A sad way to live

It's Friday night and it dawned on me how, OMG, at this time a few years back, I was high by now. So, I thought I'd jot a bit about that.

It's pretty blunt, I'm just warning you.

It was crazy. I'd be at work, anticipating getting home to "it."

I'd be on the phone with my then other half, asking him to wait for me; begging him to wait, but I could tell that he had already started, most times.

I knew by the sound of his voice; how he spoke.

I'd get ticked, and got distracted from work. I would get so worked up that I didn't even care if my call was monitored, and I knew it was a possibility. It was nuts.

I'd get home, say hi to my dog, Gerri, give her attention for maybe 3-5 minutes, and go in the bathroom and take my first hit of crack for the night. Bam.

Gerri went on her bed. She knew. I'd feel the rush, sometimes feel sick, but it was such a weird feeling. Calming, yet stimulating. Paranoia set in not long after, and the rest of the night, I was in the bathroom, curtains up, or peeking out windows, swearing I'd be seeing shadows or cop lights. I'd lay in a bed, listening for sounds.

Or I'd be on the floor in the bathroom looking for crumbs. Smoked a ton of cigarettes, one after the other, drinking beer in between.

I used to say to my ex how if someone would put a camera on us, we would look so stupid.

He'd go out for more, and I'd lay there, or give Gerri attention, or would endlessly play a solitaire game on the computer. I hated what I was doing to Gerri, but the power of the drug overcame anything else. I knew it, and felt such guilt, but it didn't stop me.

By the end of the run for the night, a few hundred bucks later, I'd try to either come down, or lay in bed until I got in a "nap."

Some weekends, that didn't happen at all. This was just a normal Friday for us. But it wasn't just on Fridays. But Fridays were paydays for him, when he was working, so I knew for sure what was coming. That was basically a given.

It was such a sad and sick way to live.

My gosh, there is so much more to life. I still can't believe it, as I sit here and write this to you, how it was.

I had to lose so much in life, and almost lost my life several times that I know of, to get to the point of wanting a different life.

I had to go through every last drink and drug to get to the point of change. I wish I could explain it. I wish I could give that to others, but each of us has to go through what we go through on our journey. I can throw stuff out there, like this, and if one person's life gets altered, then good came out of it.

I am not reliving it in a painful way (although it does still turn my stomach a bit when I think about it, I must say); and I'm not stuck in it, or in the past, but am sharing my own experiences for the benefit of another. My life is not my own. I put this out there; I put myself out there, for a greater good. We can do this together. I didn't get better alone. I don't get better alone.

And I am so grateful to not be in that life anymore. It downright sucked. But it isn't that way anymore, and it never has to be that way, again.

And tonight, on this Friday night, I cleaned my kitchen floor. Just another day ...

Desha Utsick, a former addict, blogs and speaks about addiction throughout the area.