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My little Secret(s). Part One.

From my previous post, My White Picket Fence, I was not ready to fully share the events that transpired. I wanted to bypass pivotal moments I think are powerful when telling a redemption story. After a few weeks praying for mental clarity, I have received it. So, here you go...I hope you are ready to read in intimate detail about my psychotic break and the pain unleased by hate.


I walked out of my first treatment center, Twin Lakes, more distraught than when I walked in. How is that? Simply put, I was numbing myself with prescribed medications that were feeding my addiction that one pill is not enough to cure the rapid thoughts in my brain and ten were never too many. I was chewing massive amounts of pills to cope with my paralyzing anxiety of my current court date from the DUI ticket while trying to figure out moving my valuables back home from my apartment while taking care of three toddlers. Most IMOPTANTLY, I was expected to cope by not having a drink. Drinking alcohol prior to treatment was what I did when life was good or bad. Taking the kids to the park involved a shot of vodka. The pain was still fresh from my alcoholic behavior; the thoughts of drinking came but were fleeting. BUTTTTT- pills were not a problem for me, I thought. I was determined for a new beginning for my family without the poison of alcohol. I would love to say I was total oblivious and did not recognize I was trading one substance for another. I did know. I knew I was walking around in a zombie state of mind. I enjoyed it. For an addict brain, our goal is escaping uncomfortable truths aka our reality. It is sad but the best way to describe it is for our own mental protection. It is a twisted way of thinking brought on by years of trauma-usually.


My first court appearance Eric was by my side. January 2018, he was a supportive spouse. (The tables would soon turn). I had taken a handful of my prescribed non-narcotic pills, so I was relaxed. I walked in and noticed the officer who brought me home. I said, "hi" as he made a comment on how I had chopped all my hair off. I think maybe he had a slight crush on me because all the other officers I have encountered-were never nice. Or maybe he saw my potential-doubt it. I asked for a continuance because I had not had time to hire a lawyer. It bought me more time to delay my consequence of driving impaired. Anything that delayed pain I was fully committed. Hence, my addiction to substances and running from difficulties.


After a couple of weeks of being back home, I moved everything back to the house from my apartment. Eric did not help with anything. Not even a clothes hanger! I was used to handling business! I had always worked hard and was very determined once I had a goal to complete. I get my work ethic from my parents. Both have worked hard my entire life. Honestly, it is expected.


One day, I decided to visit my local primary care doctor to get prescribed my real anxiety medication: clonazepam. The other pills were not benefiting me anymore and I wanted the good stuff. I will never forget the confused look on the doctor's face when I told him what I had been prescribed and actively taking. I left out the key detail-misusing. He said, "I cannot believe you have been able to function with that amount of tranquilizer medications. They work like sedatives, and I know you are a busy mother." Ample opportunity for me to agree with him! "Yes, I have been walking around like a zombie. I want to get back on my regular medications." My regular prescription was an antidepressant (Zoloft) that I was no longer taking and had not for a while because who can remember when you stay high all the time! And clonazepam that I chewed like candy until it was time for a refill. (Eric taught me that trick (chewing) to enter the bloodstream faster).


Within a couple more weeks, I had secrets. One of the women I had met relapsed. She called me for help and at first, I was completely naive. I thought I could save her. Who was I kidding? I was maybe two months sober from alcohol while actively feeding my addictive behaviors. She was drinking and using meth. I was very stern about not drinking and very much against methamphetamine. I was an amateur and meth was a nasty drug in my head at the time. The thought of ingesting household cleaner into my body seemed vile. I did not judge her, I felt sorry for her. I picked her up from a random house about twenty minutes away from me. Honestly, I was no better than her. She told me she could "hook me up" with Adderall and pain pills. I was on board. To Eric, I was helping a woman in despair. I lied, well sort-of. I was helping her help me. If that makes sense.


We met another guy at a local Kroger. To this day, I am unsure how I hid hundreds of dollars from Eric. But I did and cannot remember how. He never found out. I bought about ten pills of Adderall and twenty Oxycodone. I hid them in a secret department in our minivan in the back of the vehicle. I dropped her off at her home and went about my day with excitement. I knew, to keep my secret hidden, I could not overdo it. The instant euphoria I received was briefly glorious. I say briefly because it does not last long and then you are a slave to that beast. I enjoyed it with caution, but shortly it became more of a chore than relaxation. The high and anxiolysis (reduction in anxiety) subsided leaving me with aches in my body and desperation in soul. Hiding my secrets and faking my happiness.


I was rocking on like a rockstar does, packing up our house to move into my dream home. It was exactly what I wanted. It was my fresh start, and I was bound and determined for everything to be perfect. Shocker alert, I was already keeping secrets, getting high while trying my best to keep it all together. I had no idea the war I was about to embark on.


I ran out of the prescriptions I had purchased off the street and needed more. By this point, I am blowing up my "friend's phone" for a hookup. She knew the dealers and I was alone for the ride. I picked up my friend and she directed us to the boon docks about forty-five minutes away to a chicken farm. All I thought was, "Oh shit. God, please keep me safe and get me home to my babies and I will never do this again." I pull up to this farm and this rough around the edges, white, middle-aged man opens my passenger door and sits down. My friend is extremely high in the back and drunk. Annoyingly drunk. Keep in mind- I am not drinking alcohol. (Alcohol was my problem, right?) The man is beyond frustrated with her because she is extremely irritating while intoxicated. She had been awake for days on meth using alcohol to come down. Now, she is begging for more "ice" with no money. And there I was in the driver's seat, thinking, "This is it. I have reached the bottom." I was not even close.



He asked me what I wanted. I told him. He pulled out a white pill and straw. He crushed it right there on my middle console and told me to snort. He no longer was a scary stranger in my vehicle. He was a nice drug dealer.

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