I’ve always had this unspoken rule. Don’t make friends with people in your apartment building. If you live in a nice building, with condo fees and manicured lawn, rule doesn’t apply. Being that most of your neighbours would kindly give you a cup of sugar, and unlikely rob your house. It’s plainly obvious that the Y, was not such a building, far from it. Instead of a lawn, there is a concrete staircase, littered with smokers and drug dealers, and instead of sugar, your neighbour busts down your door at three in the morning, drunk and high, looking for his girlfriend. Just an example.
Like I said, I did try and stay away as much as possible. Even going to N.A meetings a few times a week with a friend. Anything to keep me from sitting in the quiet confines of my room.He would pull up in his car, Wu-Tang blasting out of the speakers, and we would drive over to the community center. The same community center my Mom would take me too on weekends as a kid. When we would go to her meetings. Three times a weekend, like clock work. I knew a lot of the people here because of those weekends. It’s kind of like a family reunion, where you get those strangers who tell you they knew you when you ‘this big’. Except it’s peppered with awkward shame. Hi, I’m an addict. Fiddling with your hands, trying not to look them in the eye. Finding a seat far in the back.
At the time, I didn’t even know if I was an addict. I just wanted to be somewhere safe.
The meeting would wrap up, and we would all go out to the coffee shop to sit outside, smoke cigarettes and talk. Honestly, the entire time I was there, at the coffee shop, I dreaded having to leave. I dreaded it so much, not wanting to go back to the building. Everything scared me. The drug dealers on the front steps. The drunk native man who tried to grab my ankles when I walked by to get inside the building. Cursing and spitting hate at me. The man overdosing on heroin in the lobby, surrounded by paramedics. The foul smelling elevator that brings me up to the sixth floor. The hospital like white walls leading me back to my room. The quiet inside of it. Leaving me with nothing but my thoughts, or sleep. So, there. I never wanted that time to end, the laughing, the company. The safety of it. The warmth. I wanted that cup of coffee to last hours and the ride home to never come. The ride home was worse then actually leaving. Hiding your tears, and staying strong is hard. Looking out the car window, feeling more lonely than you ever have in your life. Doing everything in your power to push down those tears about to cascade down your young and weary face. Wanting more than anything, to turn to the person next to you and just scream. Scream how scared you are, how you don’t want to do this. For someone to take you home to your Mom and Dad and end this damn thing. You can’t. There’s no point, this is where your at, and nothings gonna change that. Except you, but you’re sixteen and have no more heart. You’ve hurt your parents so much, that they CAN’T have you home, and you know it. As you close the car door, give that hug goodbye, you know it.
As you walk up the concrete steps, into the lobby and watch the elevator door close, you know it. That knowing, following you down the white hallway and through that blue door, into the small quiet room. That you are left with, just yourself now. That thought scares you so much you throw up, and cry like a five year old little girl on her way to kindergarten for the first time.
So, that one thing happens, when your just that lonely and afraid.
I did what you knew best, and what I knew best was this. People.
Find someone, who feels just like you do, and use them to create a place of safety and support. Everybody does it at some point or another. Use people in this way.Whether it be a dependency on a best friend, or an abusive partner, we all do it. We all find something to cling to, in our state of desperation. Little did I know, the people I chose, and the people that chose me, would lead us to a place so dark, I would lose my grip on myself completely. It’s a miracle that I’m even sitting here to type you this. Honestly, it truly is. One tiny step farther, and I’d likely still be sitting in jail as of right now. No lie. By, the amazing grace of the Father, I’m not. By no choice of my own, He saved me. Before I finish this entry, I want to say something. I’ve never told this story before in detail, and I’m a little scared. I’m a little shaken at the thought. I need your prayer, if that’s something you do. If you do, I want to say thank you in advance, because, it’s time to have this out. There are so many things that could have been avoided back then, and I can’t change that now. What I can do, is be as honest as I possibly can, in hopes that this gets back to someone who needs it. Using this nightmare as a way to warn the youth out there, that feel they truly have no other options. This is what happened to me, when I fell into that lie, but it doesn’t have to be that way for everyone. There are choices, ALWAYS. Even if they seem thin and invisible. I wish someone had earnestly and openly confronted me with that back then, and you know I’m sure they did, and I was just too blind to see it. If you feel like someone you know could benefit from these entries, share them. I’m not writing all this down, just to get a rise out of you, or just to publish something gritty. It’s because God wanted me to bare my life to others, to gain comfort from it, and to show his glory. Because I don’t want this to only belong to me anymore, I want to build something from it that even I , couldn’t imagine.
So, the story will continue, where fear and desperation take a young girl on her own, and all the while, I’ll be needing your prayers. You are all amazing for supporting me in this journey, and I’m humbly grateful.