Ive kinda got a history of being lucky. Since high school I’ve traded one addiction for another, mainly coke, alcohol, and meth. I’ve been through most of the textbook stereotypes; bad relationships, lying, stealing, etc. One thing I always was proud of though was my ability to hide most of it as a functioning addict. I always had a job, a home, visited my parents for holidays and birthdays, etc.
Coke was the first one I beat. At my lowest point I was spending almost $1000 a week, getting high at 5am to get ready for work, and I’d keep going until about midnite when I’d switch to beer, weed, Nyquil, and cold and allergy medication to knock myself out for a few hours. I developed a heart arrhythmia and my Dr told me if I kept going like that I wouldn’t see my 30th birthday. Eventually I got a temporary job outside the city and lived in a small town motel for about 6 months. Got off coke all on my own, after a 5 year habit. My drinking got worse though, without the coke to keep my drunkenness in check I became a blackout 6 nites a week.
When I met my current partner almost 6 years ago, I started to ease up on my drinking. Partly because I actually enjoyed spending time with him, partly because I was slowly trading my drinking for smoking ish. I figured I was doing okay though, I had a job, new apartment, good relationship. A couple years after I stopped drinking I even hit my 30th birthday.
Even when I was a straight up meth head, I was the only one out of my friends with a job, never been arrested, didn’t get into fights. Our apartment had survived 2 raids by the cops (where by sheer luck there was nothing in the apartment each time, so no charges) and one home invasion (3 people broke in with bear mace and a hunting knife while my bf was gone, in the end they never found our stuff so once again, we got really lucky)
After a few years my bf and I started to back away from the scene. Too many close calls and we knew it was only a matter of time before everything caught up to us.
Eventually I became pregnant. We stayed at my parents for awhile (easier for me to stay clean) until our beautiful, perfect son was almost 6 months. We found a house to rent, quiet area, big backyard. There were baby toys everywhere, and it was perfect.
I still slipped up now and then. I’m not going to make excuses for it, it was a stupid thing to do but I still thought I was at least being smart about it.
Never around our son. Never bring anything into the house, don’t even leave anything in our pockets. Have someone watch our son and before I would go get him I’d change my clothes, wash my hands, brush my teeth… And never, ever get high enough that I was hesitant about being around him. I didn’t want to be high anymore anyway, and when I’m with my son it’s so easy to forget all about drugs. I hated myself for all those small relapses, and I was pretty much ready to quit for good.
Then all that good luck that had kept me going for nearly 15 years ran out.
Friends would do laundry at our place sometimes. Someone got high in our basement. Some kind of opiate. I’m still not sure how, probably through second hand transfer, maybe a jacket or something that someone left upstairs, I don’t know. But my son touched something with some type of opiate residue. Next thing I know, we’re on the phone with 911, and I’m giving him cpr until the ambulance arrived. I was terrified, I didn’t know what had happened, all I knew was my boy, not even a year old, was suddenly in the hospital hooked up to a breathing machine and IV’s.
Thankfully, he’s okay. No side effects. He was released a few days later, into my parents care.
We still don’t know who was getting high in our basement. Yeah it was probably an accident but that doesn’t change the fact that our son could have died. And because we don’t know for sure who it was, now we’ve not only been charged, but we can’t even see our son.
Now all I can think of is why didn’t I cut those last few ties? I was so close. So effen close. I should be planning his first Christmas, and instead I’m dealing with court, lawyers, and CFS. They won’t even tell me if I can even have a visit with my boy before Christmas, and out of everything that I have ever gone through in my entire life this is by far the hardest.
It has never been so hard to stay clean. Im trying so hard, I refuse to be one of those people who loses their child to drugs and that’s the end of the story. I will fight every day until I get him back, I miss him so much it’s physically painful.
It seems like no matter how hard I fight and how hard I try, staying clean is just has hard. Because now more than ever I just want to numb the guilt and pain, even if it’s just for a few hours, and even though I know I’ll feel worse after. The logic of an addict is so twisted.
I don’t know how long I can keep fighting for. Every morning I wake up and honestly don’t know if I’ll find the strength to get through another day, and the nights are even worse because I should be kissing my son goodnight, and I can’t. I don’t know how I’ll get through this, I just know I have to. Mostly I guess I have to figure out how to not give up.
And that’s my story. Sorry it’s so long.
