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Fly me back to Neverland.
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Nine overdoses occurred in Huntington, West Virginia, on the first four days in May. I am no stranger to the constant craving. I want to snort away my responsibilities. I want to hold my large bottle filled with Xanax again. Carry me back to my euphoric utopia. Drugs would always caress away my worries. My mind would shut off, and every problem melted into a warm, not caring sensation.
I’ve always been a lost girl. Maybe you are lost too.
The hurt belted upon your legs, back, and hands are still haunting your dreams. You cower in a child like fear every time you close your eyes at night. Sleep is an enemy. Dreams are not peaceful. They are your torturous nightmares. There is never a good night’s rest since you’ve never known a good day.
Your next memory was crawling under the only safe place you had as a child, your bed.
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Perhaps, you were touched and suffered the ultimate violation from a parent who was supposed to provide protection. In this definitive betrayal, you were knocked unconscious and the last memory you saw was your father sitting on top of you with his pants open while he spat on your face. Your next memory was crawling under the only safe place you had as a child, your bed. You stayed there weeping for hours. You had to lie on your side, because your back was covered in bruises and, your soul was defiled. After crawling out from under your bed, you were never the same little girl.
Then, you grew up and wanted the nightmares to stop.
People said you should talk to a therapist. The therapist said you should consult a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist said 3 pills a day would help. They did help. You finally could sleep and not remember the past. You didn’t fear each day. You could look at some people in their eyes and not be overtaken by the overwhelming, sweating anxiety.
Your nose became clogged somewhere around 30, so you had to let the pills sit under your tongue and dissolve.
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Three pills turned to seven, and then you started taking 10 a day. After ten, it became harder and harder to forget and not feel. In an afternoon, you would push your body trying to find its breaking point. Your nose became clogged somewhere around 30, so you had to let the pills sit under your tongue and dissolve. You would always lose little pieces of yourself each time you turned the pill bottle upside down grinding the blue football shaped tablets into a fine powder.
Next, you took out your old Marshall University student I.D. card, the one with a skinny, smiling, hurting soul. You used this card to cut the powder into lines, and you snorted away every hurt you could remember. Along the way, you created new pains because you were constantly fucking up and letting people down.
It’s hard to remember after 15 pills, and you kept forgetting important things. You may have nodded off into the plate filled with food at a local restaurant. You didn’t want the food anyways. You only wanted a fix to every systematic failure you had endured. Sober people will ask, “Why are they abusing drugs?” The same people will make remarks and candid judgments because they don’t know an entire truth.
I ask these people, “Who else was there to help them?”
No one protected me. Court mandated restraining orders when I was 14 years old failed to keep me safe. I was a little girl with ribbons and bows pinned in my strawberry blonde hair. I was ALONE and ABUSED. Not one person followed up on orders designed to keep me safe. Years filled with torment continued into my twenties, and Xanax became the only protection I trusted.
Then I saw my quality to life. I was not proud of the person I was choosing to be. I still, even today, hold myself accountable for the person I became during those three addicted years. I woke up one day, I called the psychiatrist’s office and canceled our appointment. I never rescheduled. It’s been seven years since I walked through those ‘mental health’ doors. But, it wasn’t a choice of sobriety.
I NEVER CHOSE SOBRIETY. I CHOSE SOVEREIGNTY.
There’s a kingdom in living life, and we are blessed with the power in ruling our lives. Drugs stopped being my monarchy, and when I made that decision I was no longer a lost girl. I was found. Addiction can rule a life. There is a constant chase to find the elusive next high. Addicts worry about finding a fix when these drugs were created to never actually fix anything.
In the 1850’s, pharmaceutical companies created morphine to combat the opium epidemic. Next, they created heroin to cure the morphine crisis. Finally, methadone was synthesized to relieve heroin addiction. All these cures were more potent, more addictive, and there is a steady supply of them being created every day. Substances and pills will never solve problems. However, they will create profits for big-business, stock trading pharmaceutical companies.
“Lost girls, what happened to you?
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Two months ago, I waited in line at my local post office. In front of me stood three younger women trying to open a joint P.O. Box and I smelled their death. The aroma of rotting flesh and cigarettes will forever haunt my memory. As they turned to face me, I saw the track marks running down their necks and onto their arms. I recognized their glazed glassy eyes and I thought to myself, “Lost girls, what happened to you? Were you hurt too? You can’t escape it. No amount of needles will drain the pain. You are not alone. I was once a lost girl too.”
To these three women, I hope you are not one of the nine I read about in my local newspaper. I hope on those first four days in May you survived. I hope each one of you will find sovereignty over your lives.
I write for every addicted, hurt lost boy and girl. I hope you find the ability to be sovereign. Wake up to a new-found possibility in allowing yourself to make a choice. Every day is a new chance at new choices. May today a drug not rule you, may you reign free.
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Another very powerful piece, that is sure to help many in their own journey.
Thank you for being so open and sharing this. It seems like often, the kids that need help don’t get it becasue social services and the like are too busy going after the wrong people, harassing people over accidents and ignoring cases of real abuse.
I have no words other than thank you for sharing this. I know it must be painful, but it’s also a story that must be told to save others.
This made me so sad…to realize that you and so many other children go through this silently everyday, for so many years and don’t get any help. I can see how people can turn to drugs to ease their pain. I am glad you are in a better place now and can share your story to help others.
What a powerful post. I hope the three ‘lost girls’ you saw in the post office find their way. I imagine so many others there missed the signs that you easily recognized.
I’m gutted by your story… your words… your testimony to SOVEREIGNTY. I am inspired by your strength and your unbelievable relentless fight for life transformation and healing. I pray this reaches those broken and bruised hearts, backs, souls… I pray your powerful voice carries many to the kingdom of living.
Wonderful, powerful writing. It leads us to see addiction in the most human of contexts. Thank you, Rachel. Keep writing.
Mark, thank you. To make addiction, hurt, and loneliness humanized was my only hope in writing these words. Thank you for reading and commenting.
You have a way with writing!
Lynn, thank you.
Hi, Rachel. I just…I don’t even know where to begin. I used to not understand drug addiction. Or addiction in general. That isn’t to say that I understand it now, but I can at least see it as (to probably simplify it almost too much) a coping mechanism to cover profound pain. Your words are a gift. A gift that this world needs. That others who struggle with addiction need. [email protected] is my email address. Perhaps you might want to share some of your words on my blog in the near future? Let me know if you do. I know… Read more »
Ashley, thank you for every generous word and for the invite. I will not pretend to understand why some people choose a drug over living, feeling. In writing this, I wanted to find the common factor. Addiction affects people from a multitude of socioeconomic classes, it has no race, nor does it place its dirty grasp on particular geographic boundaries. The only common theme I saw strewn throughout the stories I read was “I felt alone, not good enough, lacking.” I too have felt this emptiness, each of those words have repeated in my head too many times. I only… Read more »
I am so glad that you found your sovereignty, I am so sorry for every bad experience you had. I had a different path with some overlap….it’s amazing when any of us can claw our way out of a hellish pit and redefine ourselves. The road less traveled indeed.
Bryce, thank you for every kind word and for relating to these words. My heart aches when someone does relate to them. Unfortunately, some of these things are far too common. I love your words, “can claw our way out of a hellish pit and redefine ourselves.” You don’t know you are doing it at the time, but you are. Thank you for these words.
You know where I stand on the subject of addiction and after reading this it seems you and I share the same hope. This is so honest and I won’t soon forget the words you have written here. You are an inspiration and I am right beside you, with hope.
Sandy, we do share the same hope. Thank you for not forgetting, I know some these images are not pretty. They were my hardest to write, and I know they are not an easy read. I do have hope that they reach someone who needs them. You once wrote a letter, and I will never forget those words. Thank you for all your support on this one. I appreciate it with all my heart.
Strength is a beautiful, renewing attribute. You have it, always nurture it and remember one day at a time!
Michele, thank you. I want to be strong, some days are better than others. Thank you for reading for the kind words.
So powerful and moving. Astonishing and brilliant, you are a brave soul and I wish I had been your parent and fiercely protected you.
Lisa, thank you. I wish I could find the right words to comment back. These words were the hardest I’ve ever written. This article was re-written five times over, each time digging deeper into my soul. I guess, out of everything I wish I had in life, I wish for some kind of protection. Thank you for every kind word, they are greatly appreciated.
I’ve been speechless for a few moments thinking of what to say. I say thank you. I say I’m sorry. And I say I’m proud of you. And shame on every adult in your life. Every single one for failing you. But congrats to you for finding the strength to live again. To live at all. You may have been lost but you survived and overcame. God bless you.
Fozzie, thank you for your kind words. I hold no anger towards the adults, or the system any longer. I’ve learned over time that it takes far more energy to hold hatred in my heart than it does to accept it as a part of me. The hardest lesson, and I work every day at reminding myself that these acts which I’ve written about are not my fault. I work at not letting them define me in my today. It’s hard at times. Suffocating, almost. Thank you again for each kind word, they are much appreciated. Thank you for reading.
I wish you didn’t have this in you to write, but for all those who have this kind of story and CAN’T write it, kudos for being their voice.
Considerer, thank you for your kind words. I wrote another piece and was able to gain so much encouragement, and strength from that process. I never wanted to write some of these words, but my hope is they will speak and reach others who are or have been in similar situations. Thank you with all my heart for your support.
I am not an addict. I might not have a completely healthy attitude with alcohol and I used to smoke weed every day, but it’s never been hard to walk away from and I still functioned without issue. This article made me sob. I’m not an addict, but my beautiful 27 year old son is. I am grateful that he is in a period of recovery. The last period lasted 3 years and his relapse was brutal but thankfully, it was short. He’s thriving right now. I still can’t breath, but I am grateful that he’s doing as well as… Read more »
Michelle, your words touched me to my core. I apologize for any tears I caused. I hope by sharing these stories, any addict will make a better choice. Time is imperative in cases involving addiction and each day spent lost in its grasp is scary for both the addict and people who love them. I send prayers to you and your son. Thank you for taking the time to read this and share your experience. Thank you for the kind words. I send love to your family.