I LOVED COCAINE, BUT IT TRIED TO KILL ME

I LOVED COCAINE, BUT IT TRIED TO KILL ME

A three-year clean reflection from the edge of addiction, hustle, and healing.

By Malcolm Pannell

@facethyfear | FaceThyFear.com

DECK:

I first tried cocaine in college, but the spiral began after I got kicked out, joined a gang, and started selling.

My big homie told me to cut the work and keep the extras—and those “leftovers” pulled me in.

What started off casual became a decade of addiction, paranoia, and self-destruction.

Now, three years clean, I’m reflecting on the chaos, the comeback, and the fentanyl wave that’s hitting cities like Savannah harder than ever.

“Three Years Ago, I Showed Up to Boca Recovery Drunk.”

I was drunk. Worn out. Tired of running from myself.

I wasn’t hallucinating. I didn’t piss myself. But I was done.

Spiritually dry. Physically drained. Mentally out of gas.

I showed up to Boca Recovery Center late at night.

They asked me all the intake questions, and I laughed at how many boxes they checked.

I had done it all.

But I felt relief. For the first time, I was somewhere safe.

My insurance didn’t last long. But Boca still did what it needed to do.

It helped get me to this clean date.

From Curiosity to Chaos

I tried coke once or twice in college.

That wasn’t the problem. That wasn’t the moment.

The moment was after I got kicked out and joined a gang.

Started selling. One day my big homie told me to cut it and keep the extras.

So I did.

And those extras became a trap.

What started as taste turned into obsession.

Into addiction. Into a decade of self-destruction.

I wasn’t just pushing it—I was burying myself with it.

Sneaking. Geeking. Chasing Death in Loops.

Ten years I was strung out.

Sneaking. Geeking. Always needing a chaser to even myself out.

Alcohol, pills—whatever I could get my hands on.

I was high but hollow.

I hurt people. I sabotaged relationships. I acted out of anger, lust, ego, shame.

I had the Colombian cold every damn day.

And I called it fun.

It wasn’t.

I Could Still Work, So I Thought I Was Fine

That’s the lie.

I thought, “I’m working, so I’m good.”

I had a full-time job canning beer. I was traveling. Smiling.

But behind all that—I was trapping.

Getting it shipped. High while clocked in. Moving weight and pretending I had it all together.

It was too easy.

And it nearly cost me everything.

Boca. My Grandfather. And a Moment of Grace.

June 2, 2022. Boca Recovery Center, Pompano Beach.

That’s the day I started my clean time.

Boca didn’t save my life forever. But it gave me a start.

I didn’t stay after my insurance ran out. But it did its job.

Later, I flew to Jersey to visit my pops.

I had a line ready. He saw me. He stopped me. Quietly. Directly.

That moment helped keep me clean.

Then came the hardest part—my grandfather, Henry “Hank” Pannell, passed away.

On my birthday.

He didn’t pray with me. He wasn’t religious.

But he picked up the phone when I was using. When I was broken. When I needed someone.

He never judged me. He just showed up.

And I carry that with me every day.

My First NA Meeting Changed Everything

I didn’t expect to feel anything in that room.

But I did.

I felt seen. I felt safe. I felt like I wasn’t the only one anymore.

People of all ages, backgrounds, stories—showing up for themselves and for each other.

There’s an NA app now. It’ll tell you where to go.

That first meeting changed my life.

I Got Clean Just in Time

Because the game changed.

Fentanyl is in everything now—coke, pills, molly, meth.

In Georgia, overdose deaths have tripled.

In Savannah, people are dying from fentanyl laced with xylazine.

And Narcan doesn’t always save you from that.

I got clean just in time.

Some of my people didn’t.

If you’re still using, test your shit.

If you’re scared, ask for help.

Don’t play with this. It’s not like it was before.

What I Marked on 3-27-23

In my NA book, I wrote down:

“If we maintain our spiritual condition daily, we find it easier to deal with the pain and confusion.”

That’s what I live by now.

I don’t just avoid cocaine.

I stay connected—spiritually, mentally, emotionally.

Because without that connection, I drift.

And I can’t afford to drift anymore.

I Don’t Trap Anymore—I Testify

I used to move poison. Now I move purpose.

I grow food. I write. I show up. I build FTF.

I still get triggered. Still get tested. But I don’t run.

I FaceThyFear.

Closing Word

Three years clean from cocaine.

I don’t run—I rest.

I don’t hide—I heal.

I don’t numb—I nurture.

And if you’re still out there, still hurting, still alive…

You’ve still got a shot.

Don’t wait.

Don’t die in the cycle.

Come back. Clean. Free. Real.

FaceThyFear.

—Malcolm Pannell

FTF / Savannah, GA

FaceThyFear.com

@facethyfear

ARTICLE CODE: 1109 FTF