Hey, it’s Matt with The Addiction Newsletter.

Here’s what’s inside today:

Let’s get started.

If you want some extra accountability from me, feel free to reply this newsletter with how many days it has been.

I read every single reply and do my best to reply to them. I am always here for you.

(Example: “Hey Matt, it’s been 33 days since I have used X”)

Days Since Last Use: 338

Thought: Last night I caught myself breathing without effort. For years my chest was tight, like I was waiting for something to go wrong. Every moment felt like a countdown to the next craving, the next fix, the next escape. But this time, I just sat there. The world didn’t need to be louder or brighter. I didn’t need to be anywhere else. The silence wasn’t empty anymore, it felt full, alive, peaceful. That’s what recovery is teaching me. You don’t have to chase the high or run from the low. You just have to stay. Stay long enough to see that peace isn’t something you find, it’s what’s left when you stop fighting yourself.

You spend years standing in front of a closed door, convinced it holds your peace. On the other side, you imagine quiet, comfort, control. You keep reaching for the handle, but it doesn’t turn. You try again and again, until trying becomes a way of life. Every failure makes you more certain that something precious waits inside. That if you could just get through, you’d finally rest.

That’s how the trap works. It keeps you focused on the struggle, not the truth. The door was never locked. It just leads back into the same room, the same cycle. You open it, step through, and find yourself exactly where you began. You tell yourself this time it will feel different, this time you’ll stop after one more. But the room never changes. The walls just close in a little tighter.

Alan Carr calls it the illusion of relief. You think you’re choosing freedom when you reach for the thing that hurts you, but you’re choosing the same cage. It gives you a tiny break from discomfort and then multiplies it. It tells you you’re in control while quietly taking control away. You begin to see your world through its rules—when to eat, when to sleep, when to feel okay. It shrinks your choices until the only one left is whether to obey or resist.

You forget what life was before that door existed. The idea of not needing it feels strange, even dangerous. You imagine stepping away and finding nothing there. That fear keeps you close. You tell yourself you’re not ready, that it’s not the right time, that you just need to manage it better. But what if there’s nothing to manage? What if the only reason it has power is because you keep feeding it belief?

Carr says freedom doesn’t come from fighting your cravings—it comes from seeing them clearly. When you stop treating the thing as comfort and start seeing it as the cause of your discomfort, everything shifts. The struggle ends. You stop wanting to stop, because there’s nothing left to want. You don’t have to be strong forever. You just have to be honest once.

Stand back from the door. Look at it without fear. It’s not holding you in. You’ve been holding it shut from your side. All that time you thought you were trapped, you were already free.

The world outside is not cold or empty. It’s quiet, yes, but it’s real. The air tastes new. Your hands don’t shake. Your mind feels slow but steady, like it’s waking from a long sleep. You realize that life was never waiting behind that door—it was waiting on this side, the whole time.

You can walk away now. You don’t need to slam it shut or make a grand promise. Just step back and take one clean breath. That’s how freedom starts—not with a fight, but with a choice to stop trying to open something that was never worth entering.

The door will stay there for a while, calling softly. But one day you’ll pass by it without noticing. And when that happens, you’ll know. You didn’t lose anything. You simply remembered who you were before you ever thought you needed saving.

If you find yourself craving what once broke you, pause before you move closer. You’re not craving it. You’re craving the version of yourself who still believed it could save you. You’re remembering the promise, not the price.

Your mind edits the story. It leaves out the fear and the exhaustion. It keeps the illusion and calls it comfort. But comfort built on chaos isn’t peace. It’s dependency disguised as safety.

Every time you imagine going back, remember what it took to leave. The nights you swore you were done. The strength it took to finally walk away.

Here is the win of the day for one of our readers. I will keep most of the information anonymous:

"Today, I noticed the urge to check their profile, to see if they ever think about me. My hand hovered over the app, but I stopped. I reminded myself that peace doesn’t live in the past. I put my phone down, took a breath, and went for a walk. The craving to know faded, and I felt something softer relief. I didn’t feed the loop this time. That felt like growth."

(Note: If you have a win, no matter how large or how small, reply to this email and I’ll include it in the future.)

I refer thousands of people every month to detox and treatment centers across the United States. Depending on if you have insurance and what type, a lot of the time you can get treatment completely free. If not, it does cost money unfortunately.

If you’d like to use this free service, click below.

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Disclaimer

This newsletter is for educational and motivational purposes only. It is not medical advice or a substitute for professional treatment. If you’re in crisis or need immediate help, please contact your local emergency services or the SAMHSA helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357)