Inside, it felt like the first week of school. Recovering drug users were nervous, moody and excited, wondering what activities to sign up for and how to fit in. A 50-year-old woman named Stacey ran into the front door and embraced the first staff member she found.

“I want everyone to know what I learned,” she told the staff as she held her in her arms.

Rehabilitation saved Stacey’s life. Now four months sober, the retired business executive is determined to never return to the addiction she once suffered.

“This place has changed my life,” she said, trembling with emotion. “I’m so grateful I got to come here.”

But later that afternoon, as clouds dimmed the Ontario sky, Stacey said otherwise. As she celebrated the miracle of earning a new life, she worried about others who had not found redemption. Some had not put in the work needed to succeed. Others had stopped working but still had problems.

Stacey’s mixed message is the real story of housing rehabilitation.

The Ontario government recently pledged $378 million in new funding for addiction treatment programs like those at Bellwood, run by Edgewood Health Network (EHN) Canada. This investment in “new homelessness and addiction recovery treatment centers will support community safety, along with the recovery of those struggling with opioid addiction,” Health Minister and Deputy Premier Sylvia Jones said in a press release this month. It’s the kind of boost that could let more people like Stacey finally reclaim their lives.

But all that new money comes with a catch. While the government is pumping new money into rehab, it is cutting funding from another pillar of drug recovery: harm reduction.

In August, the Ford government announced it was shutting down 10 of the province’s 23 safe-consumption sites, including any within 200 meters of a school or child care facility, and banning all new safe-delivery sites and initiatives. The government says the move was driven by public safety concerns.

“It’s the worst thing that could ever happen to a community to have one of these safe injection sites in their neighborhood,” Premier Doug Ford said in August.

“(G)iving somebody, an addict, a place to do their injections, we haven’t seen it get any better.”

But advocates and those working in the recovery community fear that focusing solely on rehab will mean more people with addictions are abandoned to hopelessness and death.

“People die every day because they don’t have access to life-saving services,” said Dr. Christina Basedow, an addiction expert and director of operations at EHN Canada.

“It is very harmful to people who are suffering to pit (harm reduction) against rehab.”

The downside of a rehabilitation-only strategy is not just about those who try rehab and fail to break their addiction. It starts with those who, for many reasons, struggle to even try.

Inside the South Riverdale Community Health Centre, one of the harm reduction facilities the Ontario government has planned to close, Jen, 47, sits at a designated safe consumption station surrounded by all her possessions in small plastic bags.

Jen, whose disheveled hair and puffy eyes betray sleepless nights on the streets, has weaned herself off heroin. But she continues to use other hard drugs.

As she mixed her crystal meth powder with sterile water and selected a syringe, the former musician raved about the site’s services and staff.

“They’ve saved my life countless f—king times … seen me at my absolute worst.”

Jen, who has been a heavy drug user since the age of 18, said she doesn’t want to get sober. She chooses to use drugs to escape from her troubled past and cope with daily life. The thought of what will happen when South Riverdale closes terrifies her.

“We won’t have a place to go,” she said, her voice rising in anger.

“I will wander the streets and alleys. I will throw up in public. I will die.”

People familiar with addiction say harm reduction isn’t just for those who don’t want rehab. Even people who complete therapy need its support.

“Every addict has their journey,” said Tony Lehal, a Bellwood manager who was once a rehab patient himself. “There are many paths to recovery.”

According to the Canadian Drug Rehab Directory, about 75 percent of adults will overcome their addiction. But most people need several attempts – an average of five – to fully recover.

The path of a man named Aaron reflects these statistics. From the seventh grade, the 25-year-old trans man turned to drugs to alleviate feelings of emptiness, identity confusion and abandonment by his father. Over the years, Aaron smoked pot and partied with ecstasy, cocaine and ketamine. He used tops to get him through the day, then drank himself to sleep.

Aaron was 19 when a drunk driver killed his mother. His addiction spiraled. Overcome with grief, he harbored a nagging suspicion that his actions had somehow led to the tragedy.

“She was my everything,” he said, his chiseled jaw trembling slightly. “And I had lied, stolen and cheated, not treated her well.”

Aaron finally got help when his girlfriend gave him an ultimatum at the age of 21. He checked in at Bellwood.

But his years of trauma and abuse took almost as long to unwind. He needed four residencies to understand that he was suffering from PTSD, learn that his addiction was killing him, and master techniques to stay sober.

Today, Aaron lives at New Beginnings, a recovery home that offers round-the-clock care. Group meetings, a case manager, a sponsor, a therapist and a mentor support him. He feels satisfied and secure and works as a yoga instructor.

But Aaron still has moments of crisis and knows how easy it is to relapse. He is outraged by plans to close harm reduction sites, such as Moss Park, which helps people with addiction who relapse.

“Recovery is not a straight line,” he said. “It’s not linear.”

People recovering from addiction need places where they are safe and supported, Aaron said. “Without it, they risk failure and death.”

The dimly lit entrance to Moss Park Consumption Treatment servicesanother safe place of consumption slated for closure, feels a world away from the gleaming skyscrapers of Toronto that flicker behind its graffiti-marked facade.

Inside, sitting in a cramped room pulsing with life, Chris Halls, 53, drew a picture of his cherished childhood dog on a mural as he recounted 10 different rehab programs he’s tried, including Bellwood, without success.

Today, Chris is a regular fentanyl user and has no plans to stop using drugs. He depends on the Moss Park center to keep him safe.

“It would be a travesty to close this place, like closing homes for older adults,” he said.

“Without it, people will die.”

Last year, Moss Park staff saved 517 people from overdose deaths and removed more than 497 inappropriately disposed needles from the community, according to researcher Seff Pinch. Harm reduction centers serve people, like Chris, who choose drugs but they also save the lives of people who have to wait for rehabilitation.

Moss Park made 55 referrals for inpatient care in the past year, but only two clients received beds. Toronto’s three million residents only have access to 29 publicly funded, medically supervised detox beds, according to Pinch’s research.

At privately owned centers such as Bellwood, detox and rehabilitation are combined. But in Toronto’s public facilities, detox and rehab are separate programs, Pinch said.

Drug users must complete detox before applying for residential rehabilitation. Even after making it through detox, they often face weeks or months of waiting for admission to rehab.

There were 257 publicly funded drug treatment beds in Toronto in 2023, according to research by the Institute for Mental Health Policy Research at CAMH. Ontario’s plans do not specify how many new rehab sites are planned for the new centers.

While drug users wait to get clean, safe places to consume can help keep them alive.

“People in recovery feel vulnerable and have a lower tolerance for the drugs they once used,” said Gabriella Skubincan of the South Riverdale Community Health Centre.

“Their risk of relapse and overdose is very high.”

In the past three months, as the government detailed plans for its new rehab centers, there have been more than 800 overdose deaths in Ontario, according to the coroner’s office. The province faces a stark dilemma: While a focus on rehabilitation may rescue some individuals from the depths of addiction, advocates say it could leave others at risk.

Ontario’s drug users navigate tangled paths, each journey reflecting the complexities of addiction.

Today, Stacey celebrates sobriety at home with her husband while Aaron seeks solace in therapy.

Jen faces another crisis, her tent is stolen, and she turns to meth for help.

Chris is burdened with uncertainty and fear for his future.

“I don’t know why I’m an addict, but I can’t change it. I just am.”