narrative many addicts recognise all too well.

 

And then, we repeat the cycle of our own abandonment. We begin to abandon friendships and personal passions for our poison. We begin to abandon those who are closest to us. We abandon our dreams. And most importantly we begin to abandon ourselves.

 

Our poison becomes our closest friend. We know exactly how we’re going to feel immediately after its consumption. It’s a friend that never lets us down. Without it, we know we’re unstable, unlovable even. We buy into the lie that we couldn’t possibly live life without it.

 

That life would be worse off without it. That our routines would be unbearable without it. That our relationships would be no fun without it.

 

The potency of this deception lies in its grain of truth. Under the influence, life appears more enjoyable, tolerable, and somehow improved. Yet, viewed through the clear eyes of sobriety, this perception is revealed as nothing more than a fallacy.

 

It’s like going to a wild party a little too late where you’re the only sober one and everyone else is out of their mind. They seem to be having the time of their lives but to you, in a clear and rational sense of mind, looks nothing more than reckless debauchery.

 

The illusions we embrace slowly replace our truth. We exchange the tangible and real world for a mirage of our own creation. Yet, inevitably, the fabrications overtake us, and we lose the script and our place in the narrative that we’ve spun to ourselves and others. Our identity fades into obscurity, and from this loss, the tragic conclusion often follows: if we have no identity, we find no place of belonging; with no place to belong, we see no purpose in being here. We come to see ourselves as mere voids taking up space in the vastness of life.

 

I’m here to tell you friend that you’re not alone (even though you probably believe that you are). I want to let you know that you can be understood (even though you probably believe that you can’t). I want you to know that you’re worthy of giving and receiving love (even though you feel like all love is lost) and I want you to know that there is a way out (even though you probably feel like you’re too far gone).

 

The purpose of this book is to guide you on a journey of transformation through what I call SILENT Treatment – a six-step process I painstakingly charted when I realised that conventional methods weren’t cutting it for me. My aim is to witness your transition from a state of muted struggle to one of empowerment, bravery, and lightness.

 

Admittedly, I approach this writing with a deep sense of humility. Without the accolades of a university degree or the credibility of scientific research, I rely solely on the raw, unvarnished truths of my own recovery path – from utter despair to a position where I can now offer a beacon of hope to fellow addicts on the road to recovery.

 

My endeavour is to write only from a place of experience and to make this book as short as humanly possible. Us addicts aren’t that good at finishing things that take too much time.

 

The principles I present here are straightforward and unembellished; I assure you, there’s no jargon or storytelling used just to impress. That’s not what matters. This book is not a showcase for me – it’s crafted for you, with your journey and breakthrough in mind.

 

So, go into this with an open mind, a curious heart and just a tiny glimmer of hope for your future. That’s all you need. The rest will unfold as you turn the pages and follow the steps.

 

I promise to be an open book for you (us addicts also have an incredibly dialled in BS detector) and my prayer is that the God of the universe encounters you, reveals truth to you and heals you in ways you never believed possible.

 

He loves you (more than you know). Has made you for a time like now and your story (and trials) are not in vain, even if you can’t see it yet.

 

Thank you for choosing to land on this page and possibly open the pages of this book. You’ve made one of the most important steps an addict can ever take. The step of self-discovery.

 

“The opposite of addiction isn’t sobriety. The opposite of addiction is connection.” – Johann Hari

 

I pray that you discover your true and authentic self through the turning of these pages and embrace the profound joy that comes from connecting with that self deeply.

 

The time reserved for connection and healing begins now.