During the six days I was abducted and trafficked, the man I called the Bike Man followed me through the streets on a bicycle. He flashed a gun at me so I understood what could happen if I tried to run. I was 20 years old when I left a homeless shelter with no money, no phone, and a small backpack. I was addicted to her*in and cr*ck, and my only plan was to get high. That was why I got into the car. Getting in was my choice. Being held, watched, sold, threatened, and beaten for the next six days wasn't. It was a Detroit block with several trap houses. Most of the other houses were abandoned, burned down, or already gone, leaving empty lots overgrown with tall grass and weeds. The house where I was being held was run by drug dealers and had a doorman controlling who came inside. The houses on that block were all connected. They knew when police were doing street sweeps. They sent me out to find men who were buying sex, but I wasn't allowed to get into their cars. Some of the men were extremely high and paranoid. When I refused to get into their cars, they became suspicious and wouldn't follow me. Others followed me straight back without asking me where to go, as though they had been there before. I couldn't explain why I wouldn't get into the car. The Bike Man stayed close enough behind me that I was never out of his sight. When a man agreed, I brought him past the doorman and inside. Behind that door, I was forced to do whatever they told me to do. They took the money, gave me enough drugs to keep me from getting sick, and sent me right back out. I had been awake for days. I don't remember eating anything, and I had been using massive amounts of her*in and cr*ck. It was an extremely hot summer. I remember walking through those streets projectile vomiting while the Bike Man rode close behind me. Cars were passing. People were going about their normal lives. I didn't know who was connected to the people controlling me, who might help, or who might report me before I got to the end of the block. They also controlled the her*in my body depended on. At one point they accused me of hiding money. I didn't have any. I was walking down the street when someone ran toward me from across the street and tackled me into an empty lot. People working the street nearby laughed as I screamed for help. The man who tackled me went through my pockets while I kept telling him I had no money. I looked around and realized no one was going to help me. That's when I knew I had been set up. When it was over, I walked back to the trap house with my clothes torn and my nose bleeding. The man watching me was still nearby, acting like he hadn't seen any of it. I knew I was still being watched, and I knew I had to go back. They laughed when they saw me. No one asked if I was hurt. No one was surprised. It had never been about money. It was a warning. I remember feeling deeply betrayed. Addiction had bent what I believed relationships were. Part of me believed that underneath all of it, they still saw me as a human being. Their laughter told me they did not. People usually picture an abduction as someone being dragged into a vehicle or locked behind a door. I was walking down a public street and speaking to men, but I couldn't tell them what was happening. Being outside didn't mean I was free. For years, I blamed myself because I got into that car willingly. I thought to being addicted meant I deserved it. Leaving a shelter because I wanted to get high wasn't consent to being trafficked. The only person I told was my mom, and even then, I didn't tell her everything. I didn't call it trafficking. I called it something I had brought on myself. Blaming myself felt easier than admitting how powerless and afraid I had been. I saw myself as damaged goods and believed I didn't deserve anything better. That shame helped keep me using. When I was high, I didn't have to think about what happened. I couldn't heal from something I refused to name. I had to admit that I had been trafficked, stop calling the abuse something I deserved, and tell someone I trusted. I'm sharing this because someone reading it may still believe they're responsible for what was done to them while they were addicted. Addiction didn't take away my humanity. You don't have to behave like a perfect victim for what happened to count. If you have been through something like this, please tell someone safe. Shame told me silence was protecting me. Silence kept me inside those six days long after I had physically left them. The street was open. I was still being held. ❤️‍🩹 We Do Recover #mentalhealth #wedorecover #addiction #recovery #healingjourney