We recently received this email from an anonymous girl who wanted to tell her story. These are her words and we are honored to share it on her behalf. Her story is long so we have decided to post it in two parts. This is the second part of her story. You can find part 1 here. We pray for her continued healing and hope that she is surrounded by love, where ever she may be.

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The holding cell was just a big room with a bench along one side and a toilet in the corner behind a half wall. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was get sick and have to use that toilet. Eventually, I did because when you’re dope sick it comes out of both ends. It’s a horrible feeling but you don’t care because you’re miserable. I seriously wanted to die so bad but there was absolutely no way I could make that happen. Not only did I not have anything to do it with there was also a giant one-way mirrored window through which we would be watched. I just laid in the corner under the bench, as far away from the others as I could get.

After five days a mental health therapist came to talk to me. She evaluated my current drug use; how much, how often, and how long. She asked if I wanted to go to treatment and I said I did. Inside, I knew I didn’t really want treatment but I didn’t want to be homeless or hungry. I had already gotten over the worst of my withdrawals so they would be able to get me in relatively quickly. I still had to wait three more days.

Treatment was not new to me. I had watched my mom go in and out most of my life. He NA sponsor would come over from time to time. I saw all the books and stuff lying around the house too. I even learned the things they say, like “Just take it one day at a time”, and “But for the grace of God, go I”. I could recite them like they were a part of the pledge of allegiance at grade school. But, I had no personal experience with those in recovery.

My counselor was a nice woman and was really good at listening to me but I just didn’t connect with her. She had a good heart and all but I never got the sense that she really knew what I had gone through in my life. Now, the people at Sanity (local NA meeting), that was another story. Those people knew their shit. It’s like they knew my every thought before I thought it.

My first meeting I was welcomed and they read something called step one. I don’t remember much of that meeting or what they talked about but what I do remember was this group told me they wanted me to come back. That’s it. No strings attached. They simply wanted me to come back. I can’t tell you how good it felt to hear those words. It’s like all the things I’ve done and were ashamed of kept me from wanting to be around other people but I had a real sense that these people already knew about the crap that had happened in my life and they still wanted me to come back.

I have relapsed on a few occasions. Heroin imprints in your body and brain and because of that my brain has learned about a level of pleasure it was never intended to know. Each time I dragged my sorry ass back through the doors of that meeting room, I was greeted with, “We’re glad you made it back”. It’s like there was a force field at the front door that keeps shame from entering that space. My relapses got shorter each time and my sobriety got longer between relapses.

I am now clean 9 months and I’m working. I don’t know if I’ll use again. I hope not but it’s always there, in the back of my mind. It’s like a bear that’s hibernating. If I just leave the bear alone it will stay asleep. If I poke the bear, it will wake up and start devouring everything around it and I’m afraid I won’t be able to put it back to sleep. For today, I’m sober. I like who I am. I miss my mom and wish she was able to find a community like I did. I still have nightmares about the sexual abuse I’ve experienced but I’m working that out with my therapist. I’m living with people in recovery and go to meetings nearly every night. Sometimes I go and pick up the girls from the local treatment center. It’s cool to see them at the beginning. It reminds me where I came from and how far I’ve come.

You can post this on your blog if you want. I’m not giving my name because I still have a long way to go but if my story will help someone else then please use it. Thanks for making a place for people to share their stories. This was hard for me to write but it feels important for me to do this.

Thanks.

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