Brian Roberts

Today marks 140 days sober. 140 days of fighting for my life. 140 days of refusing to give up. Monday I officially transition into outpatient treatment. I’m proud of myself because I’ve completed my milestones, stayed committed, and took my sobriety seriously every single day. But with this next chapter comes a reality that honestly scares me. Once I move into outpatient, I only have 30 days of funding left in sober living. After that, I’m on my own trying to figure out housing, transportation, medical appointments, physical therapy, and survival while staying sober. A lot of people don’t know the full story behind my health struggles. Years ago I suffered a severe shoulder injury where my arm was nearly detached from my body. I’ve now had five reconstructed shoulder surgeries and still deal with chronic pain and limited range of motion every day. Because of that injury, I’m currently filing for SSI disability, but anyone who’s been through that process knows it can take years. On top of that, I’m facing more medical concerns that I’ve stayed quiet about because I didn’t want people worrying. I’ve got liver issues from years of alcohol abuse in my younger days, possible serious colon health concerns that still require more testing, and physical therapy starting next week. The hard part is once outpatient starts, the program no longer provides transportation or housing support the way they did before. So now I’m trying to figure out how to get to doctor appointments, physical therapy, meetings, and also figure out where I’m going to live once my 30 days are up — all while having no income. I’m not writing this for pity. I’m writing this because I’m fighting to stay alive and stay sober. The truth is, sobriety was only the first battle. Now comes reality. Housing. Transportation. Medical care. Stability. And the fear of ending up homeless again after working so hard to rebuild my life. I refuse to go back to addiction. I refuse to let everything I fought for be taken from me. That’s why I started a GoFundMe. Not because I want handouts, but because I genuinely need help getting through this transition period. Even a small donation, a share, resources, housing advice, transportation ideas, or simply prayers mean more than people know. To the younger people reading this: please take care of your health while you still can. When we’re young, we think we’re invincible. I used to think the same thing. But those choices eventually catch up to us. Despite everything, I still believe God has a plan for me. I still believe there’s purpose in my pain. I still believe miracles happen. If you can pray for me, support me, share my story, or point me toward resources, I would deeply appreciate it. The clock is ticking, but I’m still standing. And I’m still sober. Thank you for taking the time to read my story. — Brian Roberts