Addicted, Misdiagnosed, and Redeemed

Not my Story – Until it Was
From Relapse to Redemption Breaking the Cycle!

My story begins in February 2018, just a couple of months before my 18th birthday. Up until then, I had what many would consider a picture-perfect life—loving, supportive parents, great friends, good grades, and over a decade of involvement in youth sports. There were no signs of mental health struggles in me or in my immediate and extended family.

My first introduction to cannabis was via wax pens, cartridges filled with highly concentrated THC, often between 80–95%. At first, it was recreational and social, just something I did with friends. But after graduating High School, things shifted. That summer, roughly six months into using cannabis, I went from using every other week to using daily, and I started isolating myself. I began community college that fall on a full tuition-paid scholarship. My first night class I showed up high, which progressed into my day-time classes and sitting through 9am lectures higher than anyone should be at that time of day.

Two months into college, everything changed. I started experiencing intense anxiety and felt like my responsibilities were piling up and slipping out of my control. I opened up to my parents about how overwhelmed I felt, and they reassured me that this was just part of adjusting to college life, that I simply needed to stay organized, prioritize my assignments, and things would work themselves out. What they didn’t know was that I had been using cannabis every day for months, and it was quietly taking control my life and my mental health. They thought I just needed a break to unwind and reset. So, I went on a short trip with my brother and his friends. I used cannabis daily while on this short trip, which was normal for me at that time, but something felt different. When I got home, my parents immediately noticed I was off. I was paranoid, couldn’t form sentences, and was consumed by irrational fears about “something terrible” that happened on the trip. I was unable to focus on school or function at my new job, and I was consumed by irrational fears, convinced something awful was going to happen and that my future was falling apart, even though nothing specific had triggered it. Looking back, it was one of the first clear signs of cannabis-induced psychosis.

My parents urged me to quit my job and withdraw from my college classes; both had become overwhelming stressors in my life. I was so mentally foggy and anxious that my mom had to come with me to speak to my boss; I couldn’t think clearly enough to explain why I was leaving. I was overthinking everything, spiraling into worst-case scenarios, and catastrophizing even the smallest decisions. On the drive home after quitting, I turned to my mom and said something that would change everything:

“I want to take my car and drive extremely fast into a wall.”

Her uncontrollable sobbing and tears came instantly. That moment of sheer terror and heartbreak is something I will never forget. Back at home, she called my dad, who had already been trying to find a psychiatrist. That psychiatrist told them to take me to an inpatient mental health facility immediately. After an intake assessment, they allowed me to go home on suicide watch due to my strong support system from my family. A week later, we met with the psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with major depressive disorder and prescribed antidepressants. But within days, I spiraled into mania, racing thoughts, erratic energy, and impulsive behavior. Three days after starting the antidepressants, I remember walking into my parents’ bedroom and telling them this is the best I have felt in my entire life, but just two weeks ago I was ready to take my own life. The psychiatrist updated my diagnosis to bipolar disorder, explaining that my reaction to the meds confirmed it. My parents and myself were confused by this diagnosis because there was no family history of bipolar disorder. Still, we trusted the doctor and followed the treatment plan.

Over the next year, I cycled through different bipolar medications while trying to quit cannabis. But I never stayed sober for more than a couple of weeks. My psychiatrist eventually recommended an intensive outpatient program (IOP) to address my cannabis addiction first. Once I was sober could we solve the mood issues. The first program lasted 55 days for me, I stayed sober the entire time, my longest stretch yet. But I relapsed right after. The depression and mania didn’t stop, despite the meds, I still cycled through mania and depression on a weekly basis. I tried a second IOP and put in more effort by sharing and engaging more in group therapy, but I kept relapsing. With every relapse, the consequences grew more severe. I started lying to the people who cared about me most. I spent recklessly and gambled impulsively, one night, I charged over $12,000 to a credit card that had a $3,500 limit. I stole cash and credit cards from my own parents. I drove recklessly, zoning out behind the wheel, getting pulled over and having to perform a field sobriety test (which I somehow passed and only received a warning) and ended up totaling my first car. Miraculously, no one was hurt.

Each crash, literal and emotional, was followed by a wave of depression. I’d put together a few weeks of sobriety, swearing off cannabis for good, determined to get my life back on track. But once I would cycle back into mania, I would relapse. Eventually, I agreed that if I relapsed again, I’d go to inpatient treatment. Two weeks later, I relapsed. A week after that, I was on a flight across the country to Florida.

I spent 90 days in a residential program, stayed sober for 99 days, and set up sober living arrangements for when I returned home. Throughout the three months I was sober, I was still cycling between mania and depression, despite adjusting medication dosages and trying new ones. Once I was released from the treatment center, on the way to the airport, not more than 10 minutes from the treatment centers office, I stopped at a vape shop and bought a wax pen. Over three months of sobriety was ended after having freedom for just 10 minutes.

The questions I asked myself after this relapse were some of the hardest and deepest questions I have tried to answer in my life. Why would I throw away three months of sobriety after I put my life on hold and flew across the country to achieve this period of sobriety? What is so appealing about cannabis that no matter how bad the consequences get, I cannot stop using it? Will this cycle of addiction and mental health struggles ever end?

I did not find the answers to these questions until I got sober for the final time. The reason I relapsed less than 10 minutes after leaving treatment was because I was not in control of my actions due to medication that caused me to have bipolar cycles, combined with addiction to cannabis. It did not matter how bad the consequences got, cannabis was so appealing to me because of the lack of impulse control I had from being on medications, I would continue using until I was able to finally break out of these bipolar cycles. Many times, I felt like this is what my life was going to be like forever, constantly cycling between mania and depression, with relapses every few weeks, but thankfully I broke that cycle and will go into detail about it later in my story.

When my plane from Florida landed, my parents and grandparents were waiting. Excited to see me after being away for more than 3 months while in residential treatment. I tried to keep my distance so they wouldn’t notice I was high. The next day, I told them the truth. Thankfully, the IOP program and sober living I had set up before relapsing still allowed me in. I moved to a new town, hoping to reset my life.

But a few months in, and multiple relapses later. I packed up my belongings and spent the next three days driving aimlessly around the state, high and sleep-deprived, with no money. I ran out of gas multiple times but somehow managed to talk my way into getting help, either from roadside assistance or kind strangers who didn’t ask questions. On the third night, around 2 a.m., I dozed-off at the wheel while on the highway, drifted across oncoming traffic, and crashed into a ditch. Miraculously, I wasn’t injured. I woke to the sound of a police officer knocking on my window. Somehow, I was lucid and coherent enough that he didn’t suspect I was under the influence. But impaired enough to only remember this story vaguely, almost like trying to remember the details of a dream, but more like a nightmare in this case.

I had totaled my second car, and the next thing I remember, I was in the backseat of my parents’ car, silent and emotionally numb, as we drove back to the same town I had just ran from. Another residential program was waiting. Yet another chance at starting over. During the drive, I sat quietly, weighed down by guilt and a deep sense of hopelessness. After over a half hour of silence, I finally told them:

“I’d rather be homeless than go back to treatment.”

My mom and dad both broke down into tears. I could see the heartbreak in their faces while tears fell down their cheeks, they thought they had failed me and failed as parents. This was the only time I have seen my dad cry and sob uncontrollably. After an hour-long meeting with the treatment center staff, I still refused to be admitted. My parents told me they loved me, but that I couldn’t come home. They handed me my duffel bag and phone, and then, with heavy hearts, they left me there in the parking lot. A few minutes later, two counselors came outside to talk with me again. After about an hour of talking with them, two simple sentences changed the path of my life forever. One of them told me “Even if you get nothing out of being here over the next month. At least you will have a bed to sleep in, food to eat and a roof over your head”. After that hour-long conversation, I finally agreed to be admitted. That first night, it rained. As I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of raindrops tapping against the roof. I remember thinking:

“Of course, tonight of all nights, it is raining in the desert where we go months, sometimes seasons, without getting a drop of rain.”

I ended up staying in that program for five months, instead of the typical three, by choice. I went through mood cycles the entire time. At one point, a new medication triggered severe suicidal thoughts. I was hospitalized overnight. A month later, I started working part-time at Panda Express and prepared to move into sober living. I finally felt hopeful and saw my life progressing. At this point I was five and a half months sober. But within three days of moving out of the treatment center, the energetic compulsive moods returned, and I relapsed. This time, I didn’t tell anyone. Somehow, my housemates didn’t even catch on. I forgot to take my meds for two weeks and blamed changes in my behavior on new prescriptions and not taking my medications. Finally, I confessed to my mom that I had been using again and hadn’t taken any of my meds for the past two weeks. We made an appointment with my doctor right away. That visit changed everything.

She said something no one had said before:

“If someone is misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder and takes medication they don’t actually need, it can trigger symptoms that mimic the very condition they don’t have.”

That was the explanation we had been questioning if it could be true for five years. Following her advice, I made the decision to discontinue all medications, especially since it had already been three weeks without any side effects. Slowly but noticeably, the symptoms I had lived with for over six years began to fade.

The next few months were hard, but I didn’t relapse. For the first time in years, I wasn’t cycling between mania and depression. I finally felt like I had control over my life and my behaviors again, a feeling I had not felt in more than six years. I had over three months sober by the end of 2023.

In February 2024, I met the woman who a year later would become my fiancée. But just a week after we started talking, I relapsed again, and this time, I was kicked out of sober living. A coworker let me sleep on his couch for a few nights, and eventually, I moved into another coworker’s old apartment to finish out their lease. I was living there alone. What followed was the worst and longest relapse I had ever experienced. I used cannabis every single day, for six weeks, sinking further into isolation and addiction. Friends began telling me I didn’t seem like myself anymore, that my personality was unrecognizable when I was using. One night, I used the last of my vape. That night, something finally clicked—I hit my breaking point and knew it was time to try getting sober…again.

My girlfriend helped pull me out of this terrible relapse. She tried everything to help me, but addiction is stronger than any single outside person’s willpower. One night she wrote me a letter reminding me of the man I was when I was sober, the man she fell in love with, the man she wants to build a life and a family with. That letter changed me and reminded me of what I was going to lose if I continued using; my relationship with her, my family, my happiness, my freedom, and eventually my life. She gave me this letter and before doing so got down on her knees and prayed to God for him to help me, because she had done everything in her power to help me and it was out of her hands now. At the time I was not a believer in God, I was spiritual but not religious. Ever since that night, May 13th, 2024, I have been sober, and I have not had one moment where I even seriously considered using again. As of writing this story, I have just over 16 months sober, and I have not had one bipolar cycle since coming off medication almost two years ago. I have had the mildest urges to use again, but after thinking about it for 5-10 seconds, the urge would go away. I have my fiancée to thank for that, but also and more importantly God to thank because he removed the temptation.

Today, I’m 25. I’m working as a server full-time, attending college as a full-time student pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Business, and living with my fiancée and our two dogs, Ollie and Zara. We are saving money and planning our wedding and honeymoon, and in 4 to 5 years, a house. I never thought I’d be able to say those words. If someone had told me this a year ago, I would’ve said, “That’s not my story.” I heard this saying multiple different times and in multiple different ways in recovery meetings, “If someone told me this is what my life would look like a year ago, I would have punched them in the face and said there is no way in hell that will be my life” and never believed it could be true for me. But I was wrong, and I have never been happier to be wrong about something in my entire life.

I would not be at the position I am in my life without my family and fiancée. They never gave up on me, even when I had given up on myself countless times. I cannot thank them enough for supporting me through my six-year journey. I will be forever thankful to them and the best way I can thank them is to never put them through the stress and emotional pain that they experienced so many times.

My goal in sharing my story is that it can be a source of hope to someone feeling hopeless, just like I felt countless times. My life took a turn that I never could have imagined, this was not the plan I had envisioned when I was getting ready to walk across the stage at my high school graduation. But I would not change a thing about what I went through, because without going through all of that, I would not be the person I am today, and I would not have met my amazing and beautiful fiancée. If you’re reading this and struggling, please know as long as you are breathing, there is always time to get your life back on track. It took me six extremely long years, but the struggles were well worth the happiness I experience on a daily basis now. The hard struggles make the happiness that much more satisfying. You are not alone, don’t give up hope. The happiness at the end of the tunnel is waiting for you. Your future can and will be beautiful as long as you keep trying and do not give up.

Read the October 28, 2025 Johnny’s Ambassadors Newsletter