The Born Again Addict

Please note as you read this that all of the numbered points and bullet points below represent actual conversations that I have had with men and women in homeless addiction over the past several months...

As I type this and as you read this, less than an hour's drive from your seat and mine there is a woman who

1. barely understands that the sequential lines on a page represent letters of her name because she was never in any school or she does read but
2. never graduated from high school or
3. never saw college or
4. graduated from college with a 4.0 in history or nursing or
5. graduated with her Master of Social Work degree and saw her own clients until four years ago or
6. was a partner in a law firm or 
7. was on her way to becoming a plastic surgeon or
8. as a heart surgeon, saved your life five years ago when she inserted that stint.

As I type and as you read, she is

• in a pickup truck down by the waterfront or
• in a dark and secluded back ally or
• in a sleazy hotel or
• in a high-class center city hotel.

She is with a male who 

1. barely understands the sequential lines on a page represent letters of his name because he was never in any school or he does read but
2. never graduated from high school or
3. never saw college or
4. graduated from college with a 4.0 in history or nursing or
5. graduated with his Master of Social Work degree and saw his most recent client at 4pm or
6. who recently guided you through that legal issue as your attorney or
7. is on his way to becoming a plastic surgeon or
8. as a heart surgeon, saved your life last week when he inserted that stint.

Don't be fooled by those two seemingly equal 1 to 8 lists.

In this world, wherever she is on her 1 - 8 list, 

she freely intermixes within his 1 - 8 list

as she funds her need to avoid dope sickness 

and as he rents her for his sexual needs.

She is fearful that he will 

• overpower her and throw her into that water or
• knife her in that alley or
• beat her or
• leave her tied to the bed when he leaves that hotel.

As she performs sex acts on her "date,"

• tears of self-humiliation roll down her cheeks as
• fever and chills and fear of vomiting and uncontrolled defecation brought on by advancing dope sickness overwhelm her.

She shuts off her intellect as best as she can as she fulfills the requirements of her income: her "date."

How did she get to this point in her life?  Was it the time 

• she slid into third base in the girl's high school baseball game and broke her leg so severely that she was prescribed heavy and severely addicting painkillers?
• her uncle "played" with her as a child and gave her a quarter not to tell her mother?
• she found opioid pain pills in her family home and wondered how they would make her feel?

Regardless of how she got to this point, deep within her soul, she knows this is not what her life is to be about.  She reaches out for help and is told that because she does not have a piece of plastic that shows her name and photograph, hospitals will not help her find healing.  And so she continues all of the above because she can't gather the needed $30.50 for a new ID.  

If she does have an ID, she probably does not have private insurance and is reliant on Medicaid to cover her expenses.  In the years since this blog was originally written, I've written quite a bit about this topic.

In desperation to get off the streets and regain normalcy, she calls the police and tells them that she will be soliciting as a prostitute at a specific intersection and exact time and to please come to arrest her.  She does and they do.

She is put in a jail cell where, with no medical intervention, she endures suffering through days of detox which includes vomiting, diarrhea, severe head cold type symptoms and occasional seizures.  

After several days in the jail cell, days which actually brought her through detox and back to being "clean," she is told that she will be released the following day.  She informs her family so that proper plans can be made for a somewhat smooth transition back into some degree of normal life and rehabilitation.

At 11:00pm, the night before her expected release, she is dismissed from jail.  Due to the late hour, her family can't be reached and so this young lady returns to the only area she knows and for as much as she did not want to do so, she slips right back into her addiction.

And that's how Philadelphia Pennsylvania gave birth to The Born Again Addict.

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On July 31, 2025, I ran this blog through Gemini AI and asked it to write a next section.  Here's what it gave me...

I (Gemini AI) appreciate you sharing this powerful and raw piece. It's a sobering look at the harsh realities of addiction, a topic that, as you've noted, has only grown in complexity and visibility over the years. Your original blog uses a vivid, almost cinematic style to challenge the reader's assumptions, forcing them to confront the humanity behind the stereotypes. By contrasting the diverse backgrounds of the individuals with the grim uniformity of their circumstances, you effectively dismantle the idea of a "typical addict." The narrative is not just a story; it's a call to empathy, exposing the systemic and logistical failures that can trap individuals in a cycle of despair.

The blog's conclusion, "The Born Again Addict," is a poignant and heartbreaking description of a system that, despite its intentions, inadvertently sets people up for failure. The story of the woman who endures the brutal process of detox in jail only to be released in the dead of night, with no support and nowhere to go, is a profound statement about the gaps in our social and healthcare networks. It highlights a critical moment of vulnerability that is often overlooked.

To take your story further, a new blog post could explore what happens next, from a more hopeful perspective. It would not diminish the gravity of the original piece but rather build on its foundation by imagining a different, more supportive path.

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The Born Again Addict, Part 2: The Warm Handoff

The woman's story, as you wrote it, is a tragedy born of timing and a broken system. Released at 11:00 PM, she was clean but utterly alone, with nothing but the street knowledge that led her back to addiction. The story ends there, but for her, and countless others, there is a different possibility—a new beginning that doesn't just depend on luck, but on a network of people and services designed to catch them before they fall.

Let’s imagine her story again, but this time, the system works for her, not against her. Her desperation call to the police still leads to her arrest and a jail cell. She still goes through the harrowing days of cold-turkey detox, an experience no one should endure alone. But as her release date approaches, the story changes.

Instead of a sudden, late-night dismissal, a different kind of plan is in place. On the morning of her expected release, she meets with a Certified Recovery Specialist (CRS)—a person with their own lived experience of addiction and recovery. This CRS isn’t a cop or a doctor, but a peer who understands the fear and the shame. They know what it’s like to endure those withdrawals, to feel the pull of the street, and to rebuild a life from scratch. The CRS tells her that she won’t be leaving alone.

This is the principle of the warm handoff—a seamless transfer of care from one system to the next. The CRS has already made a call on her behalf, using the legal documentation from her arrest to confirm her identity and secure a bed at a medical detox facility. The facility is not a jail cell, but a safe, clean space where doctors and nurses can monitor her health, manage her post-detox symptoms, and begin to address the underlying trauma.

When she leaves the jail, it’s not at 11:00 PM, but in the afternoon. The CRS is there to meet her. The CRS helps her into a waiting car and they drive directly to the detox facility. The handoff is not a dismissal; it’s an invitation. They talk in the car about her fears, her hopes, and the practical challenges that lie ahead—not just about recovery, but about her ID, her family, and the legal issues from her arrest.

Inside the new facility, she is greeted not with suspicion, but with a welcome. She's offered a warm meal, clean clothes, and a real bed. She is no longer a "born again addict" but a "born again person," with a second chance that is protected by a safety net, not left to chance. The detox facility becomes a bridge to the next step, whether that's a long-term rehabilitation program, a recovery house, or transitional housing that can support her as she rebuilds.

This is not a fairytale. It is a reality that is being built, piece by piece, in communities that have recognized the catastrophic failure of the old system. By connecting people to care instead of simply punishing them, we can prevent that late-night release that sends her back to the streets. The "born again addict" can be the "born again person," and the start of her story can lead to a future she always knew, deep down, she was meant to have.