Moral Dissipation

Warning: This story may mention drugs, violence, or crime however, it is not intended to glorify them but to educate and give in depth details of a journey to redemption. It is intended for encouragement and strength.

I laid awake shivering and going through convulsions as the pod’s heavy metal door made a clicking sound before the correctional officer waltzed in. I had been incarcerated for five days and was beginning to exhibit withdrawal symptoms. The cold sweats and cottonmouth antagonized me, depression and anger presented themselves in the worst way, and vivid dreams clashed with reality. My emotions ran wild, everything was more intense than what I was ready to handle, I couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind being held. I needed help, not institutionalization. As the correctional officer stood above me saying words that didn’t register, I could feel the angst of dehumanization surrounding me. I didn’t come from a big family or a family that had money, or else I’d be getting the proper treatment instead of being introduced to modern day slavery. Many people whisper when I walk past them or mock me because they think it’s funny. I’d like to be treated with respect, I’d like to be approached without being looked over from head to toe before a decision to talk to me or not is made. I’m human and I make mistakes but the biggest mistake I’ve made was trusting that I’d be treated as an equal by the law and by society. It shows how power and authority corrupts people. Whereas, the infamous opioid epidemic has claimed many lives just as crack cocaine has done… One is treated as a crisis while the other is treated as criminal behavior. The correctional officer threw water on me and told me to get a grip. People treat animals better than one another. It hurts to know that in this world, there is no empathy, no winning chance if everything that you do is questionable or shot down, not because it’s wrong but simply because of one's stature or one’s mistakes. I managed to sleep through the night on the thin mat that covered the thick concrete slab which was used as if it was a bed frame. I was to be released the following day. Freedom was what I wanted but it’s not what I had gotten.

In the middle of the day I was handcuffed and escorted to a connected building so that I could make it to the scheduled court date for a PR bond. I pleaded no contest and was given a letter, letting me know that I’d have to attend another court date for the case that they built against me. I was guilty of one thing and that was being an addict but not a criminal. I walked home, or what I called home that day without bothering to call anyone, my family had given up on me. No one believed that I’d make it to the age thirty nor believed that I could get clean, hell, I was even starting to believe that as well. I was a squatter, so I stayed at abandoned houses for periods of time until they were either bought or torn down. I was being freed from imprisonment but I was yet to be freed from self destruction. The first thing I wanted to do when the fresh air whipped my skin and claimed my lungs was get a fix. I wanted to get high and I wanted to feel numb. There was nothing more in the world that I thought could make me feel better. It was like I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders and I needed a release. I went to a known neighborhood that was swimming with local drug dealers who stood at almost every corner, just as ready to sell the drug as I was ready to buy them. I held my stomach and kept my head down as I walked down the long sidewalk. Shame covered every inch of me but it was no match for that constant itch that lingered within. Once I made it to the yellow and brown house at the end of the block, I knocked with no regret at the moment. My hands were shaking and my stomach was hurting like someone hit me. I was sweating and the temperature wasn’t high. “Wassup Dre. I ain’t seen you around here for a bit.” The husky man said as he stood in the doorway. He went by the name slugger. “What can I do for you?” He asked with a knowing grin on his face. “Is Sonnie here?” I asked without making eye contact. “Nah, he left but he should be back in like ten or fifteen minutes.” Slugger said before closing the door. I waited outside on the concrete stairs leading to the front door until Sonnie parked at the curb in his new, all black, shining Mercedes Benz. He knew that I couldn’t stand Slugger and never wanted to go through him to get my fix. If I had been anybody else waiting on his doorstep, there would have been a major problem but because he’s my uncle, he wouldn’t turn me away. In his own twisted way, he figured that if he sold it to me, he knew where it came from and how it was cooked. With anyone else, there was a chance that it could be bad and hurt me. Sonnie also figured that he could keep an eye on me and report to the family how I was doing. I hated being the disappointment in the family but I didn’t know how to climb out and wasn’t sure if I wanted to climb out because I’d do better without it or because I hated being the clown in everybody’s circus. He handed me what he knew I was looking for and put it on my rising tab. We hugged before we parted ways so that I could find a spot to crash in before night time fell. As I wandered the streets, not really knowing where to go and not really in the mood to be around people, I wanted to enjoy my own company and wail in my own misery.

Night time fell and I aimlessly wandered the streets until I bumped into an old time friend, Monte. He was a user just as I was and he knew all the hot spots. We talked about the old days when it was just fun and games, no responsibilities, no expectations, and no consequences. That night I realised that my mind was stuck in the past and at that time the things that I’d done beforehand were accounted for but I refused to acknowledge it. Monte and I walked to a nearby house that most junkies met at. There was still power on and there was an older woman who owned it, we all called her big momma. She gave us food, I’m talking about those southern style home cooked meals. She sat and talked to us without judgement in her eyes. I remember crying on her three years ago after smoking. She asked me how I had gotten to this point. It was a genuine question and not one that made me feel as if she had ill intent after learning my story. I enlightened her, letting her know that at the age of sixteen I watched my mother murdered right in front of me by the very man that I’d considered a father figure, being that my biological one walked out of my life. For a short time I had been placed in a foster home but because of my age no one was really interested in truly fostering me. It was about the check they’d receive and not because they truly cared. I ran away at the age seventeen and have been on my own ever since. I remember big momma’s words because they were deeper than just words, they were a message that in time would resonate. She told me that this was only a moment in time and that as long as I seek God, He will provide me with the things I need and take away all the things that trouble me. I remember she used to pray with me and for me. Big momma was no longer living but somehow the electricity still worked and fresh linen along with pillows was neatly folded and placed at different corners of the house. Monte and I smoked, I let it sink in, instantly relaxing every muscle in my body. It wasn’t like the first time I’d ever gotten high, it seemed as if I could no longer get there. It was a substitute high that did the job as well. My body sank into the worn carpet as fog took over my eyes. Every sound and every color in the room had become more intensified. All thoughts were in the clouds, I had a light feeling, like I was invincible and floating while everything around me stood still. All my worries of the day had disappeared and all depression left with it. I knew first hand that it was only a temporary relief but nonetheless, I still inhaled the poison into my lungs.

I had awakened to silence, not knowing when I fell asleep. Monte was on the floor face down with no cover over him. I first went to the bathroom before walking over to him to place a cover over him. “Aye, Monte… Wake up and get off of your damn face.” I playfully said with a smile as I nudged him. He hadn’t moved at all, his back didn’t rise and fall either. I then turned him on his back and immediately fell backwards, noticing the paleness of his skin and his dilated pupils. His eyes had a film over them and tears that had not fallen settled in his eyes. It hurt me to see him that way but instead of calling the police, I went through his pockets to find money and any leftover crack cocaine. He used heroin as well, the proof was the band that was still wrapped around his arm along with a needle laid on the floor near his lifeless body. I felt in my heart that it wasn’t the crack that killed him. It had been a long time since a tear had fallen from my eyes so at that moment I didn’t know rather to be sad for him or mad at him. I figured it must have been his time. I was selfish and only wanted to get high. My heart was hardened although my soul cried out. I scooted back to my corner and smoked until I was numb. I sat there for about two hours just laughing at my own jokes and at old memories as I spoke to Monte. I even spoke to him, half expecting him to answer back. I left and called the police on a pay phone. I didn’t wait for them to show up but I left the door unlocked for them to have easy access. That day, I ended up taking a chance at knocking on my aunt Siva’s door. She was the wife of a pastor and I knew that they’d help even if they didn’t want to. “H-Hey aunt Siva.” I said, shyly, not really sure what I was doing there. “Dre! Is that you, Dre?” She asked with excitement and empathy at the same time in her tone. I nodded my head as tears filled my eyes. I wasn’t sure why but it was just a strong urge. Maybe it’s because I could see the love in her eyes when I’d thought no one loved me, when I thought no one cared enough to even remember me. She invited me in to get cleaned up and eat. That was the beginning of a new life for me, a life that I had so desperately been searching for.

Come Sunday morning of the following week after getting acquainted with everyone again; cousins, great aunts and uncles, siblings, old friends, and some church goers. I had begun to feel as if I finally belonged somewhere. Aunt Siva and I attended church where uncle Steve, her husband preached at. The sermon spoke of strongholds, deliverance, and God’s mercy and forgiveness. They were words of encouragement, words that led me to believe that God is real and he can hear me. Aunt Siva held my hand as I walked to the altar, ready to have my burdens removed. I had done everything under the sun that I thought would go unnoticed but God sees all. Uncle Steve reached out for a hug and I melted into it. That’s something I needed, maybe not everyone's acceptance but more so of a shoulder to lean on and a pat on the back that reassured me that everything was going to be alright. I walked to the honey colored oak podium as my aunt and uncle insisted. I stood before the large audience of people that intently stared at me with expectations. My heart pounded within my chest and I could feel it in my ears. However, I figured if I could try other things that weren't too good and haven’t gotten me anywhere in life, then I’d better try being good and see where it leads me. I loosened the tie of the loaned suit that uncle Steve had provided, before clearing my throat.

“Hello everyone, my name is Andre Smith and I’m a recovering crack addict. I’ve been clean for a little over a week and that’s a long time for me. I never felt strong enough and I never felt ashamed like I felt a week ago.” I said as perspiration formed at the lining of my forehead. I had become nervous about what I was getting ready to reveal, knowing that it may or may not compromise my freedom. “Last week while me and an old friend were smoking, we both must have passed out without knowing it but I woke up and he didn’t.” I gave a meaningful pause, letting everyone take in what I was getting at. I figured it was time I stopped blaming everyone for my demons and take full responsibility for my actions. “The first thing that anybody would do or should do is call the police but that’s not what I did. The only thing that I wanted was to get high since the last one had worn down. I don’t think it would’ve saved him either way but I knew at that moment that I was selfish and not the person that I want to be. That was an eye opener, that was my green light to go forward and not look back. Speaking to you all is terrifying right now just as the long road ahead of me is terrifying but I’m willing to give it a try. I now understand that I am a person, somebody and not just a crackhead. I never felt like I belonged or like I would be loved the same way my mom loved me. Everytime I hit the pipe, I was dead to the world. It never crossed my mind that everyday, I was putting my life on the line just to get high. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to live anymore. I wasn’t sure of a lot of things. And I never thought that my life was important like everyone else's because I felt like a failure. I used to pray but I stopped because I never thought the Lord was listening to me. I never thought that I could be forgiven for some of the things I’ve done while on drugs. But now I know that God hears all and He loves us. He’s merciful and He’s forgiving. From this point on, I strive to be a better person and I am good enough to live and be freed from the stronghold of crack cocaine.” I finished with a commitment of sticking to it that wasn’t as strong before. The crowd was quiet at first before a single member stood to start the clapping which led everyone else to follow. It was my first standing ovation but it wouldn’t be my last.

Thank you for reading