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Hotel High. Part Five.

Updated: Feb 5, 2023

I do not remember the drive back toward North, Atlanta. The next stop I remember is checking into a nice hotel; continuing to shoot heroin and cocaine in my veins while drinking vodka. Dean hung out for a little while then he left to go see his girlfriend. He said he was coming back. I do not know the time frame all this is taking place in. As you can imagine with clonazepam, heroin, cocaine, and vodka in my system I eventually passed out. The hours in between are a mystery. I woke up early the next morning. It is before 6am. I check my phone and look for any remaining vodka. There was none. I call Dean. He is not answering. I am pissed. He left me in the hotel, and I do not have my car. And I am irritated because all the dope is gone. I look out my hotel window and see my car across the highway in a parking lot. It appeared so far away. I did not feel like I could walk it. I walked to the breakfast nook. I pour a cup of orange juice and sit down at a table. An older woman sits next to me. I ask her if she can take me across the street to my vehicle. She looked at me like I had three heads! She told me she could not. I go back to the room to continue calling Dean. He finally answers. I tell him how uncool it was to leave me in the hotel without access to my car. I told him to come get me. I wanted more drugs. Dean picks me up at the hotel room. We stop at a gas station. I pay for his gas. Then, we stop at a nearby atm. I take out a couple of hundred. Within twenty-four hours, I had spent almost a thousand dollars on dope and a hotel.


Dean drives us back to the "bluff" for more dope. I remember Dean jabbing the needle in my arm. It bruised it and left a bubble underneath the surface. I had a blown vein. I did not care. I felt like I deserved all the pain in the world. I felt like I was nothing. I had become what my family refers to as a "low-life junkie or "dopehead."


The next part I remember is somewhat disturbing. I am out cold. I remember opening my eyes to Dean screaming "Hope, wake up!" He was violently shaking me and slapping my face. As I am slowly coming back to life, He is freaking out. "Hope, you were turning fucking blue. Drink some water. You were fucking dead." He had pulled over at some point. I am so confused and out-of-it. I get out of the car to get fresh air. The sun is shining on my face, and I say, "It is such a beautiful day." Dean drives me back to my car. He cannot wait to get me there. He did not want my death on his hands.


I am barely coherent. I began to drive. I made a few phone calls. I am trying to find my way home. My mind could not think. I honestly did not know how to get home. I wanted my babies. I could not handle this lifestyle. One day of it and I was 'beside myself.' I did not have a limit to drug usage or the amount of alcohol I drank. I always wanted more. No radar went off in my head. I always thought I was okay, until I would wake and realize I was not. Most people's brains indicate them when they have had enough substances. My brain indicated me after it started shutting down.


It is now Sunday evening. I finally make it home. I assume, I managed to use the maps app on my phone to get me there. I do not remember. All I remember next is seeing my babies and giving them the biggest hug. I started to cry. Bentley, Everett, and Cooper were the only ones that could bring out my full emotions other than anger. I loved them more than I loved life itself. I hated myself for what I was doing. I did not know how to stop. Holding them brought me comfort. It was the bond we shared and the unconditional love.


I do not remember the rest of the evening. From what I have been told, I told Eric everything. I was an open book, feeling like I needed to confess my sins. Looking back at my behavior, I was constantly seeking if Eric would still love me even at my worst. The wounds Eric opened were not new. After a lot of therapy, I am now aware of my core childhood wounds and how they were manifesting in my adult life.


The next morning, Eric dropped Bentley off at school and the boys off at daycare. He did not go to work. I laid sick in the bed. He walked in, mid-morning and said, "you cannot stay here."


Me: Eric, where exactly am I supposed to go? I am done. I cannot do it anymore.


Eric: I do not care. You will have to get your shit and get out today. You told me you did heroin. Look at your arm Hope. You need help. Call your boyfriend or whoever you were with and let him deal with you. You disgust me. It is over between us. Your brother said he is on his way. You called him last night. You can figure it out with Dex. I do not care anymore. I do not care what happens to you. For the kids' sake, I hope you can make it.


I began to cry. I felt thrown away, once again. Although, in his defense he did not know what to do. His next move, I still find it un-called for. [ The love to hate switch rapidly changed often during this time period. One minute we loved each other, the next we hated each other and wanted a divorce.]



The same day, early afternoon, I was sitting on the couch watching television. There is a knock at the door. Eric gets up off the couch to open it. A black lady walks in and introduces herself. She is from the Division of Family and Children services. Eric always went as low as he could possibly go. I do not get up from the couch. I am thinking, "I am so tired of Eric's bullshit like this." She walks over toward me and said," I received an anonymous call that the kids may be in danger due to your drug usage. Have you taken any substances today?" I look Eric dead in the eye. I say, "really? I think I can identify the caller. He is sitting right next to me."


Lady: Ma'am I am unable to disclose that information.


Me: No. I am not under the influence.


Lady: Have you been under the influence in the past 24 to 48 hours?


Me: No.


Lady: I received a phone call you were using heroin and driving under the influence with children in the car. Would you be willing to take a drug screen?


Me: No. All that is false. And yes, I will take a drug screen (I knew she would not have me take one right then). I am in recovery. I have recently relapsed with alcohol. My husband who is next to me has been drinking with me (I can feel my temperature rising. I am outraged at Eric.) I do have a plan. My brother is on his way to pick me up from West Virgina. I am going to treatment and then to sober living.


Eric: She is lying. She has been gone all weekend using drugs in a hotel room. Look at her arm.


Lady: For the time being, until further investigation, Ms. Wilson you can only see the children while supervised by your husband or an adult he approves of.


Me: Okay. That is not a problem. And when I complete treatment can I have my rights back?


Lady: Call me when you have completed treatment and we will go from there.


Me: Okay, Thank you ma'am.


She hands me her business card as I give her my phone number. She was doing her job. I understood that. She leaves.


Me: Eric, what the fuck are you thinking? Do you not realize the shit you are doing. If I am under investigation, you better fucking believe your ass will go down too. You do the same shit as I do except you have not got caught! Other than the heroin there is no fucking difference between us. You are the one that needs fucking help. You are fucking sick. Why in the hell would you want to do this to our children? I swear, I do not know who you are.


Eric: You are getting out of this fucking house today. I do not care if you have to stay on the fucking streets Hope. I am done. He proceeds to go pack up a suitcase for me.


{There were differences between Eric and me. I mean, we did drink and take pills essentially the same way, but it affected my entire being differently. He was functional, I was not. He knew when to stop, I did not. And he did not drink himself to oblivion like I did. In my mind, because we both technically drank the same way he should be punished too. But Eric was not reckless, I was. I knew he would take care of the kids, which I am so incredibility thankful for, but in a lot of ways it fueled my risky behavior.}


I call my brother, Dex. He had been driving all night since he received my phone call. He was worried about me. He was getting close to the Georgia line. I could not wait to see my brother and give him a hug. I felt so alone. I needed my family (All my family lived out-of-state.) He said, "tell Eric I am coming to whoop his ass to let my sister get like this. You were not like this until you married that prik."


Eric had left to pick up the kids from daycare. My heart was broken. I had to leave them again, not by my own will. Eric walks in with my babies, and I am loving on them as much as I can before I have to leave. I tell them Uncle D is coming to pick me up so I can go visit Little Dex and Aleena Bug, their cousins. Eric tells me, "Your brother is texting me how he is going to whoop my ass. I am not dealing with him. He will go to jail tonight." I laugh. I found it hilarious. Eric did not think so. Dex is a real gangster. Eric knew this. I sent Dex a message telling him not to start any trouble. The kids are here. An hour later,


Dex knocks on the door. I am so grateful for him in this moment. He walks in being his goofy, dramatic self. "Uncle D is here to save the day!"



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