I’m celebrating 8 years of recovery today. Eight years since I hit the reset button on the trajectory of my life. And I couldn’t be more grateful.

For several reasons.

Perhaps the most important reason being that not only am I alive today, but I also want to be. I’m not playing roulette with my life on a daily basis anymore. People are dying all the time from the same addiction I have.

Just yesterday I heard that an old friend of mine died of an overdose. She had two kids, she was always smiling, and for a while it looked like she had things under control. Addiction could care less. And if that inside pain goes unattended to, even in a state of abstinence, that roulette game starts to seem like a completely reasonable way to dull down that hurt.

It’s one thing to hear about statistics on the news, but when people around you seem like they’re dropping like flies, it gets real—quick.

And this may come as a surprise to some, but it’s not like after a year or two of being clean that you’re out of the woods and in the clear from that old monster. Being an addict, even a recovering addict, means living each day with a hibernating beast between your ears that if he should wake up, has a single goal of destroying your life, piece by piece.

There’s some work to do to keep the beast asleep, but God forbid I ever forget that he’s there and default back to that life that I could never find enough relief for.

I’m so grateful for the people in my life—8 years ago even until today–to show me that there is another way.