Every child comes into this world with a clean canvas. No wrongs done to them, and none they have committed. As we age pain follows, and pain comes from what is on that clean white canvas. The good is there as well. Mine was more like abstract art, from a bad starving artist. So pain is for viewing, and being viewed. In my disease that was an extremely gray area. I didn’t care,or expect to live long enough to worry looking at any of the pain.
I didn’t start or end overnight. Suffice it to say that on the day of my birth, I would have a lot on my canvas. There would come a time many years later, when I would be able to see clearly, the way forward. As of now, I would begin to slowly destroy everything in my path. So my life would continue in this circle of damage, thinking I was hurting everyone but myself. What lies we can tell ourselves. What’s worse we believe them. There would be two divorces and they resulted in one child each . These children would be my life support systems.
For a long time I was a walking, talking disaster. And my timing superb, just like an addict. My disease began the way most things do slowly. I had surgery, the Doctor gave me the magic pill bottle that would make me feel nothing but good, while killing me at the same time. Narcotics and I would become the best of friends. Like all things the fun began to fade. Then one horrific day the Doctor took the magic pills away completely. So what was my next brilliant decision? What does every princess do at the end of a Disney movie ? She marries the prince. So instead of looking in the yellow pages for my prince, I went to find my own at about twenty Doctor’s offices. The Doctors would become my prince’s, the pharmacies my palace.
At first they were giving me the magic pills, but soon each one would stop. So instead of hunting for more Doctor’s, I just helped myself. I started taking a parting gift. Since I was such a selfless, honest addict I took their prescription pads. What a brilliant diabolical addict move. So like a baby needs a bottle I needed pills and believe me I was street smart. For over one year , I wrote prescriptions using anyone’s name that popped into my head.
In all the jumbled up reality, I thought I ruled the world. How bad could it be now I have my pills and all is well. Need I say at the end of this spree for magic meds, I had written prescriptions in at least four counties! So was it a surprise when I got caught ? Yes, of all answers yes. How I defied the odds I would think in a sick addicts mind. What I did not know was I wanted to get caught just tired. Tired of the worry, the fear of what lie ahead , But still I wanted to run.
This is where my life began to go quickly down hill. The police came to my door on cold January night, and it was then I knew life as I knew it was over. I still have yet to meet an addict that picks rehab as their first choice. Bargaining is the first thing , then lying , I can stop I’m not an addict and on and on. I had a choice,of course I did, and I took the rehab. I was doing a coin toss except with my life. My other choice however was prison. Was there a question or a choice?
I was a time bomb ticking just waiting to go off. So what saved me ? Well remember the children I spoke of, they did, and it wouldn’t be the first time. They didn’t wait to get me in rehab, within twenty-four hours I was there. I took long walk from the foyer to my building I remember it seemed to take forever.
When I got there the door came open and before it shut, I wanted to run. Then at that moment I knew I was theirs whatever that meant. Before I had to answer one question, I wanted to run , and I missed my children. Where were the magic pills now ? I told myself a lot of lies but this one was the one I wished I could have believed. From the time I got through the check in process, I started a long road back. I thought it would be easy, another lie I told myself. I was slowly taken off the magic meds, then came the detox, I wanted to die and no breaks in rehab. Everyday group after group,no caffeine a complete and scheduled life.
At night it was field trips to AA meetings. The days were group’s meant to break you down.I remember the day they called me a junkie. Never before had I thought of that. I was a middle class addict, another lie I told myself. They broke me down finally, and couldn’t talk fast enough.Wow I could tell the truth and feelings. I shattered into a million pieces, like a busted mirror and I had to pick those pieces up. While I did this I had to look at myself in each piece. I kept the good pieces and threw away the bad slivers.
After exploring, diagnosing and examining. Then it was time to go home, believe it or not, I didn’t want to leave! This was twenty-two years ago and I have gone through things that have tested me everyday.
I’ve been married to a good man the last man eighteen years. My children went through my recovery and turned out amazing people. I came back from the place some sadly never do, death. I work everyday on my recovery its part of my life but not a lie.
Now I can drive to our coast and I wait for the first look at her. The ocean it’s crashing separate waves move together like a high kick chorus line on Broadway. It holds hands until they touch the shoreline and move in and out with a special rhythm. That’s what I see now something amazing . I get that chance where once I ran out of chances.