Gas Pedal

According to the CDC, almost half a million Americans were lost to drug overdoses between 2000 and 2014. In 2014, the number of deaths was over 47,000. I was nearly one of them.

Honestly, by this point, I had been struggling with addiction for years. What began with chronic marijuana use moved into alcohol addiction and when I went into the rooms to get that under control, I did not do the program correctly. This led to my association with people who were into harder drugs than alcohol and my addiction really took off. I entered Recovery in 2007, but by 2014, I was experimenting with painkillers, heroin, cocaine, crack & psychedelics.

In 2010, I left my teaching career, the only thing that I had wanted to do since I was a young girl. I got a DUI that year and the whole thing plunged me into depression. By 2011, I met a man who was to be my downfall. Granted, some things about the relationship were positive: we went hiking all of the time and worked out every day. He cooked dinner for us just about every night, always very healthy things. Not only was he struggling with alcoholism and cocaine abuse, but he was also heavily into opiates, which led to his own overdose and death in 2016.

The relationship was tumultuous and often violent. We cheated on one another. He attacked me several times and destroyed property while in my home. I had him arrested several times, but his family always bailed him out of jail and I always took him back. The whole situation could best be described as unbalanced, unhealthy, and made both of us unhappy.

We used alcohol and cocaine together and he introduced me to painkillers. While they made me very itchy, I continued to take them, grateful to have a way to numb. When this got too expensive or hard to get, he introduced me to heroin, which I liked even less. However, that did not stop me from injecting it once or twice, although mostly I snorted it.

This led to constant trips to the Badlands of North Philadelphia, where I had once worked as a teacher. I remember close calls, parking on the sidewalk and getting a ticket, lying to the police about why I was there, and several times having to move my car to avoid detection, picking him up elsewhere in the city.

Speed up.

By December of 2012, my father had passed away from cancer and part of me died with him. I remember going to sleep, wishing that I would die. Tears would fall from my eyes in the morning when I had realized that I had lived through the night. Each day dragged on, failed jobs, psychiatric hospitalizations, arrests, time spent in jail, estranged and bewildered family and friends, money troubles, arrests of my partner, restraining orders, some time apart, a glimmer of recovery, then we were back together and rolling downhill.

On March 19, 2014, my partner, his friend and I traveled to North Philly to score crack and heroin. We came home, I took my share of the heroin and everyone’s share of crack and went into the bedroom alone. I snorted the three bags of heroin and the smoked three bags of crack, back to back. Then, nothingness.

Slow down.

I woke up on a metal gurney. I did not know where I was and no one was in the room with me. There was something hard in my neck. I must have been abducted by aliens. I took the thing in my neck & pulled it out and bled.

Speed up.

A male nurse or doctor came into the room not long after. He said, “your kidney doctor is not going to be happy with this.” He explained that I was in the hospital and that I had just pulled out my dialysis port. Darkness again.

Slow down.

I woke up in the hospital room with my mother. She looked relieved. I learned that I had overdosed, that my heart had stopped several times, that I had been on life support and dialysis. She said, “they told me they weren’t sure if I’d have my Diane back.”

“Mom, I’m so sorry,” I cried. Then, I realized that I could not move my right leg.

Slow down.

A huge dreadlock had formed in the back of my head. No amount of combing was able to remove it. My aunt Katie cut it out for me a week or so later, when visiting with my uncle Ron. Thank you for that.

Reading an email later that my mother had sent me as well as my family, I learned how I had been fighting the life support machine and they suspected brain damage. I was very very lucky. I am so ashamed to have put my family through that.

The dialysis continued three times a week for a month. Every time I got it, certain that I was going to have another heart attack and die, I prayed. Because I had yanked out the dialysis port in my neck, another had to be placed near my heart, leaving me with scars like I had strung myself up at Sundance.

The best part of the hospital stay was the food. I remember the kind gentleman from food services coming in every day to check on me and to find out what I would like to eat that day. I don’t remember his name, but I remember his kindness. Certainly, I want him to know how much I appreciate the time he took for me and how delicious the food was. Gourmet quality. Truly.

My blood pressure was extremely high. Likely from the damage from the drugs. I remember the first time I got to go in the shower, a kind nurse rubbed my back while I showered and I could actually feel my blood pressure go down. I thank that kind nurse.

After a while, I was able to use a walker and took walks around the hospital floor. I hoped that I would be able to walk again. Apparently, the compression from laying on my side all day as I overdosed caused nerve damage. Also, the left hand that had held the crack pipe was seized and I could not move that either. They suspected mini strokes.

I stayed in the hospital a month, getting dialysis, visiting with my mom, checking in with the cardiologist, the nephrologist, the neurologist and whatever other doctors that I needed. Reluctantly, my mom let my boyfriend come visit and I selected a nursing rehabilitation center based on him being able to walk there.

Speed up.

Years later, I learned that he actually left me in that room, to die. He threw out all of the drug paraphernalia and did not call 911, due to the restraining order. He called another friend, who came when she got off work and she had to keep him from locking the door and leaving me there.

The woman that told me this, actually died in my home, a few hours later, of a drug overdose in my bathtub, after I had offered to start the steps of Recovery with her. SWAT was called and were there to arrest me until it was determined that I was there to help her. One of the worst nights of my life.

Slow down.

I spent a month in a rehab facility, getting intensive physical therapy for my hand and to learn to walk again. My goal was to be able to work the Gas Pedal, so that was the song that I listened to, over and over. I’d like to thank the people at Manor Care as well as Sage the Gemini and IamSu for helping me to wiggle until my ass fell off. Thankfully, today I am able to drive, but still walk with a slight limp. I have no kidney damage from my mistake.

Women from Recovery brought me a meeting while I was in nursing care and it was honestly the highlight of my time there. It made me so grateful that these women, who I had let down time and time again, pulled together for me.

It will be seven years in March since this happened. I have not touched opiates since that time. I am grateful to have seventeen months of Recovery now. Two months ago, I quit smoking.

I have lost so many friends to the disease of addiction, nearly losing myself. I beg you, if you or someone that you love has an addiction, get the help you all need. Addiction is a family issue. There are the rooms of Recovery, many kinds of rooms for all kinds of addictions and there is no one path to Recovery. Please find what works for you and never give up. You owe that much to yourself.

Slow down.