When I was 17 years old, I was sent to my first treatment center. It was a lockup with the big metal doors
that clank behind you. Once you're in, there's no way out unless they let you out. My thinking was "I don't
fucking belong here!" And I fought recovery and getting better every step of the way. The thing I know now
is that I did belong there. I wouldn't have ended up there if I didn't belong. 17 wasn't too young to start
recovery. But I had a lot of shit to put myself through before I learned that. Nevermind the fact that I had
dumped friends and boyfriends and family for meth. Or constantly ran away from home and was always in
trouble. I still didn't think I belonged there.
But I quickly learned that my rebellion was keeping me in a place I didn't want to be. So I learned to play the
game and act like I wanted recovery just to get out. But when I got out, I still had to be piss tested. So I left
the state and came to Seattle in 1990. Most of you are pretty aware of what Seattle was like in 1990. And I
was right in the center of it.
My significant other at the time was a dealer. He always got into the right places with the right people. We
were introduced to a very influential and popular band of the time and that was how we were introduced to
heroin. My relationship with him quickly fell apart. I ended up losing Everything. Well considering I didn't
have much to lose but what I had I lost.
The funny part is you think that the drugs make you so creative and give you that drug induced "spirituality"
LOL. But however creative you may think you are, you really aren't doing shit about it cause you find
yourself only bag chasing and getting high then sitting on your ass for hours until it runs out and then bag
chasing again. Or devoting all your time finding ways to get the money for it. I got pretty creative finding
ways to get it. that's about as creative as I got.
And before I started using I had a huge list of nevers. "oh I'll never do that" That list became shorter and
shorter everytime I got high. And I would seek out people that were so much worse than me just so I could
feel "normal".
Then there were times when I was trying to make sense of my life and try to live a normal life so I'd get into
a relationship and start a family but I always went right back to using. So my kids were taken away. I used
this as a bigger excuse to use.
Eventually, I did quit using the needle cause I oded and the experience was so traumatic that I quit. But I
wasn't ready to give up entirely. I kept using but just didn't use the needle. I lied to myself, telling my self I
was okay as long as I didn't use the needle. Then I justified my use by putting myself through school and
getting a job and an apartment and another relationship.
I told myself as long as I kept these things in tact that I was okay. So I partied at night and on the weekends
but would often come to work hungover or call in sick. I kept this up for years. But the relationships never
lasted. I could keep a job though. lol
I even started a band. But that turned out to be disaster waiting to happen. cause after the shows, people
want to give you their drugs or buy you drinks. I ended up in a lot of strange beds and strange places.
One of those shows, I decided to take the day off work first cause I knew I'd be partying all night after. The
next day, I went to the bar where my roommate worked to drink off my hangover. The worst thing for an
addict is to have a bartender for a roommate. Cause you get your drinks for free and you can end up in
there all day.
I was sitting there having my first drink when my cell phone rang. I went outside to answer it and it was my
work calling. I was all annoyed because I had already taken the day off and thought maybe they forgot and
were calling to see where I was. But it wasn't that... what happened was the worst call of my entire life. It was
the HR lady calling to tell me that my dad had been found dead and my brother was trying to reach me. It
felt like someone knocked all the air out of me. So my friends in the bar came out and immediately fillled me
with drugs and alcohol so I could then deal with what happened.
I had to fly to California and go to my fathers funeral. When I got there, my uncle gave me some xanax and
a drink and told me that my dad had been murdered by my stepmother for insurance money. And then I
didn't have time to digest all that information before having to deal with family that I haven't seen in years
because I left home. So here I am with family that hasn't seen me, I'm all tattoed up and pierced and have
been playing in punk bands, I'm high as fuck and my dad had just been murdered. Let me tell you that was
the worst fucking possible time of my life.
When I came back to seattle, I came back a little worse than I was when I went. This became an even bigger
excuse to completely go off the deep end. And I did. I was totally out of control!!!
I began to lose friends again and I ended up getting laid off from my job. So I went to detox on my brother's
couch. Didn't fucking happen!! I met people there that started giving me meth for free. So I did it. And hid it
from my brother.
Then on a drunk I went bag chasing. I ended up getting taken to a place I had no clue where i was and they
kept me there for 7 days and wouldn't let me leave. I was really scared. These were not people you wanted
to fuck with.
When I finally got let go, I was so thin from not eating and shaking from withdrawal and I knew if I called 911
I would be the one to be arrested. Plus these were people you didn't want to turn in cause you know they'd
have someone come after you. So there wasn't shit I could do about it.
I ended back up at my brothers house but one look at me and he told me I had two weeks to get out. This
time was the first time I truelly wanted to quit. But my addiction had such a hold of me that I just found others
who were using so I could have another place to stay where they didn't give a fuck if I was high all day or
not.
I had also joined another band but quickly got kicked out cause I'd show up to rehearsal too high to play. Or
I'd miss rehearsal altogether.
I met Brett at a party we were having. We ended up talking all night. He called again the next day. And
again the next. And then he said he wanted to be with me. I couldn't fathom why anyone would want to start
up a relationship with me. I was clearly a fuckup. lol But I had to test him. I told him I was going back to
Seattle and if he wanted to be with me he'd come too. I also said that I'm an addict and that the moment he
started trying to go changing me, I was gone.
He agreed and quit his job and packed up all his possessions and came with me to Seattle. And he put up
with my shit for 3 years!!! I can say that I put Brett through some shit!! lol We got jobs here, an apartment
and I continued to drink.
But there was one night we were coming back from the video store and someone ran a red light and plowed
right into our car. I ended up with stitches in my head and damage to my knee. I could barely walk. So I
ended up putting on some serious weight cause I couldn't move and I was drinking on top of the pain meds I
was getting. They ended up doing surgery on my knee and I got more pain killers.
Then when I got the cash, from the accident I went and had most of the weight removed from lipo and
received more pain killers. I was taking those on top of drinking as well.
Then in September my best friend passed away. He had quit using and his body couldn't take it. He had an
aneurysm in his sleep.
To cheer me up, a certain band asked me to come to LA to party with them. I went. I drank from the time I
got up to the time I went to bed. On the way to the show, the limo wrecked and I did a mid air summersault
and ended up on my neck. But I just got up and told them to get another car and get me to the show.
When I got back home, Brett made me go to the hospital and it turned out I had a concussion but I kept
partying on top of that anyway.
When I ended up going back to work, I was talking to a really good friend. I told him that I had been trying to
get clean but I couldn't manage more than 4 days. I'd get to the 4th day and I couldn't go on.
So he said something to me. "I'll pray for you"
WTF??? what does that mean?? was it some kind of a threat??
But that very night I went out to see a band with some friends. I walked up to the bar and got my Jack and
coke. I managed to drink about 1/4 of it when I suddenly started getting really sick. I mean I came on so
sudden it almost knocked me over. I thought maybe it was the drink so I put it down. What me not finish a
drink??? insane right? lol I managed to make it through the band playing but when I got home... I was
throwing up, shaking, sweating, my nose was running..I was thinking "well this is the worst case of the flu I've
ever had" It came on so quickly.
Only the next day I was feeling worse. So brett took me to the doctor. It turns out I didn't have the flu and it
wasn't the alcohol. It was the pills that I had quit taking. I was going through violent withdrawals off of
painkillers!! I seriously didn't know that could happen. LOL
There I was lying in bed withdrawaling and I was reading bulletins. I saw one that caught my attention. It was
Dave posting about sobriety time.
So I messaged him. I told him I was really sick. He said he'd bring me some chicken soup. I told him I don't
need chicken soup. I think what I need is a meeting. So Dave drove 1/2 hour to my house to bring me to a
meeting that was only 2 blocks away from me.
And I felt like shit!! I had stomach cramps, shakes, sweats, throwing up, coughing (which turned into a lung
infection) I mean I was miserable. But I sat in the AA hall and listened to every word!!!
Today I have just over 9 months. after 6 months, I got an incredible job. I now work for the Art Institute
where they are letting me go to school for free to learn Audio Productions!!!
I have a sponsor and I attend meetings regularly.
God Bless!!
Seattle
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I was raised by alocolics and dope heads, knew all about addiction before I ever started. I managed to make it through
school, just partied here and there, drank and smoked some weed. Then when I was 19 I got married. We partied a lot, with
his friends mostly and back then cocaine was in. We did it together off and on, I loved it,i loved speed from the first try. He
worked offshore and I started doing it while he was gone, bill money was going towards cocaine, credit cards, savings,
everything we had and he didn't know for a long time. Until we almost lost our house, my new truck. I had to quit my job,
because it was interfering with my drugs, I would carry it everywhere I went, snorting in the bathroom at work, at my
grandparents, n laws it didn't matter. He finally told me he had all he could take, It was him or the drugs, and I managed to
put them down, it was not easy, I didn't get any help, and it didn't last. We started back partying with friends doing the
weekend thing I was not very healthy, neither one of us were happy.
At this point my mother had no idea what was going on im my life. I hated her, that’s how I felt, the only time I talked to her
was when she called me crying, drunk late at night, I told her as long as she was with that psycho she would probably never
see me again. I told my husband one night I really missed my mom, and that I was worried about her, so the next weekend
we went out to Seminole Alabama where they were living. Just the sight of Bruce made my skin crawl, the man really made
me physically ill. It was the first time my husband had ever seen him face to face and he gave him the same feeling. It was a
sad visit but I was glad we went to see her. Then the next weekend we got a phone call in the middle of the night, it was my
grandmother, she said the hospital had just called her and my mama had been in an accident and it was bad. So my
husband and I got ready, drove to my grandparents and we all went to Pensacola, the whole time I am thinking a car wreck,
because mama was always calling me at all times of the day and night, drunk, didn't know where she was she had started
having blackouts and etc. So scared to death we get there, and find out she was poisoned with strychnine by my step father.
They had life flighted her to the hospital and she died three times before they got her there. She was on life support and her
kidney's were failing. It didn't look good. I was a mess, half strung out and scared to death. Her husband was there, he told
the police that my mother was manic depressant and had tried to kill herself several times, which was a lie, it had never
happened. We all knew that he had done this to her without question, but without a lot of money there was nothing we could
do, and at that point we were just worried about her.
They asked the family about a Do Not Resuscitate order because of the great possibility of brain damage, so we signed the
DNR. The first time I went in to see my mother was the most awful thing I had ever felt. She looked like she was dead, she
was pale, bloated, tubes all over her and inside her, and at that moment all of these uncontrollable emotions hit me. I had
been so angry for so long, and now I was scared she was going to die. I wished that I hadn't said some things that I had, or
that I hadn't felt the way that I did. I even tried to pray, but they felt empty. All of my life I never had a relationship with God, I
had never been around people who openly talked about God, or who were good Spiritual, Christian people, only my
Grandparents and I just knew they were good people, but I never knew where they stood with God, or understood their
beliefs. My mother had been angry with God as long as I could remember, because of my sister, that is what I knew,.
Anyway, Every time I would see Bruce I would think it would be best if she did die, but I know that I really didn't mean it. Her
kidney function started improving, and she slowly was getting a little better. They said she would be a vegetable for the rest
of her life, she remained in a coma for a long time, then what they called an open eye coma, they moved her from the
hospital-to nursing facility-then to a neurological center in Slidell Louisiana. This all went on for a year, she finally woke up,
but she was blind, partially paralized, she couldn't do anything for herself, couldn’t' even talk. They helped her a lot, I stayed
with her a lot until we finally got her moved to the nursing home in Bonifay, I got a job there along with my grandmother so we
could help watch out for my mom and my great grandmother who was also there.
After a while we took my mom out of the nursing home and moved her into my grandmothers house, at this point she
couldn't do much for herself but was progressing. I was still angry, saying the whole time that I didn't care what happened to
her, that I was doing everything that I was doing for my grandparents, because they needed my help. And I was angry at God,
I blamed him for all of it, and didn't understand why--- following in my mothers footsteps.
My husband and I had been doing pretty good he stood by my side and helped anyway that he could with my mom. We
started growing Marijuana and selling it, Lots of it. We dug holes, planted seeds, toted 5gal. buckets of water and fertilized.
Had our living room full of plants piled about 4-5 high many many times, clipping buds. I came home from work one day and
saw the news the law had cut down and hauling off trailers & trucks loaded down with our plants, you could see our house.
But we made a lot of money.....don't know how but we never got caught. One day we ran into an old friend of ours who had
some crank, he knew about the problem I had with cocaine, but said it was nothing like cocaine, you can't get addicted to
this, made it sound wonderful, and it didn't take him a whole lot of talking and I was ready. Reluctantly my husband gave in
and we gave it a try, I thought it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I started talking, speaking what was on my
mind and some things that weren't, sex was wonderful. Every emotion you felt or desire you had was 100x more intense
than usual. It took all my problems away, temporarily anyway. During this time my mother had been coming to spend the
weekends with us, she was improving. Every time she came over she wanted to drink, so I would go by it for her. Mix her
drinks, light her cigarettes and tote them to her, help her drink and smoke, but it didn't take long after the crank I stopped
going to get her or even visiting.
The crank turned into an every weekend thing, then to a everyday thing. I was surviving on cream curl honey buns and
Michelob light. Lost about 30 pounds and looked like hell. We let the person we were getting it from use our house to do his
selling, that’s how I got the dope, when they weren’t' at our house we were at his. We had ounces to pounds in front of us all
of the time. But I started tweaking, seeing things, hearing things--it got really bad. I would sit in front of a mirror digging in my
face with needles, straight pins, whatever I could get my hands on trying to dig the worms out of my face, dug wholes in my
face, woke my husband up one night with blood running down my neck had a needle in my cheek pulling it out begging him
to get the worm out. I eventually ended up on the front porch of my house with a 357 magnum shooting at people who
weren't there, people who I thought were watching me and out to get me. If anybody had of been there they would have died,
I called my husband at work on his cell phone freaking out, scared him to death and when he finally got to me he found me
passed out in the bed on top of the gun with my finger still on the trigger. This was my escape from reality.
Some friends of mine finally called my grandparents and told them what was going on and they thought they needed to
intervene. So they did a Marchment act on me and had me picked up in my yard by the law, I was pulling up from going to get
some dope and they were sitting there waiting on me. I was scared to death, they let me call my husband on the way and
tell him what was going on, but he already knew. I cried all the way to detox, not knowing what was going to happen, high as
a kite, hadn't slept in days. I was mad at everybody, told them if my grandparents called I didn't want to talk to them. It was
an experience, I slept it off, didn't take any of there meds, told the counselor what she wanted to hear and after 6 days, they let
me go with a recommendation for outpatient treatment.
After that I stayed clean for a little while, went to a few meetings, a few counseling sessions and quit and we ran into my
uncle one night, and he introduced us to crack cocaine. It was different than all the others, and I was different . I knew when I
took my first hit that this could be the end of me. I was gone>>>>>>I lost a job, lost my weight, same thing again. So my
family along with preacher did the marchment act again and had me sent to detox, then to Treatment, which this time I
agreed to do. While I was gone my family, bought a mobile home, had it put on my Grandparents property, thinking that if we
moved it would help. I learned a lot in treatment, a lot about the 12 steps, and that there were a lot of other people who had
problems like me. I voluntarily stayed an additional two weeks, but was ready to go home when the time came. I stayed
clean for 7 months, can’t remember much about that time. Things were quiet. During this time I did not do my after care,
went to a few meetings here & there, went to Church, but only because that was what I was suppose to be doing. Still no
relationship with God, no healing, just existing. Nobody gave me money and rarely had keys to a vehicle. I lived everyday
scared of the day that I would fail.
I woke up in the middle of the night one night, left my husband in the bed, got dressed, got keys & money and drove to crack
town. It was on once again. It was no time I had traded everything I could get my hands on, stole my husbands money out of
his wallet, traded my wedding ring all my jewelry & his, guns. When all of that ran out I started trading my body. I would leave
and stay gone for days. My husband and my grandfather coming to look for me, even brought the Preacher with them a few
times. I would trade my vehicle, they would give me a rock, take my truck and leave me in the middle of nowhere, suppose to
be back in a few hours and always gone a lot longer. One time that happened they left me in an old abandoned trailer off of a
dirt road in the middle of nowhere, I stayed there waiting for my vehicle to come back after a while a vehicle pulled up, several
men got out, one came to inside, the next thing I know I had a razor blade stuck in the side of my neck and I was raped. He
was a lot bigger than me I was high, tired, scared and totally helpless. I tried to fight but the more I fought the worse it hurt, I
screamed and screamed and the others stayed outside, nobody would help me. It seemed like forever, but it wasn’t very
long, they left. I couldn’t go anywhere, I was scared, cold, dirty all I could do was wait.
When I finally got out of there, I couldn’t handle it, I could not deal. The only way I knew was to make it go away, I stayed high.
I knew I couldn’t tell anyone, who is gonna believe a crackhead, so I decided not to tell anyone. It was killing me, so I buried
it as far as I could. One day I finally told my husband. How is a man supposed to handle that. I know that he doubted me,
who could blame him, and we just didn’t talk about it. Weeks went by and then I noticed I hadn’t had a period. I was always
late, and I stayed high so it took a while before I even thought about it. I had never used any kind of birth control since I got
married and never thought of the possibility of being pregnant, finally I bought a test and it was positive. How could this be? I
freaked out, didn’t know what to do. So I told my grandmother. We were both scared to death. I knew if my grandfather found
out, he would probably disown me and kill the man who did it. So my grandmother and I decided to keep it quiet. We didn’t
even consider any options, I was still high, I couldn’t think, and I couldn’t feel anything but fear. There was only one thing to
do, so we started getting information on abortions.
From the day of the rape on, it was all about forgetting. I really wanted to die, I wanted out, I could not deal, and I didn’t want
to deal, I didn’t want to feel. We made an appointment, I finally did tell my husband, he just really couldn’t handle it. My
grandmother had to drive me to Tallahassee where I killed my child. At that time like I said I didn’t consider any options, did
not consider that this was a part of me, did not consider that I could change my life take responsibility and save this life, did
not consider what I was doing only that I had to end it. It was awful, a cold table, earplugs, a freezing room and a lot of noise,
not much physical pain, not near as much as I thought I deserved. Just emptiness, cold, and more emotional and mental
pain than I could bare.
My husband was gone, I knew it, he had really tried to stay, hoping that it would all just go away, but neither one of us knew
how to make it. He loved me but after a few months went by just like I thought he left. I was still HIGH>>>>>He told me when
he left, he just couldn’t do it anymore, he loved me, he always would but he had to go, and I just watched him walk out the
door. I couldn’t even ask him not to leave, I knew things weren’t going to change, because I had given up. I did not want to
keep doing this to him, it wasn’t fair, IT WAS OVER.
I went back to the dope, within a months time after the abortion and my husband left me, I was gone. I went to crack town
rode my car till it ran out of gas, I ran out of money, shacked up with someone sleeping with him for drugs, till that got to
crazy. Had to leave just left my car there. I was on foot, same clothes as the day I left, no food, no where to sleep. This went
on for about two weeks, in that time, I walked to my driveway two or three times, get to the end of the road and turn around. I
was hurting so bad, physically, mentally, emotionally, I just wanted out. One night at around 2 in the morning, this car pulled
up as I was walking down the road. It was an old white man, and a big black man, wanting to know if I needed a ride. I
really wanted to go home, thinking that maybe if someone would take me I would go, so I got in the car. Of course we bought
some crack first, they knew what they were doing, and I’m sure I did too, but I didn’t let myself think it. I told them where I
lived, they said they knew where I was talking about, it took me a while, but I finally said where are we going, we had just
been driving and driving forever, and I had no idea where we were. I wasn’t looking at anything. Then it me, I was scared to
death. I could have been with two ax murderers and didn’t know it, and that’s how scared I was at that moment. I thought I
was going to die, and I started to panic. I was freaking out begging them to stop and let me out, pleading for my life, and all
the while they were telling me I was ok, they weren’t going to hurt me. They ended up taking me to the old man’s house.
Behind locked gates at least 20 miles from civilization, seemed like a lot further. Once I figured out they really weren’t going
to kill me, and I was calmed down enough that I could talk, I did. And then the real scenario started playing out in my head,
and of course it was a dope house. They supply you supply, but I got to take a shower, clean clothes, eat some food, and
smoke dope. At the time it was better than what I was doing. I ended up staying there for a while. Months went by, and I
hadn’t talked to my family. They found my car where I left it in crack town and that let everybody know what was going on, they
had missing persons reports on the tv, looking for me, even my husband. The old man made me call and let them know I
was alive, but I didn’t tell them where I was, or even if I would be coming home. My crack habit was running the old man
about 1100 a day, at most. I spent my days cleaning, smoking dope, cooking, smoking dope, entertaining, and writing in a
journal every hit of dope I took, everything I did, every feeling I had I wrote it down. He had some guy that worked for him that
sold crank & crystal. He introduced us and wanted me to try it, the guy told me that I would never smoke crack again. Finally I
did, It rocked my world, I never picked up a crack pipe again, and I started getting a little brave. The guy kept coming back, he
was married, but I was lonely, scared and wanted out, and he knew what I was doing, he didn’t even know me, and he
wanted me out. It had gotten to the point that I couldn’t leave, I was afraid to leave, the old man didn’t want me to leave. So
after a month or so the guy and I came up with a plan, at this point the only relationship we had was talking, but he helped
me escape, took me to some friends of his, and that night our relationship began. Little did I know I was going from the
frying pan into the fire. He left his wife, and we disappeared together. We moved from one persons house to another. He
finally introduced me to the person that he was selling for, and she needed some help. So I started helping her, buying
supplies, whatever she needed, always saying I didn’t want to know how to do it. But it was a matter of months, and I was
learning how. My boyfriend and I started fighting, not bad, just stupid, up to this point, we had been side by side, 24-7, We
were in love, it was our destiny, we had been waiting our whole lives to meet each other. IT WAS SOME REALLY GOOD
DOPE…….In no time we were cooking. Moved back into my home next to my family, bringing him with me. They were so
desperate to have me back they didn’t care who came with me.
I started cooking dope at my home, all along telling my family, we were going to get a job, lying about everything, lying lying
lying. One day, we started fighting, we were at my house, it was our first bad fight. Not enough sleep, to much dope, it got
crazy. He pushed me around, screamed at me, tore doors off the wall, put a whole in the door with my head, my granny
heard us. I got him outside and was able to lock him out, I called a friend to come get him, and that day my grandfather told
me, if he ever saw him coming down this road he would shoot him…I believed him. I didn’t talk to him for a while, he went to
his ex-wife’s and stayed , I was cooking dope at my house, then meet him in caryville and give him some dope, then he
would go back home to his ex wife, how sick was that. I left again, lonely, scared, paranoid,,, we got back together, and on
the road again. Stay at the motel til we find somebody that wanted a cook, we’d move in. I called home to let them know I
was alive, and they let me know they had moved me out of my house, and rented it out. I was devastated, just thought that it
would be there, when I got ready, when I could quit, once I again after that I was certain that I would change, now I had no
where to go, I had nothing, just the clothes on my back. We had a few run ins with the law, but they couldn’t do anything. The
girl that taught me how to cook got busted, one of the first ones around here, it was all down hill from there. We were all
running scared then, she got out of jail and told us all they knew all about us, we better leave. He wasn’t going anywhere….
they didn’t have shit on him…so we kept on doing what we doing. The fights got worse and more often. We were both
loosing our minds….He hated me but he loved me, I was a crack whore, but the best thing that had ever happened to him, I
was his destiny, but I would be the reason he would spend his life in prison. He beat my head, so hard sometimes I thought
it was gonna bust open like an egg, he held me at gunpoint over and over, then put the gun on himself, he held a butcher
knife to my throat, he laughed at me when I slit my wrist. I was so scared I was always planning my way out, and he knew it,
but he knew why and he couldn’t stop. All the while my family was scared for my life, I would come home beat bruised,
hungry sometimes dirty, talking to myself hearing things.
At this point I was in a constant state of paranoia and hallucinations. I would stay locked up in a room, most of the time
because I could not carry a conversation, without asking if anyone else heard what I was hearing. It pissed him off every time
I talked about the people that we couldn’t see, that were talking to me. I loved him, I had my own dope, I don’t know why I
kept going back. He told me right after we got together that I would hate him one day, he never believed in me, he couldn’t-the
dope ruled our every move, emotion action, everything. We were so destructive together, not just for ourselves but other
people. We ate enough food and got enough sleep to keep up us alive, but that was it. One time I came home, moved in
with granny & papa, I really wanted to stay, I was so tired, tired of running, tired of hurting. I talked with my grandmother, and
we came to the conclusion that she would hold my dope for me, and give it to me as needed, until I ran out, and I was really
gonna make an effort to stop. I still can’t believe I did that to her, needless to say when the dope was gone, so was I. While
I was at home this time, I had to go sign my divorce papers, my husband waited for a long time, he said he was hoping that
him leaving would be an eye opener, always hoping that I would get it together and we could get it together. I would always
call him when I would go back home, sometimes we would see each other, I would talk to him about everything, I could see
the disappointment in his face, but he would always smoke my dope. He never said NO THANK YOU, or don’t come back if
you can’t come sober. But I finally gave up on that too, I let it (him) go, it was all just to painful I couldn’t’ fix it, I couldn’t handle
it.
And I left again, moving in with a dope friend, until he found me. I let him know that I couldn’t handle it anymore, he was
happy I was divorced, he was still married, I was so stupid. Finally, we were back together again. Same destructive path,
same thing. I always ended up running, scared and HURTING, all over. This time he beat me, laughing, I was begging to let
me go, calling for my family, he was laughing, said the only way I could leave was if I slept with him. I couldn’t do it, he had to
take it, and he did, I didn’t move, I cried under my breath, he laughed, but he let me go, and I was running, down 81 in the
middle of the day, bloody, high, crying, somebody picked me up and gave me a ride, all I said was where I needed to go, he
didn’t ask any questions, I don’t really remember what he looked like or what he was driving. I stayed hid for a while, cooking
dope, cooking dope cooking dope, and he found me, and we were gone again. Moving again, running. It was the same thing
over and over again. Everybody around us was getting busted, we were running scared, people always telling us we had to
go, it was getting hot. We talked about it talked about quitting, but we couldn’t do it. We both had to much, we couldn’t
handle reality. I finally go arrested, ran out of gas, sitting on the side of the road, talking to myself, thinking somebody was
putting gas in my car, nobody was around, cop pulls up, lets me call somebody, while waiting, I was steady freaking out, he
knew, ended up giving him the dirty bags I had in my bra, and I went to jail for possession. I called my family, they let me out
on a custodial release. First time I’d ever been arrested, I ended up moving in with my family, got 3yrs probation, I was
gonna make it work, I got a job, got a vehicle and within months, my grandfather gave me a place to live. I did good for five
months.. One night, I drank a few beer, I got really sad, lonely, upset, thinking about everything. I sat on the corner of my bed
rocking, crying, I hurt so bad, that I felt it physically and I just couldn’t stop crying, and it hurt to much, I didn’t know how to
deal, and ended up in Westville, and it was on again. This time I was on probation, and I didn’t report. So when my
boyfriend and I got back together, we both didn’t report, and now we both had warrants. Same crap, cook dope, fight, move,
running……and one they came in on us. I was asleep on the couch, he woke me up with the bottle in his hand, saying they
are in the yard, I’m gone, running out the back door, I had on my underwear and a t-shirt, and was sleeping for the first time
in days, I was out of it, at first I didn’t know what he said, then I didn’t believe, then I saw them, I got a pair of pants on and out
the back door, they were coming around the side. He was long gone, it wasn’t my house, and of course I didn’t know
anything, but my truck was in the back yard and they found a piece of tinfoil with dope on it in the glove compartment so I was
gone to jail again for possession, they couldn’t charge me with the lab, because it wasn’t my house, I wasn’t inside, and he
was gone. I didn’t know how or why but me & the other girl that was there were released with a court date. I’m sure now if
was so I would lead them to him, She gave me a ride to a friends house, where the first thing I did was get high….and
stayed that way. My boyfriend waited for a while and he found me, we went right back to where I got arrested and he found
the cook that he ran out the door with that night. He had stuck it in a whole and covered it up, the dogs didn’t even find it. So
we got it found a place and finished cooking it. Back at it again, this time we ended up in a motel for quite a while, he kept
asking me about that night, over and over again, I told him everything that happened before he ever asked, but he didn’t
believe me, ever….So he finally ended up beating me from one end of the motel room to the other, then hauled ass in case
they called the law and left me there alone. He came back, I begged him to take me somewhere and leave me, after fighting
again, he finally gave in. He said he wanted to kill me, he felt like he could and it scared him, so he dropped me at a friends
house where I stayed for 5 months or a little longer, and never left the house. I barely went outside, was to scared, to
paranoid, , they were looking for us both, so I didn’t leave, until he showed back up to get me. I wanted to stop so bad, before
they caught me, but I couldn’t , lost…it still hurts me now to think about how alone, scared, and frickin crazy I was. I left with
him again, we moved right down the road, I had gained a little more control of my use than ever, I guess being scared, and
just plain tired, but the cooking never slowed down. At this point I was to scared to cook, they did it all, I cleaned the house
and cooked for them, for the first time in years….Things had definitely changed, we weren’t fighting, we both knew that it was
a matter of time if we didn’t leave, they were gonna get us. He would leave and be gone for hours, I didn’t ask, I didn’t go, I
just wanted to be left alone, I could tell he felt different, so did I , but we weren’t alone, and he didn’t have to worry about
where I was. A few months went by and it happened again, this time nobody ran, . They thought he was dangerous, so they
were prepared, busted down doors looked like about 30 of them, we were in the bedroom with the door closed, they came in
and put us both on the floor, knees in my back , huge guns to my head. All I could do was cry, I had been that scared before
or worse, but this was different. They put us all in the backseat of the same car, I put my head on his chest and cried the
whole way, and he actually acted like he cared, telling me he was sorry, it was going to be ok…..I’ll never understand that….I
was convinced this time I was going to prison for a long time. I didn’t call my family for at least a week, they heard about it
from somebody else, after the first day or two I was actually relieved. It took a while but I started letting go. I never asked
anyone about getting out, when my family finally did come see me I told them, moved my stuff out of the house rent it out, I
wasn’t coming home for a while. The Church ladies came, I sang, I started reading my Bible, I started praying. The only
letter I got was from my great aunt then she was probably 86 or so, telling me God was waiting for me, My preacher came to
see me, it was time to let it go, and I did.
My boyfriend was sending me letters , telling me how much he loved me, we were gonna turn our lives around, we were
gonna get married, I thought that is what I wanted, people that knew a lot more about our relationship than I did in the jail,
started talking. Telling me why we wouldn’t be together forever. There had been a lot of things going on, lots of women,
lots……and other stuff I still just don’t want to believe. God knows our hearts even more than we do, and since then he has
not left me. When I got out of jail, I was given the opportunity to work with a 12 step group, share my testimony and what
God had done for me. At that point I didn’t even fully realize what he had done for me. When I finally went to Court my
punishment was not near what I thought I deserved, or what I thought I would get on the same hand now I feel like it was just
what God had planned for me. It worked and I have taken what he has given me and I give back. Community Control with
GPS doesn’t leave much room for a job, but Hardee’s gave me chance. My grandparents let me move back in with them,
and I began my new life. Going to work, home, church and meetings, that was it, and that was enough for me. God
continued to work in my life, I had ups and downs. People weren’t to friendly for a long time or accepting. Dope friends
hated me. I got subpoenaed to testify in Federal court against my ex, and 2 others, but I did not have to do it. I prayed that
they would see, I couldn’t help them, and I knew God was with me no matter what happened and that’s what I pray for him
daily. I finally came to an understanding that things would have been really different if not for the drugs, we would have been
two different people, but we probably never would have met. I pray for him daily, I pray that God is in control of that situation
and that he has been able to accept God’s help.
For the first time in my life I could get up, breath, look in the mirror and function without hurting 24-7. It took some time to
learn how to Give it all to God, but I did. Loosing my husband, my home, being raped, loosing my child, loosing my morals,
loosing my mother, being beaten--- all the people that I loved and lost, all the people that I hurt, and all the times that I had
been hurt in my life, little by little God showed me the way, he freed me in every possible, a freedom I never thought was
possible. I didn’t have to die and now I know how to be grateful for all of those things. I would not be the person I am today if
it weren’t for all of it. God’s blessed my life in so many ways. My family loves me & trust me, most people in the community
have accepted me, I met the most wonderful man in the world and we have a started a life together built on love & trust &
honesty no matter my past, I have been put in a position to be around and help people like me, wonderful friends, and the
ability and the desire to learn about everything,.
I go to Church for the first time with an understanding of what God gave for me, and what God wants for my life and how I can
accomplish that.
I have experienced loss and made it through, I have been lied to and hurt and made it through it. I have disappointed myself
and made it through it, and been disappointed and made it through it. I have been drug free for three years now the longest I
have been clean in 18 years.
May God Bless & Keep You,
Jeana Prescott
Recovery Support Specialist
C.A.S.E. Coalition
that clank behind you. Once you're in, there's no way out unless they let you out. My thinking was "I don't
fucking belong here!" And I fought recovery and getting better every step of the way. The thing I know now
is that I did belong there. I wouldn't have ended up there if I didn't belong. 17 wasn't too young to start
recovery. But I had a lot of shit to put myself through before I learned that. Nevermind the fact that I had
dumped friends and boyfriends and family for meth. Or constantly ran away from home and was always in
trouble. I still didn't think I belonged there.
But I quickly learned that my rebellion was keeping me in a place I didn't want to be. So I learned to play the
game and act like I wanted recovery just to get out. But when I got out, I still had to be piss tested. So I left
the state and came to Seattle in 1990. Most of you are pretty aware of what Seattle was like in 1990. And I
was right in the center of it.
My significant other at the time was a dealer. He always got into the right places with the right people. We
were introduced to a very influential and popular band of the time and that was how we were introduced to
heroin. My relationship with him quickly fell apart. I ended up losing Everything. Well considering I didn't
have much to lose but what I had I lost.
The funny part is you think that the drugs make you so creative and give you that drug induced "spirituality"
LOL. But however creative you may think you are, you really aren't doing shit about it cause you find
yourself only bag chasing and getting high then sitting on your ass for hours until it runs out and then bag
chasing again. Or devoting all your time finding ways to get the money for it. I got pretty creative finding
ways to get it. that's about as creative as I got.
And before I started using I had a huge list of nevers. "oh I'll never do that" That list became shorter and
shorter everytime I got high. And I would seek out people that were so much worse than me just so I could
feel "normal".
Then there were times when I was trying to make sense of my life and try to live a normal life so I'd get into
a relationship and start a family but I always went right back to using. So my kids were taken away. I used
this as a bigger excuse to use.
Eventually, I did quit using the needle cause I oded and the experience was so traumatic that I quit. But I
wasn't ready to give up entirely. I kept using but just didn't use the needle. I lied to myself, telling my self I
was okay as long as I didn't use the needle. Then I justified my use by putting myself through school and
getting a job and an apartment and another relationship.
I told myself as long as I kept these things in tact that I was okay. So I partied at night and on the weekends
but would often come to work hungover or call in sick. I kept this up for years. But the relationships never
lasted. I could keep a job though. lol
I even started a band. But that turned out to be disaster waiting to happen. cause after the shows, people
want to give you their drugs or buy you drinks. I ended up in a lot of strange beds and strange places.
One of those shows, I decided to take the day off work first cause I knew I'd be partying all night after. The
next day, I went to the bar where my roommate worked to drink off my hangover. The worst thing for an
addict is to have a bartender for a roommate. Cause you get your drinks for free and you can end up in
there all day.
I was sitting there having my first drink when my cell phone rang. I went outside to answer it and it was my
work calling. I was all annoyed because I had already taken the day off and thought maybe they forgot and
were calling to see where I was. But it wasn't that... what happened was the worst call of my entire life. It was
the HR lady calling to tell me that my dad had been found dead and my brother was trying to reach me. It
felt like someone knocked all the air out of me. So my friends in the bar came out and immediately fillled me
with drugs and alcohol so I could then deal with what happened.
I had to fly to California and go to my fathers funeral. When I got there, my uncle gave me some xanax and
a drink and told me that my dad had been murdered by my stepmother for insurance money. And then I
didn't have time to digest all that information before having to deal with family that I haven't seen in years
because I left home. So here I am with family that hasn't seen me, I'm all tattoed up and pierced and have
been playing in punk bands, I'm high as fuck and my dad had just been murdered. Let me tell you that was
the worst fucking possible time of my life.
When I came back to seattle, I came back a little worse than I was when I went. This became an even bigger
excuse to completely go off the deep end. And I did. I was totally out of control!!!
I began to lose friends again and I ended up getting laid off from my job. So I went to detox on my brother's
couch. Didn't fucking happen!! I met people there that started giving me meth for free. So I did it. And hid it
from my brother.
Then on a drunk I went bag chasing. I ended up getting taken to a place I had no clue where i was and they
kept me there for 7 days and wouldn't let me leave. I was really scared. These were not people you wanted
to fuck with.
When I finally got let go, I was so thin from not eating and shaking from withdrawal and I knew if I called 911
I would be the one to be arrested. Plus these were people you didn't want to turn in cause you know they'd
have someone come after you. So there wasn't shit I could do about it.
I ended back up at my brothers house but one look at me and he told me I had two weeks to get out. This
time was the first time I truelly wanted to quit. But my addiction had such a hold of me that I just found others
who were using so I could have another place to stay where they didn't give a fuck if I was high all day or
not.
I had also joined another band but quickly got kicked out cause I'd show up to rehearsal too high to play. Or
I'd miss rehearsal altogether.
I met Brett at a party we were having. We ended up talking all night. He called again the next day. And
again the next. And then he said he wanted to be with me. I couldn't fathom why anyone would want to start
up a relationship with me. I was clearly a fuckup. lol But I had to test him. I told him I was going back to
Seattle and if he wanted to be with me he'd come too. I also said that I'm an addict and that the moment he
started trying to go changing me, I was gone.
He agreed and quit his job and packed up all his possessions and came with me to Seattle. And he put up
with my shit for 3 years!!! I can say that I put Brett through some shit!! lol We got jobs here, an apartment
and I continued to drink.
But there was one night we were coming back from the video store and someone ran a red light and plowed
right into our car. I ended up with stitches in my head and damage to my knee. I could barely walk. So I
ended up putting on some serious weight cause I couldn't move and I was drinking on top of the pain meds I
was getting. They ended up doing surgery on my knee and I got more pain killers.
Then when I got the cash, from the accident I went and had most of the weight removed from lipo and
received more pain killers. I was taking those on top of drinking as well.
Then in September my best friend passed away. He had quit using and his body couldn't take it. He had an
aneurysm in his sleep.
To cheer me up, a certain band asked me to come to LA to party with them. I went. I drank from the time I
got up to the time I went to bed. On the way to the show, the limo wrecked and I did a mid air summersault
and ended up on my neck. But I just got up and told them to get another car and get me to the show.
When I got back home, Brett made me go to the hospital and it turned out I had a concussion but I kept
partying on top of that anyway.
When I ended up going back to work, I was talking to a really good friend. I told him that I had been trying to
get clean but I couldn't manage more than 4 days. I'd get to the 4th day and I couldn't go on.
So he said something to me. "I'll pray for you"
WTF??? what does that mean?? was it some kind of a threat??
But that very night I went out to see a band with some friends. I walked up to the bar and got my Jack and
coke. I managed to drink about 1/4 of it when I suddenly started getting really sick. I mean I came on so
sudden it almost knocked me over. I thought maybe it was the drink so I put it down. What me not finish a
drink??? insane right? lol I managed to make it through the band playing but when I got home... I was
throwing up, shaking, sweating, my nose was running..I was thinking "well this is the worst case of the flu I've
ever had" It came on so quickly.
Only the next day I was feeling worse. So brett took me to the doctor. It turns out I didn't have the flu and it
wasn't the alcohol. It was the pills that I had quit taking. I was going through violent withdrawals off of
painkillers!! I seriously didn't know that could happen. LOL
There I was lying in bed withdrawaling and I was reading bulletins. I saw one that caught my attention. It was
Dave posting about sobriety time.
So I messaged him. I told him I was really sick. He said he'd bring me some chicken soup. I told him I don't
need chicken soup. I think what I need is a meeting. So Dave drove 1/2 hour to my house to bring me to a
meeting that was only 2 blocks away from me.
And I felt like shit!! I had stomach cramps, shakes, sweats, throwing up, coughing (which turned into a lung
infection) I mean I was miserable. But I sat in the AA hall and listened to every word!!!
Today I have just over 9 months. after 6 months, I got an incredible job. I now work for the Art Institute
where they are letting me go to school for free to learn Audio Productions!!!
I have a sponsor and I attend meetings regularly.
God Bless!!
Seattle
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I was raised by alocolics and dope heads, knew all about addiction before I ever started. I managed to make it through
school, just partied here and there, drank and smoked some weed. Then when I was 19 I got married. We partied a lot, with
his friends mostly and back then cocaine was in. We did it together off and on, I loved it,i loved speed from the first try. He
worked offshore and I started doing it while he was gone, bill money was going towards cocaine, credit cards, savings,
everything we had and he didn't know for a long time. Until we almost lost our house, my new truck. I had to quit my job,
because it was interfering with my drugs, I would carry it everywhere I went, snorting in the bathroom at work, at my
grandparents, n laws it didn't matter. He finally told me he had all he could take, It was him or the drugs, and I managed to
put them down, it was not easy, I didn't get any help, and it didn't last. We started back partying with friends doing the
weekend thing I was not very healthy, neither one of us were happy.
At this point my mother had no idea what was going on im my life. I hated her, that’s how I felt, the only time I talked to her
was when she called me crying, drunk late at night, I told her as long as she was with that psycho she would probably never
see me again. I told my husband one night I really missed my mom, and that I was worried about her, so the next weekend
we went out to Seminole Alabama where they were living. Just the sight of Bruce made my skin crawl, the man really made
me physically ill. It was the first time my husband had ever seen him face to face and he gave him the same feeling. It was a
sad visit but I was glad we went to see her. Then the next weekend we got a phone call in the middle of the night, it was my
grandmother, she said the hospital had just called her and my mama had been in an accident and it was bad. So my
husband and I got ready, drove to my grandparents and we all went to Pensacola, the whole time I am thinking a car wreck,
because mama was always calling me at all times of the day and night, drunk, didn't know where she was she had started
having blackouts and etc. So scared to death we get there, and find out she was poisoned with strychnine by my step father.
They had life flighted her to the hospital and she died three times before they got her there. She was on life support and her
kidney's were failing. It didn't look good. I was a mess, half strung out and scared to death. Her husband was there, he told
the police that my mother was manic depressant and had tried to kill herself several times, which was a lie, it had never
happened. We all knew that he had done this to her without question, but without a lot of money there was nothing we could
do, and at that point we were just worried about her.
They asked the family about a Do Not Resuscitate order because of the great possibility of brain damage, so we signed the
DNR. The first time I went in to see my mother was the most awful thing I had ever felt. She looked like she was dead, she
was pale, bloated, tubes all over her and inside her, and at that moment all of these uncontrollable emotions hit me. I had
been so angry for so long, and now I was scared she was going to die. I wished that I hadn't said some things that I had, or
that I hadn't felt the way that I did. I even tried to pray, but they felt empty. All of my life I never had a relationship with God, I
had never been around people who openly talked about God, or who were good Spiritual, Christian people, only my
Grandparents and I just knew they were good people, but I never knew where they stood with God, or understood their
beliefs. My mother had been angry with God as long as I could remember, because of my sister, that is what I knew,.
Anyway, Every time I would see Bruce I would think it would be best if she did die, but I know that I really didn't mean it. Her
kidney function started improving, and she slowly was getting a little better. They said she would be a vegetable for the rest
of her life, she remained in a coma for a long time, then what they called an open eye coma, they moved her from the
hospital-to nursing facility-then to a neurological center in Slidell Louisiana. This all went on for a year, she finally woke up,
but she was blind, partially paralized, she couldn't do anything for herself, couldn’t' even talk. They helped her a lot, I stayed
with her a lot until we finally got her moved to the nursing home in Bonifay, I got a job there along with my grandmother so we
could help watch out for my mom and my great grandmother who was also there.
After a while we took my mom out of the nursing home and moved her into my grandmothers house, at this point she
couldn't do much for herself but was progressing. I was still angry, saying the whole time that I didn't care what happened to
her, that I was doing everything that I was doing for my grandparents, because they needed my help. And I was angry at God,
I blamed him for all of it, and didn't understand why--- following in my mothers footsteps.
My husband and I had been doing pretty good he stood by my side and helped anyway that he could with my mom. We
started growing Marijuana and selling it, Lots of it. We dug holes, planted seeds, toted 5gal. buckets of water and fertilized.
Had our living room full of plants piled about 4-5 high many many times, clipping buds. I came home from work one day and
saw the news the law had cut down and hauling off trailers & trucks loaded down with our plants, you could see our house.
But we made a lot of money.....don't know how but we never got caught. One day we ran into an old friend of ours who had
some crank, he knew about the problem I had with cocaine, but said it was nothing like cocaine, you can't get addicted to
this, made it sound wonderful, and it didn't take him a whole lot of talking and I was ready. Reluctantly my husband gave in
and we gave it a try, I thought it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I started talking, speaking what was on my
mind and some things that weren't, sex was wonderful. Every emotion you felt or desire you had was 100x more intense
than usual. It took all my problems away, temporarily anyway. During this time my mother had been coming to spend the
weekends with us, she was improving. Every time she came over she wanted to drink, so I would go by it for her. Mix her
drinks, light her cigarettes and tote them to her, help her drink and smoke, but it didn't take long after the crank I stopped
going to get her or even visiting.
The crank turned into an every weekend thing, then to a everyday thing. I was surviving on cream curl honey buns and
Michelob light. Lost about 30 pounds and looked like hell. We let the person we were getting it from use our house to do his
selling, that’s how I got the dope, when they weren’t' at our house we were at his. We had ounces to pounds in front of us all
of the time. But I started tweaking, seeing things, hearing things--it got really bad. I would sit in front of a mirror digging in my
face with needles, straight pins, whatever I could get my hands on trying to dig the worms out of my face, dug wholes in my
face, woke my husband up one night with blood running down my neck had a needle in my cheek pulling it out begging him
to get the worm out. I eventually ended up on the front porch of my house with a 357 magnum shooting at people who
weren't there, people who I thought were watching me and out to get me. If anybody had of been there they would have died,
I called my husband at work on his cell phone freaking out, scared him to death and when he finally got to me he found me
passed out in the bed on top of the gun with my finger still on the trigger. This was my escape from reality.
Some friends of mine finally called my grandparents and told them what was going on and they thought they needed to
intervene. So they did a Marchment act on me and had me picked up in my yard by the law, I was pulling up from going to get
some dope and they were sitting there waiting on me. I was scared to death, they let me call my husband on the way and
tell him what was going on, but he already knew. I cried all the way to detox, not knowing what was going to happen, high as
a kite, hadn't slept in days. I was mad at everybody, told them if my grandparents called I didn't want to talk to them. It was
an experience, I slept it off, didn't take any of there meds, told the counselor what she wanted to hear and after 6 days, they let
me go with a recommendation for outpatient treatment.
After that I stayed clean for a little while, went to a few meetings, a few counseling sessions and quit and we ran into my
uncle one night, and he introduced us to crack cocaine. It was different than all the others, and I was different . I knew when I
took my first hit that this could be the end of me. I was gone>>>>>>I lost a job, lost my weight, same thing again. So my
family along with preacher did the marchment act again and had me sent to detox, then to Treatment, which this time I
agreed to do. While I was gone my family, bought a mobile home, had it put on my Grandparents property, thinking that if we
moved it would help. I learned a lot in treatment, a lot about the 12 steps, and that there were a lot of other people who had
problems like me. I voluntarily stayed an additional two weeks, but was ready to go home when the time came. I stayed
clean for 7 months, can’t remember much about that time. Things were quiet. During this time I did not do my after care,
went to a few meetings here & there, went to Church, but only because that was what I was suppose to be doing. Still no
relationship with God, no healing, just existing. Nobody gave me money and rarely had keys to a vehicle. I lived everyday
scared of the day that I would fail.
I woke up in the middle of the night one night, left my husband in the bed, got dressed, got keys & money and drove to crack
town. It was on once again. It was no time I had traded everything I could get my hands on, stole my husbands money out of
his wallet, traded my wedding ring all my jewelry & his, guns. When all of that ran out I started trading my body. I would leave
and stay gone for days. My husband and my grandfather coming to look for me, even brought the Preacher with them a few
times. I would trade my vehicle, they would give me a rock, take my truck and leave me in the middle of nowhere, suppose to
be back in a few hours and always gone a lot longer. One time that happened they left me in an old abandoned trailer off of a
dirt road in the middle of nowhere, I stayed there waiting for my vehicle to come back after a while a vehicle pulled up, several
men got out, one came to inside, the next thing I know I had a razor blade stuck in the side of my neck and I was raped. He
was a lot bigger than me I was high, tired, scared and totally helpless. I tried to fight but the more I fought the worse it hurt, I
screamed and screamed and the others stayed outside, nobody would help me. It seemed like forever, but it wasn’t very
long, they left. I couldn’t go anywhere, I was scared, cold, dirty all I could do was wait.
When I finally got out of there, I couldn’t handle it, I could not deal. The only way I knew was to make it go away, I stayed high.
I knew I couldn’t tell anyone, who is gonna believe a crackhead, so I decided not to tell anyone. It was killing me, so I buried
it as far as I could. One day I finally told my husband. How is a man supposed to handle that. I know that he doubted me,
who could blame him, and we just didn’t talk about it. Weeks went by and then I noticed I hadn’t had a period. I was always
late, and I stayed high so it took a while before I even thought about it. I had never used any kind of birth control since I got
married and never thought of the possibility of being pregnant, finally I bought a test and it was positive. How could this be? I
freaked out, didn’t know what to do. So I told my grandmother. We were both scared to death. I knew if my grandfather found
out, he would probably disown me and kill the man who did it. So my grandmother and I decided to keep it quiet. We didn’t
even consider any options, I was still high, I couldn’t think, and I couldn’t feel anything but fear. There was only one thing to
do, so we started getting information on abortions.
From the day of the rape on, it was all about forgetting. I really wanted to die, I wanted out, I could not deal, and I didn’t want
to deal, I didn’t want to feel. We made an appointment, I finally did tell my husband, he just really couldn’t handle it. My
grandmother had to drive me to Tallahassee where I killed my child. At that time like I said I didn’t consider any options, did
not consider that this was a part of me, did not consider that I could change my life take responsibility and save this life, did
not consider what I was doing only that I had to end it. It was awful, a cold table, earplugs, a freezing room and a lot of noise,
not much physical pain, not near as much as I thought I deserved. Just emptiness, cold, and more emotional and mental
pain than I could bare.
My husband was gone, I knew it, he had really tried to stay, hoping that it would all just go away, but neither one of us knew
how to make it. He loved me but after a few months went by just like I thought he left. I was still HIGH>>>>>He told me when
he left, he just couldn’t do it anymore, he loved me, he always would but he had to go, and I just watched him walk out the
door. I couldn’t even ask him not to leave, I knew things weren’t going to change, because I had given up. I did not want to
keep doing this to him, it wasn’t fair, IT WAS OVER.
I went back to the dope, within a months time after the abortion and my husband left me, I was gone. I went to crack town
rode my car till it ran out of gas, I ran out of money, shacked up with someone sleeping with him for drugs, till that got to
crazy. Had to leave just left my car there. I was on foot, same clothes as the day I left, no food, no where to sleep. This went
on for about two weeks, in that time, I walked to my driveway two or three times, get to the end of the road and turn around. I
was hurting so bad, physically, mentally, emotionally, I just wanted out. One night at around 2 in the morning, this car pulled
up as I was walking down the road. It was an old white man, and a big black man, wanting to know if I needed a ride. I
really wanted to go home, thinking that maybe if someone would take me I would go, so I got in the car. Of course we bought
some crack first, they knew what they were doing, and I’m sure I did too, but I didn’t let myself think it. I told them where I
lived, they said they knew where I was talking about, it took me a while, but I finally said where are we going, we had just
been driving and driving forever, and I had no idea where we were. I wasn’t looking at anything. Then it me, I was scared to
death. I could have been with two ax murderers and didn’t know it, and that’s how scared I was at that moment. I thought I
was going to die, and I started to panic. I was freaking out begging them to stop and let me out, pleading for my life, and all
the while they were telling me I was ok, they weren’t going to hurt me. They ended up taking me to the old man’s house.
Behind locked gates at least 20 miles from civilization, seemed like a lot further. Once I figured out they really weren’t going
to kill me, and I was calmed down enough that I could talk, I did. And then the real scenario started playing out in my head,
and of course it was a dope house. They supply you supply, but I got to take a shower, clean clothes, eat some food, and
smoke dope. At the time it was better than what I was doing. I ended up staying there for a while. Months went by, and I
hadn’t talked to my family. They found my car where I left it in crack town and that let everybody know what was going on, they
had missing persons reports on the tv, looking for me, even my husband. The old man made me call and let them know I
was alive, but I didn’t tell them where I was, or even if I would be coming home. My crack habit was running the old man
about 1100 a day, at most. I spent my days cleaning, smoking dope, cooking, smoking dope, entertaining, and writing in a
journal every hit of dope I took, everything I did, every feeling I had I wrote it down. He had some guy that worked for him that
sold crank & crystal. He introduced us and wanted me to try it, the guy told me that I would never smoke crack again. Finally I
did, It rocked my world, I never picked up a crack pipe again, and I started getting a little brave. The guy kept coming back, he
was married, but I was lonely, scared and wanted out, and he knew what I was doing, he didn’t even know me, and he
wanted me out. It had gotten to the point that I couldn’t leave, I was afraid to leave, the old man didn’t want me to leave. So
after a month or so the guy and I came up with a plan, at this point the only relationship we had was talking, but he helped
me escape, took me to some friends of his, and that night our relationship began. Little did I know I was going from the
frying pan into the fire. He left his wife, and we disappeared together. We moved from one persons house to another. He
finally introduced me to the person that he was selling for, and she needed some help. So I started helping her, buying
supplies, whatever she needed, always saying I didn’t want to know how to do it. But it was a matter of months, and I was
learning how. My boyfriend and I started fighting, not bad, just stupid, up to this point, we had been side by side, 24-7, We
were in love, it was our destiny, we had been waiting our whole lives to meet each other. IT WAS SOME REALLY GOOD
DOPE…….In no time we were cooking. Moved back into my home next to my family, bringing him with me. They were so
desperate to have me back they didn’t care who came with me.
I started cooking dope at my home, all along telling my family, we were going to get a job, lying about everything, lying lying
lying. One day, we started fighting, we were at my house, it was our first bad fight. Not enough sleep, to much dope, it got
crazy. He pushed me around, screamed at me, tore doors off the wall, put a whole in the door with my head, my granny
heard us. I got him outside and was able to lock him out, I called a friend to come get him, and that day my grandfather told
me, if he ever saw him coming down this road he would shoot him…I believed him. I didn’t talk to him for a while, he went to
his ex-wife’s and stayed , I was cooking dope at my house, then meet him in caryville and give him some dope, then he
would go back home to his ex wife, how sick was that. I left again, lonely, scared, paranoid,,, we got back together, and on
the road again. Stay at the motel til we find somebody that wanted a cook, we’d move in. I called home to let them know I
was alive, and they let me know they had moved me out of my house, and rented it out. I was devastated, just thought that it
would be there, when I got ready, when I could quit, once I again after that I was certain that I would change, now I had no
where to go, I had nothing, just the clothes on my back. We had a few run ins with the law, but they couldn’t do anything. The
girl that taught me how to cook got busted, one of the first ones around here, it was all down hill from there. We were all
running scared then, she got out of jail and told us all they knew all about us, we better leave. He wasn’t going anywhere….
they didn’t have shit on him…so we kept on doing what we doing. The fights got worse and more often. We were both
loosing our minds….He hated me but he loved me, I was a crack whore, but the best thing that had ever happened to him, I
was his destiny, but I would be the reason he would spend his life in prison. He beat my head, so hard sometimes I thought
it was gonna bust open like an egg, he held me at gunpoint over and over, then put the gun on himself, he held a butcher
knife to my throat, he laughed at me when I slit my wrist. I was so scared I was always planning my way out, and he knew it,
but he knew why and he couldn’t stop. All the while my family was scared for my life, I would come home beat bruised,
hungry sometimes dirty, talking to myself hearing things.
At this point I was in a constant state of paranoia and hallucinations. I would stay locked up in a room, most of the time
because I could not carry a conversation, without asking if anyone else heard what I was hearing. It pissed him off every time
I talked about the people that we couldn’t see, that were talking to me. I loved him, I had my own dope, I don’t know why I
kept going back. He told me right after we got together that I would hate him one day, he never believed in me, he couldn’t-the
dope ruled our every move, emotion action, everything. We were so destructive together, not just for ourselves but other
people. We ate enough food and got enough sleep to keep up us alive, but that was it. One time I came home, moved in
with granny & papa, I really wanted to stay, I was so tired, tired of running, tired of hurting. I talked with my grandmother, and
we came to the conclusion that she would hold my dope for me, and give it to me as needed, until I ran out, and I was really
gonna make an effort to stop. I still can’t believe I did that to her, needless to say when the dope was gone, so was I. While
I was at home this time, I had to go sign my divorce papers, my husband waited for a long time, he said he was hoping that
him leaving would be an eye opener, always hoping that I would get it together and we could get it together. I would always
call him when I would go back home, sometimes we would see each other, I would talk to him about everything, I could see
the disappointment in his face, but he would always smoke my dope. He never said NO THANK YOU, or don’t come back if
you can’t come sober. But I finally gave up on that too, I let it (him) go, it was all just to painful I couldn’t’ fix it, I couldn’t handle
it.
And I left again, moving in with a dope friend, until he found me. I let him know that I couldn’t handle it anymore, he was
happy I was divorced, he was still married, I was so stupid. Finally, we were back together again. Same destructive path,
same thing. I always ended up running, scared and HURTING, all over. This time he beat me, laughing, I was begging to let
me go, calling for my family, he was laughing, said the only way I could leave was if I slept with him. I couldn’t do it, he had to
take it, and he did, I didn’t move, I cried under my breath, he laughed, but he let me go, and I was running, down 81 in the
middle of the day, bloody, high, crying, somebody picked me up and gave me a ride, all I said was where I needed to go, he
didn’t ask any questions, I don’t really remember what he looked like or what he was driving. I stayed hid for a while, cooking
dope, cooking dope cooking dope, and he found me, and we were gone again. Moving again, running. It was the same thing
over and over again. Everybody around us was getting busted, we were running scared, people always telling us we had to
go, it was getting hot. We talked about it talked about quitting, but we couldn’t do it. We both had to much, we couldn’t
handle reality. I finally go arrested, ran out of gas, sitting on the side of the road, talking to myself, thinking somebody was
putting gas in my car, nobody was around, cop pulls up, lets me call somebody, while waiting, I was steady freaking out, he
knew, ended up giving him the dirty bags I had in my bra, and I went to jail for possession. I called my family, they let me out
on a custodial release. First time I’d ever been arrested, I ended up moving in with my family, got 3yrs probation, I was
gonna make it work, I got a job, got a vehicle and within months, my grandfather gave me a place to live. I did good for five
months.. One night, I drank a few beer, I got really sad, lonely, upset, thinking about everything. I sat on the corner of my bed
rocking, crying, I hurt so bad, that I felt it physically and I just couldn’t stop crying, and it hurt to much, I didn’t know how to
deal, and ended up in Westville, and it was on again. This time I was on probation, and I didn’t report. So when my
boyfriend and I got back together, we both didn’t report, and now we both had warrants. Same crap, cook dope, fight, move,
running……and one they came in on us. I was asleep on the couch, he woke me up with the bottle in his hand, saying they
are in the yard, I’m gone, running out the back door, I had on my underwear and a t-shirt, and was sleeping for the first time
in days, I was out of it, at first I didn’t know what he said, then I didn’t believe, then I saw them, I got a pair of pants on and out
the back door, they were coming around the side. He was long gone, it wasn’t my house, and of course I didn’t know
anything, but my truck was in the back yard and they found a piece of tinfoil with dope on it in the glove compartment so I was
gone to jail again for possession, they couldn’t charge me with the lab, because it wasn’t my house, I wasn’t inside, and he
was gone. I didn’t know how or why but me & the other girl that was there were released with a court date. I’m sure now if
was so I would lead them to him, She gave me a ride to a friends house, where the first thing I did was get high….and
stayed that way. My boyfriend waited for a while and he found me, we went right back to where I got arrested and he found
the cook that he ran out the door with that night. He had stuck it in a whole and covered it up, the dogs didn’t even find it. So
we got it found a place and finished cooking it. Back at it again, this time we ended up in a motel for quite a while, he kept
asking me about that night, over and over again, I told him everything that happened before he ever asked, but he didn’t
believe me, ever….So he finally ended up beating me from one end of the motel room to the other, then hauled ass in case
they called the law and left me there alone. He came back, I begged him to take me somewhere and leave me, after fighting
again, he finally gave in. He said he wanted to kill me, he felt like he could and it scared him, so he dropped me at a friends
house where I stayed for 5 months or a little longer, and never left the house. I barely went outside, was to scared, to
paranoid, , they were looking for us both, so I didn’t leave, until he showed back up to get me. I wanted to stop so bad, before
they caught me, but I couldn’t , lost…it still hurts me now to think about how alone, scared, and frickin crazy I was. I left with
him again, we moved right down the road, I had gained a little more control of my use than ever, I guess being scared, and
just plain tired, but the cooking never slowed down. At this point I was to scared to cook, they did it all, I cleaned the house
and cooked for them, for the first time in years….Things had definitely changed, we weren’t fighting, we both knew that it was
a matter of time if we didn’t leave, they were gonna get us. He would leave and be gone for hours, I didn’t ask, I didn’t go, I
just wanted to be left alone, I could tell he felt different, so did I , but we weren’t alone, and he didn’t have to worry about
where I was. A few months went by and it happened again, this time nobody ran, . They thought he was dangerous, so they
were prepared, busted down doors looked like about 30 of them, we were in the bedroom with the door closed, they came in
and put us both on the floor, knees in my back , huge guns to my head. All I could do was cry, I had been that scared before
or worse, but this was different. They put us all in the backseat of the same car, I put my head on his chest and cried the
whole way, and he actually acted like he cared, telling me he was sorry, it was going to be ok…..I’ll never understand that….I
was convinced this time I was going to prison for a long time. I didn’t call my family for at least a week, they heard about it
from somebody else, after the first day or two I was actually relieved. It took a while but I started letting go. I never asked
anyone about getting out, when my family finally did come see me I told them, moved my stuff out of the house rent it out, I
wasn’t coming home for a while. The Church ladies came, I sang, I started reading my Bible, I started praying. The only
letter I got was from my great aunt then she was probably 86 or so, telling me God was waiting for me, My preacher came to
see me, it was time to let it go, and I did.
My boyfriend was sending me letters , telling me how much he loved me, we were gonna turn our lives around, we were
gonna get married, I thought that is what I wanted, people that knew a lot more about our relationship than I did in the jail,
started talking. Telling me why we wouldn’t be together forever. There had been a lot of things going on, lots of women,
lots……and other stuff I still just don’t want to believe. God knows our hearts even more than we do, and since then he has
not left me. When I got out of jail, I was given the opportunity to work with a 12 step group, share my testimony and what
God had done for me. At that point I didn’t even fully realize what he had done for me. When I finally went to Court my
punishment was not near what I thought I deserved, or what I thought I would get on the same hand now I feel like it was just
what God had planned for me. It worked and I have taken what he has given me and I give back. Community Control with
GPS doesn’t leave much room for a job, but Hardee’s gave me chance. My grandparents let me move back in with them,
and I began my new life. Going to work, home, church and meetings, that was it, and that was enough for me. God
continued to work in my life, I had ups and downs. People weren’t to friendly for a long time or accepting. Dope friends
hated me. I got subpoenaed to testify in Federal court against my ex, and 2 others, but I did not have to do it. I prayed that
they would see, I couldn’t help them, and I knew God was with me no matter what happened and that’s what I pray for him
daily. I finally came to an understanding that things would have been really different if not for the drugs, we would have been
two different people, but we probably never would have met. I pray for him daily, I pray that God is in control of that situation
and that he has been able to accept God’s help.
For the first time in my life I could get up, breath, look in the mirror and function without hurting 24-7. It took some time to
learn how to Give it all to God, but I did. Loosing my husband, my home, being raped, loosing my child, loosing my morals,
loosing my mother, being beaten--- all the people that I loved and lost, all the people that I hurt, and all the times that I had
been hurt in my life, little by little God showed me the way, he freed me in every possible, a freedom I never thought was
possible. I didn’t have to die and now I know how to be grateful for all of those things. I would not be the person I am today if
it weren’t for all of it. God’s blessed my life in so many ways. My family loves me & trust me, most people in the community
have accepted me, I met the most wonderful man in the world and we have a started a life together built on love & trust &
honesty no matter my past, I have been put in a position to be around and help people like me, wonderful friends, and the
ability and the desire to learn about everything,.
I go to Church for the first time with an understanding of what God gave for me, and what God wants for my life and how I can
accomplish that.
I have experienced loss and made it through, I have been lied to and hurt and made it through it. I have disappointed myself
and made it through it, and been disappointed and made it through it. I have been drug free for three years now the longest I
have been clean in 18 years.
May God Bless & Keep You,
Jeana Prescott
Recovery Support Specialist
C.A.S.E. Coalition
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