As the fentanyl crisis continues to sweep across Montana, the human cost becomes impossible to ignore.
The Montana Department of Justice calls fentanyl “the biggest safety threat facing Montana,” and for people like Great Falls resident Kayla Jessee, the path to sobriety is hard-won and deeply personal.
Quentin Shores reports - watch the video here:
Jessee began using drugs as a teenager, seeking escape from family trauma.
“I started when I was about 15 and progressively it just kept getting worse and worse," she said. "In 2021, I had started using fentanyl, and that went on for about a year. I have overdosed twice. My heart stopped once.”
The possibility of never seeing her children again became the breaking point.
Holding back tears, Jessee said, “I kept pictures of my kids with me at all times. And to think that I could never get them back one day broke my heart.”
Now, at 28, Jessee is working hard on her sobriety. Through counseling at Illumination Recovery in Great Falls, she has found hope, stability, and a renewed sense of purpose.
“They [my kids] are the light of my life. They're everything to me. Gosh. Sledding. Playing. It's so much fun.”
But her journey is not unique—many Montanans are seeking support, connection, and recovery.
Heather Harpring, co-owner and counselor at Illumination Recovery, sees this every day.
“I don't believe anybody is disposable,” she said. “Addiction does not discriminate. We're all human. We need that human connection.”
Illumination Recovery emerged from Seeking Recovery, a support program founded by Joann Malone.
After Malone's murder three years ago, her staff refused to let the mission dissolve.
“We went unpaid for a year and a half to keep these doors open, keep the same staff. Yeah, to make sure our people still had what they needed so they didn't relapse,” Harpring explained.
The name changed, but the heart and purpose remained the same.
Each recovery journey is unique. For Alexis Ramos, finding support—and hitting rock bottom—became a turning point after years of substance use.
“Kind of got mixed up with, you know, the wrong crowd,” she says. “It continued, you know, for 30 years. One thing led to another, and I relapsed for about six months. Took me going to jail, learning the hard way. But, yeah, now I've been clean and sober—on April 4th it will be a year.”
Stories like Jessee's and Ramos' highlight the seriousness of Montana’s fentanyl crisis, but also the powerful role community plays in recovery.
Counselors and support staff are on the frontlines, offering hope, assistance, and a path forward in the face of this growing drug threat.
