A mother, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, an ex-wife...... rehabs, mental hospitals, psychologists, AA and a few beautiful years into my sobriety. This is my life, my daily life.....

Sunday, November 5, 2017

#9-The darkest of days.....

I lived with my brother for about three months and then returned to New Jersey. Within that time my parents sold their home and moved to Chesterfield. Of course I went with them, I had no place to live, no money and no job.

I was a “dry drunk.” I had no treatment, no program, and no higher power. I was an emotional disaster; I would eat, sleep, cry and repeat.

Somehow by the grace of God I was able to get my job back. I have no idea why they would want me back but I could come back under one condition, I would have to pass a drug test. Desperate to get some sort of normalcy to my life, I was able to put together a week of abstinence and I passed.

So now I am a dry drunk with no treatment, no medications, no program or higher power and now I have money. Shocking as it may be, I relapsed. It came on fast, it came on strong and it came with a fucking vengeance. It was like I was trying to feed a meter than read fucking zero.

I imploded. I wasn’t sleeping or eating and I was losing my grip on reality. My senses were always heightened because of my lack of sleep and my body was not being met with any nutritional needs. I would hear things and see things that weren’t there. I was emotional and suicidal and these would turn out to be the darkest days of my entire addiction.

There is a lot to be said for that statement because this was not nearly the end of my addiction.

 One morning I lay in bed still awake from the night before. The birds were chirping outside and the sun was rising. People’s homes filled with light, rested from the nights sleep, they woke to start their day. For me, it was just the ending. I hadn’t slept. Dawn to me was like the creeping death and to this day is still unsettling to me.

Cocaine is one hell of a drug. You cant sleep, you cant eat and the detox is horrendous. The only way to describe it is like you are crawling out of your own skin. My body temperature would drop, I would shake, I was weak and my eyes burned from exhaustion. I could barely swallow, I could barely talk. My nose completely raw inside would burn and sometimes would even bleed.

Lying in bed that morning I smelled of old cigarettes and alcohol. I was thinking about my life, what it had turned out to be and what it would have been like had I not been given this cross to bear. How better off my family would be, how better off my boyfriend, my friends and my employer would be. Everything I touched turned to stone, I hurt everyone around me.

For years I would carry around this vision of myself, I would be driving down the highway on a beautiful warm sunny day, nobody else on the road, just me. My windows down and the wind in my hair. My music blasting as I sang along. In this dream I was free, I had made it, I had arrived. I would be blissfully happy and at peace with myself. This is all I ever wanted.

That particular morning however I felt that dream would never come true. I decided that morning I wanted it to be over. I could be free, I could end it all right here.

So I tried. I took twelve Trazodone pills, I counted them. That was all I had left. I would just pass away in my sleep and it would be painless. In a matter of time it would all be over and I felt an excitement in that. What I hadn’t thought about though was just how long after I took those pills would I have to sit there and be with this decision. Your body has to digest it, it has to hit your blood stream, you have to wait for it. That gave me time, too much time, to think about things like, would I feel it? Would I suffer? Would I suffocate? Who would find me? How long until they do? Would it be my mom? I hope its not my mom. This would kill her.

The what if’s kept running through my head like a freight train tormenting me over and over. Ultimately I second guessed my decision.

Unable to quiet these thoughts, I made I half way down the stairs before I nearly passed out. It was beginning and I could feel it. My parents called 911 and I was transported to Lourdes Medical Center where I was treated in the emergency room and shortly thereafter placed in their SCIP unit. This is a unit for crisis intervention and mentally ill patients and this would begin my second stint at a rehab facility.


  1. So hard. The pain we carry with us can be unrelenting.
    Much Love,

  2. I hope to never forget that pain.