There is always room for change
I was born to a loving mother and father. I had two older
brothers and one older sister. There was a huge age gap between my siblings and
I. My father was a successful business owner and my mother worked for the phone
company. They had their own house, a boat and a Corvette. It would seem life
was well intact, until a little disease called addiction manifested in the life
of my father. My life changed rapidly and drastically from then on. My father
had become addicted to Lortab.
Addiction is like a plague that affects everyone it comes in
contact with. Being an addict has destroyed many relationships in my lifetime.
I have lost everything and felt powerless in trying to regain what I had lost.
The darkness that comes with addiction felt like a dark void that hovered over
me, forcing me further down into the depths of darkness. Like any void, there
are walls but those walls are steep and hard to climb. Taking the incentive to
climb that wall and get out of the darkness is the choice that I had to make
and it was not an easy pill to swallow. The hardest part into recovery is the
beginning but it is worth it.
The downward spiral spun out of control and into an abyss of
darkness. My father was partnered with his brother at the company he started.
When his brother realized my father had a problem he took him to court to gain
sole ownership of the company; he won. Now that we no longer had the business, my
family depended on my mother to support us. I spent a lot of time with my older
sister. My sister was wild and enjoyed experimenting with drugs. When I got to
be twelve years old she decided it was time for me to join in on the fun; she
wanted me to feel like she felt. At twelve years old I was doing cocaine, LSD,
drinking, smoking, shooting up OxyContin, and having sex with much older men. I
didn’t know any better. I just knew that I wanted to be like
my older sister who was so beautiful, cool and popular with the guys.
After a while of constantly getting high, I
began getting depressed, and my answer was self-mutilation.
When my mother and father realized I needed help they took me straight to a
drug rehabilitation center. Seeing I was only twelve, the personnel were
concerned and reported my situation to the Department of Children and Families
(DCF). I ended up in a girl’s home, a foster home, stayed with some relatives,
and ended up in juvenile program.
When my sister went to prison, as a result of her drug use,
the DCF allowed me to return home. I kept using. I finally got clean for a
couple years. I ended up in an abusive relationship. I felt the heartache was
too much to bear; I turned to cocaine and alcohol again. I overdosed and had a
seizure, but that wasn’t enough to stop my use. My cocaine use turned into
abuse and then turned into a much more addictive form; crack cocaine.
Crack cocaine was like a succubus that drained my life from
within in my grasp in a minimal amount of time. It was like I was possessed and
nothing mattered but my drug. I lost my children to the state and had my rights
terminated. It seemed as if my life was over.
I sold crack and used it. Eventually, my sister stole all of my money and
drugs, and I was left empty handed. I needed my fix. I resorted to selling my
body. That is something no woman wants to do. I had no care in the world, but,
deep down my soul was screaming for help.
My eldest brother died, my sister died, and my father died,
all from drugs. How could I continue knowing what the outcome
would be? I needed God. I hung my head in shame any time
I thought of God and how I was a disgrace to him. I had blood transfusions
because the drug was eating my body and destroying my mind. I was on my way to the grave.
There had to be a way out.
After I was on the street for a while, I met a man that would
change my way of thinking and give me a new hope. I fell deeply in love with
him, more than the love I had for my drug. In the beginning we partied together,
but when our relationship began to evolve into something real and unique,
the drugs became a problem. I slipped in and out of active addiction for two
years. Finally
one day I took a deep hard look at what I was falling into. I realized I could
lose everything all over again. I told my husband I needed to go
to a Cocaine Anonymous meeting.
These
meetings gave me hope, wisdom, and
courage. The people who shared their stories seemed to be telling part of mine.
I heard what they said and I listened. I gave up alcohol and drugs. I found
God. I am closer to God than I have ever been. I am grateful to have been
through the valley of the shadow of death and managed to find my way out.
Now I have the hope and courage to share my story with the
addicts who still suffer. I am here, and I am free. I went to the depths of
hell, and God gave me a chance to redeem myself. After all the falls and all
the wounds that came with the falls, all I have are the scars to remind me of
how far I’ve come. I never want to go back. I found my path out of darkness
even when there wasn’t a shed of light. I had to be the one to get up and find
it.
Yes, I am spoiled by my husband. I usually get what I want, and that is ok because usually what I want is the simple things in life that I enjoy now that I am sober and clean. I used to clean out the bank and then some for drugs and alcohol. I enjoy the ability to get something went I want it. The price of being a drug addict is outnumbered compared to the price of a spoiled wife.
I love my life and I love the fact that my husband will do anything to make me happy as long as it is positive and not harmful or problem causing. He allows me to be me. Hey, what can I say, I'm spoiled brat with a smile on my face. When mama's happy everyone's happy.
