The little moments.

I woke up this morning and couldn’t shake this memory of something that happened last July. It wasn’t a big thing, but it is one of the little moments that changes you, or kills a little something more inside of you.  I was staying at a seedy establishment called America’s Inn at the intersection of Beltway 8 and Highway 59 in Southwest Houston. For those unfamiliar with the city, this area is one of the worst. It is riddled with crime, drugs, and prostitution. It is a dirty pocket in the beautiful city of Houston. You would lock your doors, and you would not stop for gas there. But for this time in my life, it was where I stayed, and the drugs made it okay, they made me feel like this is the only place I belonged.

During this time I was involved in a lot of things I am not proud of, and I will continually carry the shame and guilt of what I have done, probably for as long as I live. This pretty little white girl was no different than the thugs posted up in Forum Park slinging dope, or crystal, or crack, and robbing innocent people’s livelihoods. This WAS where I belonged.

One night, when the agony of heroin withdrawal was upon me, I sat in the bathtub of this seedy motel and cried. Not a soft cry, but a loud one where all of the hurt and shame and pain starts to escape. The kind of cry where your life depends on it. I know if you’re reading this, and you’re an addict, no more descriptions are necessary because you already know this cry. See heroin does a very good job at masking the despair of your life. When you are alone,  you aren’t really, because heroin is always there for you. It pulls a warm blanket over your life, and envelopes you in Heaven. I laid down in the bathtub and put my head underwater, and I held my breath for as long as I could, wishing for something, anything to save me or to let me die. And I truly wanted to die, because in my mind, heroin had won that day, and death would be the only escape from the hell I was living.

It was only a little moment, but a piece of me did die that day.


I never realized how clouded my mind was all that time I was on heroin. It tricks you into thinking you’re all good and this is how your mind has always functioned, but you really have no idea how clouded by smack you are until you’re not on it anymore. I have clarity, I can think and feel so much that I never knew I was missing. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, and I have to remind myself that I actually am capable of processing and dealing with emotions sober. Today I value my ability to think, reason, rationalize, and feel things. Someone close to me told me once how different I am when I am not smacked out of my mind. They said I am funny, witty, clever, and smart when I am sober. Heroin absolutely dulls every one of those characteristics in me. I am left empty and hollow, while the entire time the monster tricks me into believing I am whole and that it is the only thing I need.