Tracey Helton Mitchell lives outside San Francisco where she and her husband are raising three children. Tracey is an addiction specialist who helps people dealing with dependency and mental health issues find meaningful employment. In her free time, she enjoys writing and exploring the Bay Area. Tracey hopes by telling her story, she can give hope to others dealing with addiction.

From the very beginning, I always felt like there was something about different about me. There was a space inside my consciousness that was restless.

Everything about my birth and my childhood implied a happy future. I was born of two parents into a family that wanted me. I lived in a comfortable house in a small, close-knit community. While I was found to be extremely "gifted" at an early age, I found that to be a burden. I could never stop judging myself, every detail. I was the kid always in search of attention from the teacher, not the fellow students. I was confident in my abilities but there was a dissonance. No matter what I did, what I said, where I went - I was never comfortable with the shell I carried called myself.

I wanted to talk about problems that were happening at home. I found myself more isolated. I remember spending weeks at a time in my pajamas in the summer months- not sleeping, not bathing, not caring. I ate to excess. I read a book a day. I built a fantasy world for myself. I began cycles of overeating, puking, dieting, and crying in silence. I was put on my first diet at 10 and struggle with my weight today.

I had tested into a small all girls private high school where I ended up separated from the people I had known my whole life. By my junior year, I found the city. It was as if my little box expanded to a wide horizon. I started going to concerts, meeting friends, learning to turn the noise off in my head. I never acted out sexually because I felt as if there wasn't any one who would want me. I was still a "good girl." The direction of my life changed at 17. I saw a movie that showed people using heroin. I looked at them - free, uninhibited, able not to care. It was only a movie but to me it was real. It took years before I found the drugs but the seed was planted that day.

The rest becomes a blur of activity. I went to the local college to continue my pattern of chronic approval sought in all the wrong places. The booze led me to the drugs. The drugs led to me whereever I landed. I ended up in San Francisco as a homeless junkie where I lived on the streets, in dive hotels, and in jail for six years. My existence was tempered by whatever substance I could put in my body. I logged a new set of regrets on a daily basis. Violence, infections, thoughts of suicide were frequent. I would cry when the sun came up and think: How did I get here? I thought I was so smart but I couldn't think myself out of addiction.

Did people try to help me? Yes and No. By this point, I became such a shadow of my former self, the core was difficult to reach. I had tried to stop on my own. However, stopping really meant switching to me. The very last day I used, there was cocaine, meth, alcohol, and marijuana. I could barely walk because I had been shooting up in the bottoms of my feet. I was skinny - all traces of the feminine were long gone. I had a suitcase packed in my closet so I would have something to wear when I got out of jail. When I finally got the knock on the door from the police, I went out into my new life in handcuffs. I left the suitcase and the shell behind me.

My new life in recovery began February 27, 1998. I went from jail to treatment, from treatment to a transitional house where I lived for four years. I went back to college through an ex-offender program where I obtained two degrees. I worked hard to reclaim myself, my education, my community. I have stayed connected with a group of friends who are supportive of my recovery. I have discovered the joys of relationships, the struggles dealing with daily life without medicating my feelings. I deal with old scars and one new one, opened three times to bring beautiful children into this world. I have dealt with the death of both of my parents. I have had amazing success in my career. I have been helping others reach their goals both in recovery and employment.

There isn't much silence in my house full of active children. Yet, the most important gift I have been given is the gift of silence. The voices in my head that created a lifetime of self-doubt are fairly silent. I enjoy my life. I am at peace.