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[ Staff Picks ] [ Personal Narratives ]

Digging My Grave With a Spoon and a Needle

I never thought I’d end up where I did; homeless, dirty, starving, and will to do whatever it took just to keep the sickness at bay for a few more hours. Sure, I had always been a party girl, but the drugs I did were recreational, never habitual. I couldn’t see that I was grooming myself for the hell of addiction.

My life was far from perfect, but I had always been determined to persevere. To be the girl that succeeded in spite of reasons X, Y, and Z. That all changed the moment I met the love of my life. Heroin. She was my best friend, my lover, my solace, and my protector. She was the one who told me that everything was going to be alright.

My life unraveled very quickly. I lost my home, my car, any money I had saved, and worst of all, I lost custody of my children. My family thought this would be my rock bottom. But not this girl, no. When you’re that scared and sick, there’s no other choice but to grab a shovel and start digging. And dig I did.

I had some horrific experiences during those years, none of which scared me more than getting clean. Who wants to face the mess they’ve made, the relationships they’ve destroyed, when the needle can make it go away in an instant? Definitely not me.

It took incarceration for me to finally get clean. And the support of my family, my mother in particular, for me to remain this way. Little by little my life is coming together, and I’m grateful just to be alive. Too many of us die every day.