Trapped A Story of my Addiction

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photo-1453974336165-b5c58464f1edA story of my addiction


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.

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I am a Writer and Blogger. I Live in beautiful Oregon where I get a lot of my inspiration . I am a Grandmother of 6 grandkids, and am just now finally writing part of my story Lost Angel. I also will be using this site not only to get to know you but to support fellow writers, artists, poets , Photographers and Musicians. I believe that we should help each other to keep the amazing talent that is sometimes overlooked moving forward .

4 Responses

  1. Rebecca Brockway

    Dear Deb:

    At the end of your piece, you describe what it’s like for you every time you encounter the ocean – the rhythm of the water’s ebb and the flow – a dance. The tone of your storyteller’s voice reminded me of the ebb and flow of the ocean too. A lovely and compelling essay, my dear. Thank you for gifting me your tale.

    Rebecca Brockway

  2. Rachel (@thedigger0)

    Hey Deb,

    What an amazing story of recovery. An addict in denial. The most scariest part of being a user is being in denial, I always see people at this stage and it’s the worst place they can be. The dangerous area. Its where living and dying are even with one another. It could go either way.

    You being shattered into pieces like a mirror is really breaking down what a tranformational group session should be about. Ripping down the walls of denial to face you. A mentally tough phase. Harrowing in fact. Many want to run at this time as its far too hard to get through.

    I am always amazed by ex-addicts. Nobody ever sets out to become addicted to any substance. Coming back shows incredible strength. Glad to have read this post. Thank you.


  3. chanlerjeffers

    This is beautiful, Deb: “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.” Truly beautiful. I congratulate you not only on your journey, but on deciding to share the more difficult parts of it through this post.

    Keep up the good, but difficult, work!

    Chanler Jeffers

  4. Philip V. Ariel (@PVAriel)

    Hi Deb,

    Happy to be here today. 🙂

    I am here today via my online friend Maxwell’s twitter note.

    Congrats, for creating a wonderful page.
    Indeed it looks majestic! But more to go!

    The narration is well done with this post.
    Keep coming with more such posts.

    Good wishes for a bright time of blogging!
    Keep informed.
    Best Regards

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