January 2004 was an especially cold month to be out on the
street. My boyfriend and I found an empty townhome just down the
street from my parents’ home. This was the perfect place to sneak in and
keep warm during the cold snowy nights. We curled up on the floor, slept
in our clothes and wrapped some blankets and jackets around us to stay
warm. Of course most nights were spent stowed away in the utility room
trying to keep the candle light low. Most of the time we were overcome
with paranoia. I was petrified someone will find us, or hear us,
anticipating the sound of a siren, and well, then they come for us. Time to run
again. I didn't want to spend the holidays sick and in jail.
This is my life. Stealing from cars, garages and stores. Begging
for money from anyone who would spare it. The party was over. I
spent every single day in agony wishing I could just wake up in my old bed
again. Just one time waking up feeling warm, stretching out my legs,
smiling and looking forward to another peaceful day. I would dream of NOT
suffering in pain all over my body, as the panic slowly sets in, how will I get
dope today? How far will I have to walk? How long will I suffer
today?
I grew up in a middle class family. Always had everything I
needed. There was apple pie in the fridge and food in the freezer.
Everyone in my family was really awesome. Most importantly though, they
really enjoyed having fun with lots of booze. Those were the days.
Most of the time I felt like my mother enjoyed the booze more than me. I
thought often to myself, “Every mom was supposed to love her child
unconditionally.” “Mine however, seemed to hate the look of me.” I
was a young, nearly 5 years old when the doctor discovered the horrible
evidence of sexual abuse.
I became the ashamed. The invisible middle child haunted by demons no
little girl should ever have to struggle with. I was the victim of sexual
abuse. I became the invisible, the dreamer who escaped reality. I could
be anything and anyone. It was just never real. My life was
forever changed right from the get go. I just had no idea, yet, just how
much. I was sent to live with Grandma and Grandpa for a little
while. I changed schools, we moved, and I was told never to speak of this
again. If only that works.
I made friends in elementary school and went on with my life never speaking
about the ghosts of my past. Everything was hunky dory until I went to high
school. I didn't want to be invisible any more. I joined all the clubs,
became a cheerleader and even found some best friends. I finally fit
in. I was getting prettier and popular. I became a member of
student council and the drama club. I played on sports teams and was a
cheerleader for the boys’ basketball team. Everything was so perfect up until this
point.
I was already experiencing whispers in my mind that I was wrong in some
way. That I was unclean. I knew what had happened to me, but I
liked to pretend it was all a bad dream. If it was, then what kind of
person does that make me? To think such things? To be this thing
that I am, and have a mother who thinks so little of me as well.
I had already began to experiment with alcohol. When I drank I felt
normal. It was bad, against all the rules, and that felt extremely
good. The night of the party I got ready putting on my makeup and
pounding back coolers while listening to the radio. I was a cheerleader
on my way to my first basketball party.
As you can guess, I got really drunk at the party. However, that was
not the plan at all. As soon as I came too, I felt like a house had just fell
on me. What did I do? I’m such a slut. This was not how I
wanted to be remembered. Worst of all, my mother was
right. I am a sick filthy excuse for a lady. So much for the
popular pretty cheerleader persona. I just murdered that. You would
think this happening was bad enough, however it was just the beginning.
The thing is, when I was a teenager everything was super momentous. I was
so crazy some days, if I thought I did the littlest thing wrong it was the end
of the world! Then my Grandmother died. I was now seriously all
alone. She was probably the only person I could have spoken to about this
and now she was gone forever. So I did the next best thing any girl in my
situation would do. I found an older boyfriend who went to a different
high school and then I tried to kill myself.
It wasn’t until boyfriend number 6 and well into my thirties that I really
gave up on any hope of being saved at all by any man. I partied and drank
at the bar every day. One failed relationship after another, I was
earning the badge of honor for bad daughters. If my mother really wants
to hate me I’ll give her a damn good reason to! I was drunk almost every
day by this time. It was the new norm for me. Even for me this life
was getting to be too much.
I met the love of my life in a downtown detox. He was in for heroin
and me for my alcohol problem. It was a match made in
heaven! I had no idea what drug addiction felt like yet. I
was about to find out. We left detox together in love and optimistic for
a new life together. We completed a month in a supportive recovery home,
then found a cute little suite together. Life was pink clouds and purple
rainbows for about six weeks. I was working, he wasn't. We had
money problems, trust issues, and then one of us relapsed. I don't
remember which one was first. In the end it doesn't even matter.
I was drinking heavy again. He was using heroin and crack
cocaine. I tried heroin for the first time in our new place
together. It was less than a month before we couldn’t afford to smoke it
anymore and I started doing it intravenously. I lost my job. We
lost our place. I dropped my cat off at my parents and we moved to a
motel. Yep, livin the dream.
So how do you afford a hundred and forty dollar a day heroin addiction with
no job? Well I will tell you. First you start to steal from
stores. Then you need to find someone to fence all your stolen
stuff. Eventually, you get caught and charged with theft under
$5000. Life gets
even worse. Then you start to do cocaine in between heroin
highs. Finally after you are really sure you ruined any chance at life,
you learn to steal cars and break into houses and sell dope on the side.
And there you have it.
The next ten years of my life was spent with no address of my
own. Throughout my ten years on the street I spent most of it couch-surfing,
begging my family to give me a place to stay, in recovery houses or in jail.
Doing the daily grind to get what I needed also became increasingly more
dangerous.
I was always on probation, under arrest, had a warrant, or was
awaiting trial. My existence was completely fear based. Today I realize
this more and more, as evidenced by my nightmares even 10 years later. It
took many times of being kicked out of places too, going to jail and trying
various recovery homes until I finally found a place I fit in. I checked
myself into a supportive recovery home in Surrey British Columbia. It
wasn’t easy. I got in shit constantly. However, no matter how many
times I screwed up, people loved me until I learned to love myself. I
learned to follow rules. The same rules I use today to stay clean and
sober.
I got a sponsor. Got up every day and contributed to the house
chores. Attended meetings and groups. I lived in a structured
community support recovery house for fifteen months. I even found a
job. When it was time, I was off welfare and paying my own rent. I
moved out. I practice the principles I learned in my early recovery,
every day. I take part in the steps every day to keep myself sane and
sober. Low and behold it worked! I love my life today. I am a
loving mother with a family of my own. I do not want or need for anything
today. I have everything I ever needed to be happy. Sometimes I
just have to look a little harder, but it was all here all along. I just
needed to work for it.
Thank you for reading my story.
