Forever Me – Here I Stand
A raw memoir of survival, addiction, healing, and finding the strength to stand
FOREVER ME
Here I Stand
A powerful memoir by Angel Harden
A true story of survival, addiction, trauma, healing, and hope.
This is not a polished version of pain.
It is the truth of what it took to survive
— and what it means to finally stand in your own life.
About the Book
Forever Me – Here I Stand is a deeply personal memoir that walks through the realities of trauma, addiction, loss, survival, and recovery.
It is written for anyone who has lived through darkness, anyone who has had to rebuild themselves from the ground up, and anyone who needs proof that it is possible to keep going.
This book does not look away from the hard parts. It tells the truth plainly, with heart, grit, and honesty.
At its core, this is a story about survival.
But more than that, it is a story about reclaiming voice, identity, and strength.
Inside these pages
- Honest and unfiltered storytelling
- Real experiences of addiction and recovery
- Survival through abuse, trauma, and loss
- Healing, courage, and personal transformation
- A voice that is raw, grounded, and deeply human
“This is not just a story about what happened to me. It is a story about what it took to survive it.”
Get Your Copy
Available now in Kindle and paperback.
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Perfect for readers of memoirs that are raw, courageous, and deeply real.
About the Book
Forever Me – Here I Stand is a memoir of survival told with honesty, courage, and heart.
From childhood wounds to addiction, from chaos to clarity, Angel Harden shares the parts of her story many people keep hidden. The book follows the reality of what it means to live through trauma, self-destruction, and grief — and then fight for healing anyway.
This is not a story tied up neatly with a bow.
It is about endurance.
It is about truth.
It is about getting back up, over and over again, no matter what.
For readers who have walked hard roads themselves, this book offers recognition, connection, and hope.
Meet Angel Harden
Angel Harden is an author, healer, and founder of Rongoa Angel – Healing Hands.
Her work is grounded in lived experience, survival, and healing. Through both her writing and her work with others, she brings honesty, compassion, and strength to the realities many people carry in silence.
Forever Me – Here I Stand is her memoir — a deeply personal account of addiction, trauma, resilience, and the long road back to herself.
Her voice is direct, heartfelt, and unafraid to tell the truth.
Read an Excerpt
Chapter 8
Rock Bottom
It was around this time, at eighteen, that I was diagnosed with PCOS and endometriosis after nine months of heavy bleeding.
There was surgery. A clean-out. Hormones.
And then I was told I would never have kids.
Before that news, my identity was already written.
I was going to follow in Mum’s footsteps. She was an incredible homemaker, and her and Dad were deeply in love. I wanted that kind of life. I wanted a man like my dad. I wanted a home. I wanted babies.
It felt simple. Certain.
And then it was gone.
Shattered in a single moment.
There was nothing left to grow up for anymore.
No future I could see myself in.
I kept it to myself.
It was a private pain — one I didn’t know how to share.
A part of me still hoped they’d gotten it wrong.
During that surgery, they inserted an IUD to help balance the hormones.
It was meant to last five years.
So I buried it — told myself I had time, that I didn’t have to face it yet.
I remember being in the gynaecology unit at Westmead Hospital.
They said I was a rare case.
One day, the doctor pulled back the curtain with a group of students behind him. They were all putting gloves on.
He asked if it was okay if they joined.
I remember thinking…
why do they need gloves?
They’re not touching me.
I was only eighteen.
I didn’t have the words for it then…
but I felt like an object.
I burst into tears.
It was excruciatingly humiliating.
It felt like everything that made me a woman was being stripped away from me.
Like I had been reduced to nothing more than a spectacle.
Something shifted in me after that.
I stopped caring.
It was around that time I changed my name — from Natalie Jane to Angel Rose.
Because Natalie was gone.
That happy little girl with dreams… she didn’t exist anymore.
And Angel…
she was who I hoped I could become instead.
Looking back, that was the first real crack.
The first time I used a dirty needle.
They came in packs of five.
It was already the third use that day.
We were a long way from anywhere. Didn’t realise until after we’d scored.
And we only had one.
Nay used it first.
Then it was my turn.
No thought.
No hesitation.
No part of me stopping it.
I just did it.
That was the moment I knew…
something in me had changed.
Another line crossed.
By then, using wasn’t something I did anymore.
It was something I needed.
Every day started the same way. Not with plans. Not with purpose — just the question of how I was going to get through the next few hours.
Everything revolved around it.
Getting it.
Preparing it.
Using it.
Repeating it.
Around that time, Mum got sick.
Everything shifted again.
Mum and Dad had already moved to Melbourne, following the grandbabies my sister had given them. So Jo and I went there too.
It wasn’t some big, thought-out decision — just another move, another attempt at something different.
But nothing really changed.
I brought everything with me.
Ellie and Robbie followed not long after.
Same people.
Same patterns.
Just a different place.
That’s when Nay came into it.
What drew me to Nay?
She was this beautiful Māori princess. She reminded me of home — of belonging, of my roots. Something I didn’t even realise I’d been missing until she was standing in front of me.
It’s funny… right before we got together, she spent about an hour telling me why she could never be a lesbian.
Then she just stopped, looked at me, and said, “Oh fuck it…”
And that was that.
At first, she was just around. Using with me. Part of the circle.
Then, before long, she moved in with me and Joe.
We shared her.
Another line crossed without really thinking about it.
Another thing that just became normal.
By then, I was using intravenously.
Three, four times a day.
Sometimes more.
I’d prep multiple syringes at once so I didn’t have to think later. They’d sit there, ready. No hygiene. No care. Just urgency. Just need.
I wasn’t thinking about consequences.
I wasn’t thinking at all.
Nay hadn’t used like that before. Not properly.
I showed her how.
That’s something that’s hard to sit with now.
I didn’t just destroy myself.
I brought other people into it too.
At the time, it felt normal. Sharing. Bonding. Like we were all in it together.
But really… we were just sinking together.
Then came the hit.
I don’t know exactly what it was — dirty, too strong, something wrong with it. All I know is that it took me down fast. My body just shut off.
The next thing I remember, I was in hospital.
Wires.
Tubes.
Voices talking over me like I wasn’t really there.
That’s when they told me.
Endocarditis.
A heart infection.
Serious. Life-threatening.
They talked about long-term antibiotics. My heart valves. Surgery if it didn’t clear.
It all sounded distant. Like it was happening to someone else.
Joe didn’t stay.
He left while I was in hospital. Strong, safe, predictable Joe… gone.
Just… gone.
And that was that.
I was in hospital, hooked up to machines — and suddenly alone again.
When they discharged me, I went back to the house Joe and I had shared with Nay.
But without Joe, we couldn’t hold it together.
We couldn’t pay the rent.
It didn’t take long.
We were evicted.
Because of the overdose, the doctors stopped the scripts.
The prescriptions stopped.
There was no further intervention. No support for addiction.
And by then, that’s what it was.
A full IV poly addiction.
So we went to the streets.
Because that’s where the drugs were.
And at that point, that was all that mattered.
I started selling more.
Using more.
Everything I owned started disappearing.
Car.
Motorbike.
Anything worth money.
Even my reptiles.
All of them…
except Bailey.
Bailey was different.
She was the first. I’d had her since she was five, meant to be part of the breeding side of things like the others I’d bought.
But she never became that.
She became my baby.
She was cuddly as… hardly ever in her tank. She just stayed with me — travelled with me, came to Mum’s. Even Mum liked her, which was huge.
One day, when she was about three and around half a metre long, she was curled up asleep in my bra while I was at the bank.
She suddenly popped her head out to have a look around.
The teller saw her and hit the alarm.
Screens slammed up out of the counter.
People started screaming.
Total chaos.
And I was just standing there… holding Bailey, trying not to laugh.
That was the kind of bond we had.
Everything else went.
Everything else got sold.
But not her.
She was the one thing I couldn’t let go of.
The one thing that still mattered.
She gave me comfort.
She’d curl around my shoulders, warm against my skin. I’d tickle her underbelly with my fingernails, and she’d move slowly against the back of my neck, like she was massaging me.
It calmed me.
In a life that had become chaos…
she was the only thing that could.
I told myself the animals would be fine.
That they’d be living their best lives… running free, off leash.
Bailey out there hunting, doing what she was born to do.
That was the version of reality I held onto.
I don’t need to explain how wrong that was now.
When I lost the house, I moved into a beat-up old station wagon.
That was home.
Me, Nay, two black kittens, and a foxy cross chihuahua — Mardi — who I’d taken from Mum years earlier.
We parked around St Kilda, trying to stay out of sight. Trying to survive.
Food didn’t matter.
Sleep didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except getting through the next hit.
But we made sure the animals were fed.
The cats.
The dog.
The snake.
No matter what else was falling apart… that part mattered.
That was rock bottom.
Not one moment.
Not one event.
Just a slow, steady collapse…
until there was nothing left to hold onto.
Except the addiction.
It didn’t scare me.
It almost felt like relief.
Like there was an end point to all of it.
A way out I didn’t have to fight for.
I could see where I was heading…
and dead felt better than the reality I was living in.
The only part of me that didn’t want to die…
was the part that imagined my mum finding out.
The look on her face.
The pain it would cause her.
It didn’t stop me.
But it stopped me thinking about suicide.
Not because I wanted to live…
but because I couldn’t do that to her.
What made it rock bottom wasn’t the situation.
It was me.
The complete lack of care for myself.
The self-loathing that came with every line I crossed…
and the fact that I kept crossing them anyway.
The only reason I was still here…
was the animals.
And that… was killing me.
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What readers are saying about Forever Me – Here I Stand.
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“An incredibly brave and honest memoir.”
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“Raw, heartbreaking, and deeply inspiring.”
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“A story that will stay with me for a long time.”
Contact
For media, interviews, speaking, collaboration, or book-related enquiries:
Angel Harden
Rongoa Angel – Healing Hands
Email: info@rongoaangel.com
Email: info@rongoaangel.com
Forever Me – Here I Stand by Angel Harden
A memoir of survival, healing, and hope.
Copyright © Angel Harden. All rights reserved.
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Introducing a new author who packs a punch. 