As we enter November, a month traditionally focused on gratitude, we wanted to share a story of resilience, deep self-discovery, and the powerful gift of a second chance. Kevin’s story stands out as a reminder of why LESC exists and why our work matters. His path spans childhood trauma, addiction, incarceration, relapse, and heartbreaking loss, yet it leads to a life built on honesty, service, and thankfulness. Today, he is 15 years sober and an overnight aide at LESC, helping others find the same footing he once desperately needed.
This is the story of how Kevin found recovery through LESC and why he remains thankful for the place that helped save his life.
Early Struggles and the Search for Belonging
Kevin’s use of drugs began painfully early. His first experience with heroin took place when he was barely a teenager. He explained that it was not curiosity that led him there, but an urge to connect with someone he admired. “I used because I wanted to feel like I belonged,” he said, remembering the girl who introduced him to the drug. By the next use, he understood he was no longer experimenting. “I didn’t want to feel like I felt without it. So now it was not curiosity at all. It was the idea of not even being comfortable in my own skin anymore.”
Kevin’s drug use escalated quickly. He became an IV user and picked up small jobs for older dealers to maintain his supply. Despite growing up in what he describes as a supportive household, addiction took hold. When asked about that period, he reflected on the roots of his responsibility. “The abuse and the neglect all came from me and not from someone else. I was doing it to me.”
As his addiction grew, Kevin moved from selling drugs to committing robberies. He explained his reasoning by saying, “I stopped selling because I saw what it was doing to my community. Robbery, to me, felt more justifiable.” That path eventually led to multiple arrests and a long prison sentence served across several states.
Prison brought an unexpected shift. “Prisons saved me,” Kevin said. “I would have died on the streets otherwise.” During his 17 years inside, he never used drugs. Instead, he immersed himself in education and explored his spiritual identity. Yet even after decades of sobriety behind bars, he still carried the vulnerability that accompanies addiction.
Relapse, Tragedy, and the Breaking Point
After being released, Kevin stayed sober for many years until a prescribed pain medication introduced a new danger. He was given Vicodin after a car accident and did not recognize it as a threat. “It was an unfamiliar drug,” he explained. That mistake triggered a relapse that sent his life spiraling for a second time.
Kevin draws a powerful distinction between being an addict and entering what he calls the dope fiend stage. “An addict, for me, is a reference point. I will always have the propensity to pick up my drug of choice if I forget who I am,” he said. “But when I forget, I am a dope fiend. All bets are off. I don’t care about family, friends, or children. It doesn’t matter. It is just the drug.”
During this period, Kevin lost nearly everything: his savings, his apartment, and his sense of self. The death of his youngest son compounded the devastation. “It really tipped me,” he shared softly. The grief became unbearable. In a moment of hopelessness, he attempted to end his life by drinking six bottles of methadone.
Kevin woke up two days later in Beth Israel Hospital. What came next would change everything for him.
Finding a Lasting Lifeline at LESC
Through a series of unexpected events, Kevin was transferred to LESC’s Su Casa program. He arrived exhausted, broken, and out of options. “I had no exit strategy,” he said. “My bag of tricks had blown away.”
For the first time, he felt like he could breathe. “LESC gave me a place, a spot, a situation that gave me an opportunity to hear myself think for the first time,” Kevin said. The environment was calm, supportive, and empowering. Staff members welcomed him without judgment or confrontation. “They gave me no opportunity to create resentment or justify going back out the door,” he said.
Most importantly, Kevin stopped feeling alone. “It took the uniqueness away from what I was going through. It un-isolated me. I was able to heal, and that process never really happened anywhere else but LESC.”
The program reminded him of the intellectual and spiritual self he had buried under shame. He heard a phrase that became central to his recovery: ‘Put in some work. I mean, you are worth it’.
Embracing Truth, Gratitude, and the Work of Staying Clean
Kevin believes recovery is rooted in honesty. “My truth is not for the world, it is for me,” he said. “When I look in the mirror, what do I tell myself? Because that is what unlocked my recovery.”
With honesty came gratitude. “For the first time in my life, I was grateful for my feet hitting the floor in the morning,” he explained. That gratefulness is something he practices every single day. “What has kept me clean is waking up in the morning saying thank you.”
His message about addiction remains one of compassion. “Addicts are not bad people. We make bad decisions and bad choices. It is not a moral dilemma. It is an illness.”
Giving Back to Keep Moving Forward
Today, Kevin works as an overnight aide at LESC, serving the same community that once carried him through his darkest hours. For him, service is not optional, it is the foundation of continued recovery. “We have to give back in order to keep what we have,” he said. “You keep what you have by giving it to someone else.”
He sees himself in every client who walks through the doors. “I see myself in them, and I would hope that they can see themselves in me,” he said.
As we acknowledge this season of thankfulness, Kevin’s story reminds us what gratitude truly means. It is resilience, humility, connection, and healing. It is choosing to stay and choosing to give.
Kevin sums it up simply and powerfully: “Because of LESC, I am alive today. If it worked for me, it can work for you. And that is the truth.” If you ever needed a reason to believe in the impact of addiction recovery support and community-based treatment, his story offers one.