The Power of Recovery: A Journey, A Mission, A Movement

April 7, 2025

Chad Perdue & Christy Perdue, Co-Authors

Tom O’Connor, Co-Author & Publisher

Part I

Topic

The Power of Recovery is rooted in the life story of our co-author, Chad Perdue, as he faced his substance use disorder, along with his wife, Christy Perdue, who shares her observations from her own life experiences.

Chad Perdue is an independent substance abuse/recovery consultant, Certified Addiction Professional, and Peer Specialist. He received a Bachelor of Arts (BA) degree in psychology from Purdue Global, focusing on addiction studies. 

Christy Perdue is the author and publisher of Get Clean. Stay There is available on Amazon. Her book is intended for anyone, or someone you know, seeking to overcome drug addiction. It features a collection of stories from individuals who have managed to get clean and maintain sobriety. Christy also published a guided memoir, If Tomorrow Starts Without Me, on Amazon. This book is similar to the last one but more personal and designed for anyone who won’t live forever. In addition, she has published children’s books on Amazon, which can be found at www.christyperdue.com. 

Individuals with severe and chronic substance use disorders can, with assistance, overcome their conditions and achieve better health and successful social functioning. Recovery from SUD is referred to as remission. Being in recovery means embracing these positive changes and values as part of a voluntarily chosen lifestyle.

The courage, discipline, and resilience Chad and Christy demonstrate in joyfully building their present and future lives together are truly commendable.

This issue comprises Part I of the Perdues' two-part story. Part II will be published next week.

Additional Information For You

According to Chad Perdue:

For 33 years, I lived in the chaos of addiction, using daily, caught up in the streets, in and out of the system, battling addiction and mental health struggles. 

What sets me apart is not my credentials; it's my ability to connect. I’ve been where they have been. I know what it’s like to feel alone in a crowded room. I know how hard it is to face yourself. That’s why I show up, raw and honest, every day, sharing my story, leading by example, and proving that you can return from anything. 

I want to be the light at the end of the tunnel for people who feel stuck in the dark. I want to build a full-scale recovery community that offers case management, therapy, detox, inpatient, outpatient, sober living, and the ability to create and develop recovery capital. I want to keep learning, growing, and showing people that there is always a way back, no matter how far gone you think you are. And I’m here to help you find it.

I want to share my life's real, raw story in three parts: 

• How it Started

• What Changed

• How It Is Now

How it Started

I was raised by two of the strongest people I’ve ever known. My mother is the most innovative, challenging, and resilient woman ever walking this planet. Not a person with an addiction. Mentally strong. Fiercely loyal. Worked her ass off every single day. And my father—gone too soon, taken in his 40s. He struggled with mental health and addiction, but that wasn’t all he was. He returned to school, got his master’s in psychology, and dedicated himself to helping others.

And yeah, having access to medication? That became his battle. Our battle. They weren’t perfect. They didn’t get everything right. But they did their absolute best. And nothing that happened to me was their fault.

I was born into poverty. Poverty was brutal. Opportunities were slim. People were either hustling, struggling, or both. It wasn’t the kind of place where kids had childhoods. It was the kind of place where you learned how to survive. I was born into survival mode.

Sexual Abuse

At six years old, my world changed in a way no kid should ever have to understand. She was a high school senior who sexually abused me, and I was a confused little kid. For at least nine months, I lived in silence. You don’t know how to explain what’s happening. You just know it feels wrong. And that wrongness? It rewires your entire brain. It teaches you how to scan a room in seconds. How you watch body language, like your life, depends on it. Because sometimes? It does. The sexual abuse didn’t start there. By the time I was nine, sexual abuse started again. But this time? It was men. Four different men. Separate incidents. Unrelated to each other.

They were just sick individuals doing sick things. So, I learned something new—no one was coming to save me. If I was going to make it—I had to protect myself. And when a kid learns that lesson too early? That’s when the walls go up. That’s when manipulation, hustling, and survival instincts take over. Because I never refused to be powerless again.

Substance Abuse

At nine years old, I took my first drink. And for the first time in my life—I felt normal. The fear? Gone. The anxiety? Gone. The constant overthinking? Silent. Until I puked my guts out. And when I woke up? The bathroom was right next to my bed. We were already on the second floor. But for whatever reason — I decided to walk to the top of the steps and piss down them. Because in my nine-year-old brain, that made perfect sense.

I got my ass whooped for that one. But here’s the thing — I didn’t stop drinking. Because even with the blackouts, bad choices, and beatdowns, alcohol (and later, drugs) made me feel like I belonged. And when that feeling is stronger than the fear of consequences? That’s how it happens. That’s how it starts.

Gang Involvement

By 12 years old, I wasn’t just hanging with gang members — I was jumped in. By my teenage years, I had one goal: To be more significant than Scarface. I studied the game. I learned who had power and why. And I started building my name. By my 20s, I wasn’t just in the life—I was an original gangster (OG) with my crew. And to this day? My homeboys and homegirls still communicate. The streets, don’t forget. The respect never really fades. The connections never really disappear. But now? We push P. Not pounds. Not product. Positivity. Because if I can flip my life around, Anybody can. We are all providing our testimonies.

Jails, Institutions, and a Game I Couldn’t Win

I’ve been locked up more times than I can count. Seven DUIs. 28 different detoxes and rehabs. Methadone clinics before I even knew what they were. Trafficking, possession, paraphernalia, robbery, assault. I’ve been set up. Stung. Snitched on. I’ve had my bubble burst more times than I can count. At the end of the day? Jails and institutions had my name on repeat.

Two Years Stuck Inside – The Agoraphobia Phase

Then came the years when I couldn’t leave my house. Not a house arrest bracelet; my mind had held me hostage. For two solid years, I didn’t step past my front door. My world shrank to 40 feet—the space between my front and back doors. And I paced that distance daily — Because stopping meant the intrusive thoughts might catch me.

And if I had to leave for something I couldn’t avoid? It was a full-day event. Wake up at 4 AM. Puke from anxiety. Take just enough dope to override the fear but not enough to nod out. Force me out the door while my mind screamed at me to stay. My mom handled everything else. Groceries. Bills. Anything that required a real person. 

What Changed  

What changed in my life led me to put both feet into recovery: The Last High, The Hardest Truth, and The 1% Patch. I didn’t get clean because I had big plans, was inspired, or wanted to.

I got clean because I had nothing left. I had lost my twins. My oldest son was embarrassed by me—he wanted nothing to do with me. I had done the unthinkable—I stole from my oldest bonus daughter. And even though she never gave up on me, I saw it in her eyes. I broke her. My youngest bonus daughter had already found her bio dad dead on the basement floor, and I swore she’d never feel that pain again.

And my wife? One of the strongest women I’ve ever known. The one who always had my back. Gone. Divorced. Moved to another state. Not because she stopped loving me but because she had to protect herself, her sanity, and her kids.

So what did I do? Did I fix my life? Did I take accountability? Did I get my shit together? Nope. I got angrier. I would say, “I’m 98% clean”, but if people couldn’t respect that? Fuck ‘em. I went harder than I ever had before. And the last few months? Beat up in alleys. Left for dead in my own house. Robbed blind—not just for money, but for every last thing I had. But I had a backup — of course I did. Wait for it—a little “just in case” hidden away. When I finally ran out of moves, I thought I should end this.

That was the first time I thought about it for real. Not in a reckless way. Not in a drug-fueled moment. I sat there, completely sober, and thought — My death benefits are worth more than my life. That’s where I was at. And then came the last high.

Near Death Experience

I was 99% clean. That’s the sickest part. My son agreed to play golf with me, giving me yet another chance to be in his life. We had just played a round of golf, and of course, I whooped his ass. Just another day on the course with my son. It’s one of my favorite things to do. I was high on life after that round. Amazingly great day. A moment I should have been proud of. But I told myself, “I deserve a treat.” One last time – just to relax. I had it dropped off. I did it. And then? Black. 

I woke up to police, fire, and rescue standing in a semi-circle around me. Their voices got clearer. “Looks like that 7th squirt might have done it, sir.” I should have been dead. I would have been dead. But my mom was there. My oldest son. One of his friends. And someone—thank God for whoever that was— my mama and my son both kept screaming for more Narcan. “Give him another.” “Spray that stuff up his nose again.” “I was told this would work if he OD’d.” 

Three bottles later, I came back. And the first thing I did? Lie. Because addiction will make you lie, with Narcan still dripping out of your nose. That was my moment. It's not my rock bottom. My moment. The moment I knew I couldn’t do this anymore. At that moment, I had no more excuses. The moment I saw their faces, I had one last chance. But knowing you’re done and knowing what the fuck to do next are two different things.

So I did what I always did—I ran. I walked myself right into treatment. And then walked right the fuck back out. AMA. Left. Because I'm Chad Perdue, I knew better. Of course, that was and still is a character defect I work on daily.

The Game Was Up

Except this time? The game was up. I had burned every bridge. I couldn’t just come and go like I always did. So, I ended up in a state-run facility. Let me tell you something about that kind of humiliation. Let’s talk about the roaches and rats that were permanent residents of this facility. You go from thinking you’re the slickest guy in town to sitting in a circle, broke and beaten down, having to introduce yourself to strangers. “Hi, my name is Chad, and I'm a...”

And when I finally returned to the fellowship clubhouse, I walked in carrying 967 relapses on my back. Crying about how bad life was. Crying about how everyone had left me. Crying about how I didn’t want to be here anymore.

And that’s when I met the biker. The biker sat there, stone-faced, listening to me go on and on about how life was unfair, how nobody gave a fuck about me, how I had nothing left.

Then, he pointed to his vest. A 1% patch. “You know what this means?” he asked. I shook my head. “It means I lived when 99% of the people I ran with didn’t.”  And then he said the most brutal truth I ever heard: “You’re lucky, and you don’t even fucking see it.”

It hit me like a punch to the gut. Because he was right, I should have been dead a hundred times over.

And then the older man, the one who didn’t give a single fuck, looked at me and said: “You are the stupidest motherfucker I have ever met.” And I just sat there, stunned. Then he said: “You want different? DO different.”

That was it. That was the whole message. And I had nothing to say because he was right. For years, I kept doing the same shit and expecting my life to change magically. 

I swear I was done, but I keep duplicate contacts. I wanted to improve but still carried a “just in case” stash. Thinking I could have one last time, one last hit, one last escape. But that’s not how it works. If you want something different, you have to do something different. And here’s the part that matters. I never said I was stopping forever. That’s not real to me. I was taught the 24-hour rule. Just don’t use it today. Then, tomorrow, do the same thing again. And again. And again. They stack some small Ws, and eventually, they become big Ws. They are 1% better a day. That’s how I’m still here.

End of Part I

In Part II, Chad will reveal the How It Is Now section. Chad’s wife, Christy, will reveal her life story and what factors drove them together.