After everything that had happened, I was promptly released from hospital again. There was no mental health order, no counselling arranged and no real assistance waiting for me when I walked out the doors. I had just reached one of the lowest points of my life, yet I was released straight back into homelessness. Back to my swag I went.

This time I didn't return to what had numbed the pain for so many years. After around twenty five years of addiction, I decided I was going to detox. I had no doctor helping me, no detox facility and no real understanding of what I was about to put myself through. I didn't know much about withdrawal or what was happening inside my body and mind. I found an isolated place, set up my swag and took enough water and supplies to get me through, along with some urine d#ug testing kits.

The first few days were horrendous. My entire body ached and at times I could barely walk. I was exhausted but struggled to sleep. I sweated, felt restless and went through periods where I barely had the energy to move. Then there were the cravings. I knew that one phone call could make all of it disappear. I knew exactly who to call and how quickly I could get something that would take away the pain, but I resisted the urge. I had been at rock bottom, and I wasn't going back.

The depression was probably the worst part. Without anything to numb what I was feeling, everything seemed to hit me at once. I had plenty of time lying in that swag to think about where my life had ended up, and there wasn't much around me to provide a distraction.

Every couple of days I tested my urine. What came up on those tests surprised me. As far as I knew, I had only been using one substance, yet I was testing positive for several. I couldn't say exactly how everything had ended up in my system, but one thing was obvious. I hadn't really known what I was putting into my body. That was frightening to see in front of me on those tests.

It took ten days before I finally produced a clear urine test. Seeing that result meant a lot to me, but a clear test didn't mean everything was suddenly over. It meant those substances were no longer being detected by the test. It didn't mean my mind and body had recovered from around twenty five years of m#thamph#tamine abuse.

I didn't understand the medical side of it at the time, but m#thamph#tamine withdrawal can continue long after the initial crash. Depression, anxiety, exhaustion, cravings, disturbed sleep, mood changes and an inability to properly experience pleasure can continue for weeks, and for some people symptoms can persist for months. After twenty five years, I wasn't going to wake up on day ten feeling normal because a urine test had finally come back clear. My body might have been clearing the substance, but I was still dealing with the aftermath of what I had put it through for most of my adult life.

Around day five, while I was still detoxing, I made a phone call that Jenny had been asking me to make for years. I called rehab. Every time she had suggested it in the past, I had dismissed the idea. I thought I could sort myself out when I was ready. Now I was the one making the call.

I explained my situation and told them I wanted to come in. They told me I needed to be ten days clean before I could enter. It was also Friday, so I was told to call back on Monday. My heart sank. I was struggling to get through each day and now I had to somehow make it through the weekend as well.

I went back to my swag, but after spending so much time isolated, I decided being completely alone wasn't a good idea. Some friends of mine were living in an abandoned shed. They had substance issues themselves, but by that point they were some of the only friends I had left. They allowed me to set my swag up down the back of the property.

I told them exactly what I was trying to do and asked them for one thing. If I came to them wanting anything, they were to say no, regardless of how desperate I became. They understood. They knew that no one who is addicted really wants to be addicted, and they respected the fact that I wanted out.

Those friends looked after me in ways I will never forget. They fed me, kept me hydrated, gave me clothes when I needed them and let me shower. They checked in on me regularly, comforted me when I was struggling and gave me company when I needed human interaction the most. Anything being used around the property was kept out of my sight and unavailable to me. When I needed to be alone, I could retreat to my swag. When I couldn't handle being alone anymore, there were people there.

There is often a stigma attached to people who use substances, as though addiction automatically makes someone a bad person. These people proved otherwise. They were battling their own addictions and living in an abandoned shed, yet when I needed help, they made room for me and cared for me. They didn't have much, but they shared what they had.

Addiction had caused enormous damage in my own life, so I wasn't blind to what it could do. But I also knew from experience that a person could be struggling with addiction and still be kind, generous and compassionate. These friends certainly were.

Despite being surrounded by people who were still using, I never asked them for anything. The temptation was there, of course. You don't walk away from twenty five years of addiction and suddenly forget it existed. But I was determined to get into rehab, and that became my focus.

Monday finally arrived and I rang the rehabilitation service again, expecting things to start moving. Instead, I was told somebody would return my call. A couple of days passed and nobody did, so I called again and received the same answer. Still nobody called. I tried again.

This went on for weeks.

That was incredibly frustrating. I had finally reached the point where I wanted help and was doing what had been asked of me, but I couldn't get through the door. I had already passed the ten days they had initially told me I needed to be clean, yet I was still waiting. Each time the phone didn't ring, I wondered how much longer it was going to take.

In the meantime, life continued at the abandoned property. My swag remained down the back, my friends continued looking out for me, and I kept testing myself every couple of days. There was no great plan beyond waiting for that phone call and staying away from the substance that had controlled so much of my life.

A week became two, then three, then four. Eventually, after around five weeks, the phone call finally came.

A bed was available. I was going to rehab.

I remember how happy I was when I heard those words. I had started the process alone in a swag, barely able to walk and knowing that relief from the withdrawals was only a phone call away. Somehow, I had made it through.

I was five weeks clean, and I was proud of that.

After around twenty five years of addiction, I was finally heading to rehab.