I never liked wooden pews. As a child I’d sit in the wooden pews, swinging my legs in the dress my Nanny had picked for me to wear, trying to hide the run I’d already made in my pantyhose.

In September of 2018, I missed those uncomfortable wooden seats from my childhood… I missed playing with the rosary Nanny had brought with her in her little satin pouch. I had these thoughts as I was dressed in stripes at the Chapel of Greene County Jail.

I’d spent a lot of time with my Nanny and Pappy growing up. They were my father’s parents… my father that I’d never met. He passed away when my mother was 3 months pregnant with me and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I haven’t wished he could have been part of my life. Nanny and Pappy spoiled me… gave me everything I wanted. There were two things I was certain about when I was growing up: 1. I’d be a doctor like my Pappy and; and 2. I was never going to do drugs, drink, or smoke.

Mom moved my brother and I from Florida to Missouri when I was nine where I met my biological sister, who was many years older than my brother and I. I remember her erratic behavior from day one. She was crazy… energetic… full of life and bubbling over with happiness. Other days she would hide in the bathroom and yell at me to go away when I knocked on the door… I was worried about her; she’d always be in there for hours before she would emerge with a fresh sense of happiness and a new dose of energy. My mother started acting different too.

At age 12 I met a 15 year old boy who I thought I loved, and was overwhelmed with the feelings of love and acceptance I experienced in his company. I became sexually active with this boy and it wasn’t long before I was drinking out of my mom’s bottle and smoking pot with my cousins. My promiscuous behavior accelerated through my teenage years, and eventually I moved in with my sister and her husband and their 3 young daughters in a tiny apartment.

My sister had seen the cuts on my upper thighs from where I’d taken a shaving razor to them sideways. I’d hold my breath, put the blades to my skin, close my eyes, and swiftly move my hand to the side… finally seeing the pain I was feeling inside come screaming out of my leg in crimson pools of satisfying relief. My sister handed me a Norco one day at her kitchen table They were these little 10mg yellow ovals, she told me it should help. And it did. I threw up after about 30 minutes and was sweating profusely; but all of a sudden I was talking about just how much I DIDN’T CARE… I was washing, drying, folding, re-folding, folding again, and hanging laundry. When I would start coming down from the pills, she introduced me to Xanax and explained to me the difference in, “peach, footballs, & bars”.

At one point I got arrested while I was supposed to be babysitting for a woman who had two beautiful children. She didn’t know, but her boyfriend would come home early sometimes and we’d have sex while the kids slept… or sometimes we’d have sex when he brought me home.

One night he came home early and gave me a Xanax bar. All I remember is taking the pill and then later smashing more up to snort them. And the next thing I remember, I was waking up in my bed. Apparently, I tried to leave while babysitting and got pulled over, put in the drunk tank, and issued a DUI.

In the midst of my teenage depression my sister’s husband (who I was also sleeping with from time to time for pain pills) came out of the bathroom and said, “there’s something in the bathroom that will make you feel better”. I’ll never forget that moment. I went into the back bathroom that was in their room and saw it there. A rolled-up dollar bill and a white line cut out on a mirror. I put two-and-two together and snorted my first line of methamphetamine.

That night I chewed my bottom lip so much that I eventually had to see a plastic surgeon to correct the damage. It was so swollen that it hung down and bounced off my chin when I walked and the weight of it tore the corners of my mouth. I became strung-out.

I stopped using when I became pregnant with my oldest son. When I was 8 months pregnant with him, I graduated high school and got engaged. My son was born in July of 2010 and I got pregnant with my second child just a few weeks later. I remember standing in my sister’s kitchen while I was pregnant with my second child saying aloud, “just a few more months and I can get high again!” Not, “just a few more months and I’ll see my baby”, “or a few more months and I’ll hear his cry”... this still haunts me and breaks my heart.

I had my third child, a daughter, when I relapsed. My husband came home from work one day and found a meth pipe. He told me I had two options: I could go to jail or I could stop using and be a wife and a mother to our children. I remember freaking out and telling him he didn't understand. I was screaming. I was erratic and crazy, like he’s seen me be so many times before. He pinned me to our bed and yelled through tears, “WHAT DO YOU NEED?! WHAT CAN I DO TO HELP YOU?!” Neither of us knew that day that there was nothing he could have done.

We thought we’d beat it after that. I spent 2 ½ years sober trying my best to be a good mom.

I was working the graveyard shift at a nursing home when I began a relationship with a man that was not my husband. He was my boss. He knew I was in recovery and he knew I had a husband and a family at home. One night we were at work and I can still remember how his voice sounded when he asked, “do you want a rail?” That was it. I said, “if I’m going to do it, then I’m going to do it right”. It had been years since the first time I touched a needle in a bathroom at my sister’s house… but I knew there was a room full of them somewhere in the building that we were in. He asked if I could hit him too; and I did.

I moved in with this man shortly after that and endured 4 months of Hell. Everytime he beat me I’d hold him while he cried after, telling him that it was okay. He fractured my ribs, caused permanent nerve damage to my right shoulder blade and dislocated my thumb. I was blinded by methamphetamine. Eventually this man left me and I was devastated.

I spent the next few years trashing hotel rooms, dealing meth, stealing cars, and getting in high speed chases with the police. I tried heroin for the first time locked in a bedroom with a friend. We did a speedball. I remember holding my arm after he took the needle out and thinking, “don’t die, don’t die, don’t die”. I was picked up by County officers 4 days later for warrants for failure to appear to court; with no bond.

Week after week I sat on that wooden pew that I detested, waiting to go to prison. One week as I sat staring at my feet, I saw a vision of myself starting to drown. I was drowning just like I’d watched my daughter start to drown in the river just weeks before when I had pulled over to let the kids swim while I got high. The kids were playing in water shallow enough for them to handle when the current got a hold of her. I’ll never forget her face when she realized what was happening and reached for me… screaming, “MOMMY! HELP ME!”, arms high in the air. As I kicked my shoes off and ran to her, her head went under and I plunged in after her. I kicked as hard as I could, knowing she couldn’t breathe.I found her waist with my hands and shoved her above water. I held her to my body; she was gasping, coughing, and crying-- all good signs. I sat on the rocks and held her so tight.

Even as recently as last week the boys remind me of that weekend… saying things like, “remember how we fell asleep in boxes of clothes in the back of the van while we drove all night?”. They didn’t know the van was stolen. They didn’t know mommy was homeless. They didn’t know that the supermarket food we’d been eating every day was snuck out of various stores along with the new outfits they wore every day in mommy’s purse.

God showed me a vision of me drowning just as my daughter almost did that day… reaching high and crying out. He reminded me of how I felt watching my daughter’s head disappear under the surface and relayed to me that how I felt thrusting her towards a life-saving breath is how He was feeling about me in that exact moment in that uncomfortable wooden pew. I left my seat. I got out of that pew right then and there and went to the altar and begged Jesus to take from me the addiction that I’d been a prisoner to for so many years.

I was sent to prison exactly 8 years after my husband and I said our marriage vows, and one month after our divorce was finalized and he was granted full custody of our children. I spent 9 months in prison. I spoke to my children as often as possible and tried to spend my time as productively as possible. I was an educational tutor for women trying to get their GED while incarcerated and was determined to get closer to God every single day.

I was released from the Correctional Center on May 17, 2019; TERRIFIED of relapse. The guards practically had to pry my fingers from the gates to get me to leave. My eyes were literally swollen almost shut the day the guard woke me and told me to get my things; that I was going home.

I’m in a sober living home now, a halfway house, a program… whatever you want to call it; it’s my home. I’ve been out for almost half a year now and I’m sober. I have scars. Physical scars from track marks and abuse, emotional scars from everything I put myself through… but by Gods grace I AM HEALED!

The fact that my children made it through everything I put them through is a miracle. The fact that I survived the years of trauma my body endured is a miracle… but one things I know to be true is this: Genesis 50:20 “You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people”.

Everytime I sat on a bathroom countertop with a needle in my hand and a headband tied around my arm CRYING because I did NOT want to do this shot but I knew I was going to…

Every time I stared at an overpass wondering what the odds of paralysis over death were if I just jumped…Every time I told myself, “I am a junkie and I always will be”...Every time I said out loud, “my kids are better off without me as an active part of their life”...Everytime I looked at the HORRIBLE situation I had the kids in and hated myself for it…Those memories don’t haunt me anymore. They are TOOLS. I WILL help someone crying and holding that needle…

I WILL help someone thinking about that overpass…I WILL help someone who thinks there’s no way out…I WILL help those parents who want to be better for their kids…

I THANK GOD for every step I took on my journey through addiction and I thank Him every day on my walk in recovery. I’m going to save lives because He saved mine.

I have a purpose.

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YOUR STORY - LIBRARY FIVE

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