I SURVIVED- Frida Dotson

My addiction to kratom began about four, maybe five years ago. Time blurs when you’re surviving instead of living.

At the time, I was married. My partner was in a PsyD program, working toward a doctorate in psychology. From the outside, it looked impressive. From the inside, it was chaos. I endured verbal abuse and physical violence. Home wasn’t safe. My nervous system lived in constant alarm. I was desperate for something, anything, that felt like relief.

That’s when I found a place called Drip.

It looked harmless. Trendy. Fun. I walked in and saw tea being sold at the counter. I was confused and asked what it was. They told me it was a herbal tea. My first drink was free.

Within minutes, I felt euphoria.

My anxiety vanished.

My depression lifted.

For the first time in years, my body felt calm.

I fell in love with kratom.

What started as going every other day quickly became every day. Then it became waking up at 6 a.m., searching for any bar that was open and sold it. I began drinking 60 to 80 grams daily, spending close to $300 a day just to function.

Kratom wasn’t something I used anymore.

It became my life.

Slowly, I disappeared.

I stopped eating. I lost weight rapidly. At 5’9”, my BMI dropped so low that my primary care doctor begged me to eat anything.

“Healthy food would be great,” she said, “but right now I don’t care if it’s Taco Bell or McDonald’s. You’re close to criteria for anorexia nervosa and severe malnourishment.”

But kratom had rewired my brain. I realized that when I didn’t eat, the high felt stronger. So I chose the high over food. Over health. Over myself.

I became a shell.

I divorced while still deep in addiction. I tried to quit cold turkey more times than I can count. Each time, the withdrawals came harder. Stronger. Crueler. My body felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside.

By 2025, I finally admitted the truth: I couldn’t do this alone.

I walked into a 12-step AA Serenity group and told them about kratom. Many had never heard of it, but they recognized addiction immediately. They welcomed me anyway.

I joined a support group and eventually created one of my own.

I called a pain specialist and started Sublocade treatment.

I began therapy three times a week.

It was exhausting. It was humbling. It was life-saving.

Through this work, I learned I had major depressive disorder. I learned I lived with panic disorder and PTSD from abusive relationships. I learned that kratom had hijacked my nervous system, trapping my body in constant fight-or-flight.

In 2023, I voluntarily hospitalized myself at Wyndmoor Hospital in Clearwater. I was staring at life or death, and I chose life.

I achieved three months of sobriety after that, then relapsed.

But this time, I didn’t quit on myself.

I leaned harder into support. I asked for more help instead of hiding. I kept going.

Recovery cost me a lot.

I lost jobs.

I lost friends.

And I learned a painful truth: many of the people you think are friends in addiction are just other addicts chasing the same escape.

Then came the consequence I never expected.

Kratom damaged my heart.

I developed cardiotoxicity. The electrical system in my heart no longer communicates properly. I am now one of the unlucky ones living with permanent heart complications from a substance marketed as “natural” and “safe.”

This plant nearly took everything from me.

And it would have, if I hadn’t finally said: enough.

Today, I am alive because I chose help.

I am sober because I chose support.

I am healing because I refused to give up.

Kratom is not harmless.

Addiction does not discriminate.

And recovery, while brutal, is possible.

Thank you for giving me the space to tell my story.

If my journey saves even one person from walking the same road, every scar was worth it.