Dark Night of the Soul
I was broken and lost. And my Mom had no clue what to do with me. I was going for a week without food or sleep as the cocaine had taken a grip on my soul. I didn’t have a clue how bad it was, I was invincible! I figured that I could keep this lifestyle up forever. I was unhealthy and looked like a ghost.
Throughout the entire three years, my family had been tough on me. They had been tough on her too. The general consensus was that I needed tough love and rehab. I should be kicked out of her house and sent to a facility that would knock some sense into me.
Mom refused. She stood her ground and continued to tell me, over and over again, ‘I don’t love your actions, but I love you.’
That statement and that love was the only thing that kept me alive.
Despite all attempts to sabotage and harm myself, the love that emanated from my mother kept me going.
The final straw came one day when I was in an argument with Mom. I was livid, and screaming about something that was most likely incoherent. She looked at me with love, concern, and motherly worry, and simply asked me, ‘Are you okay?’ There was something in her voice, and in the way she expressed herself that made it clear that this was a decision point. This was a moment that could have the potential to change the entire trajectory of my life.
I broke.
I knew that if I didn’t ask for help now, I’d be dead or in jail within a year.
After having been pulled over by the cops and nearly arrested recently, I knew it was time. I hit my knees and begged my Mom for help. I told her everything. I told her about the drugs, the physical abuse, and the times that men had used my body. I held nothing back in my absolution.
After hours and hours of talking and crying, we agreed that I needed help, but that formal treatment and rehab wouldn’t be the greatest solution for me. Knowing my rebellious streak, neither of us thought it would be effective. We decided together that we would call an old friend who had helped people out with this before and ask him for his support.
He was more than willing to step in and take care of me. At the time, he lived in a little cabin way out in the woods, off the beaten path. He took me in, took away my car keys and my phone, and made a gigantic pot of soup. We knew that detox would be hard, and because I’d been going without food for weeks at a time, I’d have a hard time digesting anything beyond a bowl of soup.
For three weeks, I slept on his couch. Every night, he’d come and hang out with me and roll a whole bunch of weed for me. Weed was the only thing that kept me sane during that time, and helped me to regain my appetite. I slept, watched movies, smoked a lot of weed, ate soup, and cried - a lot. I was so ashamed of myself, and so lost.
I had no idea how I’d gotten myself into this mess, and I was not looking forward to figuring out how to get out of it.
Closer to the end of the three weeks, I had to start thinking about what was next. I knew that if I went back to my old friends and old life, everything would resume as before, and I didn’t want that. I needed to make a major change. It was time for a change of scenery and location. I started doing some research and decided that it was time for me to skip the country. What better way to recover from addiction than to run away from it right?
But first, I needed to save some money, and take a few classes, so I found a job at the local ski hill. I stopped talking to my old friends and became stubborn in my pursuit of a new life.