108. The Deadly Illusion of Pressed Pills
Addiction has a way of stripping away the truth and replacing it with illusions. For years, I believed I had control over what I was putting into my body. I told myself I knew my substances, my dosages, and my limits. The reality is, I was gambling with my life every single time I used. One of the most dangerous illusions I fell victim to was “pressed” pills—the counterfeit tablets made to look like real pharmaceuticals. Looking back now, from my perspective in recovery, I realize just how close I came to losing everything because of them.
Pressed pills are designed to fool you. They look like Xanax, Oxycodone, Percocet, and many others—medications that come from a pharmacy and carry an illusion of safety. What’s inside is rarely what the stamp on the pill claims. Dealers and manufacturers press these pills with cheap fillers and, all too often, with Fentanyl—a synthetic opioid so powerful that just a few grains can kill. I didn’t know this when I was in the depths of my addiction, or maybe I just didn’t care. The truth is, I thought I was using something familiar. Something I had used before. Something “safe” in the twisted world of addiction. Boy, was I wrong.
I remember one night vividly, though so much of my using years is a blur. I had bought what I thought were Xanax bars. They looked perfect—clean cut, same shape and markings as the real thing. I didn’t question it. My withdrawals had been creeping in hard, and my anxiety was screaming at me. I thought if I could just numb out for a little while, I could breathe again. I swallowed them like I had so many times before. Within an hour, I was on another planet. My body felt heavier than usual, my breathing shallow, my memory slipping in and out. I told myself, “These must just be strong.” Deep down, a part of me knew something wasn’t right. Still, I kept using them because I was desperate to escape.
That desperation almost killed me more than once. What I thought was Xanax was laced with fentanyl. I didn’t know it then, but every time I took one of those pressed pills, I was rolling the dice with my life. And for what? For a high that only lasted a few hours, followed by shame, sickness, and the never-ending cycle of needing more.
The moment I truly understood the danger came later, when I entered rehab. Walking into treatment was terrifying on its own. I felt stripped of everything—my substances, my crutches, my lies. On my first day, they asked me to take a urine test. I complied, not thinking much of it, because I was convinced I already knew what would show up: Benzodiazepines from all the “Xanax” I’d been using. When the results came back, my world stopped. The counselor sat across from me and told me, “You’re positive for Fentanyl.” I stared at him in disbelief. “No,” I argued. “That’s not possible. I’ve only been using Xanax.” My voice shook, part anger, part confusion, and part fear. He looked at me with compassion but also with firmness. “What you thought was Xanax bars most definitely wasn’t Xanax. They were actually pressed pills.”
In that moment, the denial I had been living in cracked wide open. I realized I hadn’t just been numbing myself—I had been poisoning myself. Every pill I thought was calming my anxiety had actually been a loaded gun. I could have overdosed at any moment, and the terrifying part is, I wouldn’t have even known why.
That discovery shook me to my core. It wasn’t just about getting clean anymore; it was about facing the truth that I had been inches away from death without even realizing it. It was about admitting that my addiction had blinded me so deeply that I couldn’t even trust the very substances I was using. The idea that I could have died believing I had simply taken “Xanax” haunts me to this day.
Recovery has given me the chance to look back at those experiences with honesty. I see now that pressed pills are one of the cruelest tricks in addiction. They prey on people like me—people desperate for relief, people who think they know what they’re doing, people who have convinced themselves that they’re managing their drug use responsibly. Pressed pills shatter that illusion. They don’t care if you’re young or old, rich or poor, experienced or inexperienced. They are silent killers hiding behind familiar shapes and markings.
When I share my story with others, especially those still struggling, I emphasize this: there is no such thing as a “safe” pressed pill. None. Every time you put one in your mouth or crush one up, you’re making a choice that could end your life. It doesn’t matter if your friend gave it to you, if you’ve bought from the same dealer for years, or if the pill looks exactly like the ones you’ve seen in a pharmacy bottle. The truth is that you don’t know what’s inside. And what’s inside could kill you before you even have a chance to realize what’s happening.
For me, the wake-up call came in rehab, in the form of a urine test. For others, that wake-up call comes in the form of a body bag. I was one of the lucky ones—lucky that I survived, lucky that I found treatment, and lucky that I have another chance to live a life free from the lies and illusions of addiction. Many aren’t so fortunate.
Today, in recovery, I carry those memories with me as both a warning and a motivation. They remind me how fragile life is and how dangerous it was to gamble with it for the sake of a high. They remind me of the people I’ve lost to overdose, people who thought they were taking one thing but ended up blindly taking Fentanyl. They remind me that my life is worth more than the illusion of escape. Addiction wanted me dead, but recovery has given me life. Part of that life is telling the truth about pressed pills—the danger, the deception, and the destruction they cause. If my story can reach even one person, if it can make them think twice before swallowing a counterfeit pill, then maybe my survival can serve a purpose beyond myself.
And so, I would like to end with this message to the young people I coach, to the athletes I work with, and to anyone who has followed my journey: Your life is far too valuable to risk on a pill that might not be what it seems. I know what it’s like to want relief, to want escape, to think just one pill could take away the pressure, the pain, or the anxiety. I also know what it’s like to stare death in the face because of that choice. I was lucky enough to survive. Many are not. You have dreams, goals, and futures worth fighting for. No game, no season, no feeling of fitting in is worth gambling your life on a counterfeit pill. If my story does anything, I hope it shows you that pressed pills don’t just steal your health—they steal your chance to live, to grow, to love, and to fulfill the potential that’s already inside of you. I beg of you; please don’t make the same mistakes I did. Choose life instead.
And remember, if you’re struggling or know someone who is struggling, please don’t lose hope. If that had happened to me, I wouldn’t be able to help spread awareness today.
