Laying in a cold jail cell, shaking and crying, praying to God to please free me. I had not seen my kids, did not know if they knew their drug addict mother was in jail. That was the beginning of the end of my road to destruction. I had gone through the worst withdrawal symptoms ever imaginable and slept for six days straight. Then it happened. I was out of jail with a whole new thought in my head.
I was determined to get my kids back, and I was determined to do it all on my own. That was the first mistake. I went and had an evaluation done and when the counselor told me I need to go to rehab, I just dismissed her thoughts and opinions. Instead, I signed up for IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program). It was a class three times a week for three hours and it lasted six weeks. In my mind, that was enough to fix me. That was my second mistake, thinking I just needed to be fixed.
I did everything I was supposed to. I went to every class, did drug tests, participated in class, and even got my certificate. Even after doing all that, I still felt the same. I did not have a problem. I was not like every other drug addict. I could stop when I wanted. I blamed others for my situation. I blamed my mother for my horrible childhood and being a drug addict herself, I blamed my husband for giving me the drugs, and I blamed the guy driving the car for getting pulled over for which I ended up in jail.
Less than one month out of IOP, I relapsed and got really high. It felt good at the time. I forgot my problems for a moment in time and just lived in the moment. A week later, I was back in jail, crying like a baby, wondering how I could be so stupid. My problems that I just wanted to forget, well they were still there and now they were even bigger than before. Instead of getting out a jail this time, I went straight to rehab.
I decided I was going to go to rehab with an open mind. I had to change the way I was thinking in order to change my behavior. I went to a rehab that not only dealt with my drug addiction but also my depression and anxiety. At first, I was kind of shy. I did not want others to know anything about me. I would skip classes and just sleep. I would not take things seriously because I did not want people to see my pain. The more I worked on my workbooks, and the more counseling I got, the more clarifying things got. I had to quit blaming others for my actions. I had to forgive others and myself. I had to revisit horrible moments in my life to set me free. I graduated in just twenty-eight days. I went home, took my medication every day, got a house, saw my kids on every visit, and things really started to fall into place. I really started to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I was feeling so good that I thought to myself, I am doing so good that I do not need my medication anymore. I mean I felt happy, I had visits at our house, and everyone was so proud of me. One month after quitting my antidepressants, I was getting symptoms of my depression back, thinking negatively and feeling sorry for myself. I even made myself believe that my kids were better off where they were without me ruining their lives. I remember that day like it was yesterday, a rainy day. I felt even more sad than usual. I went to my room, crying. I began cutting my legs with a razor. Blood coming out everywhere, I had cut my legs more than fifty times. I still did not feel any better, in fact, I felt worse. I went to the cabinet and found my bottles of pills. Five bottles to be exact of different kinds of pills. I started taking all of them. I went to my kitchen table and wrote letters to all my kids and one letter to everyone else. When the pills started going into effect, I couldn't see straight, things were blurry, and I was vomiting all over. At that moment, my cousin messaged me. I ended up telling her what I had done and fell to the floor. After that everything is kind of a blur, but I do remember hearing my dad's voice for a split second. I woke up days later in a hospital bed with a huge tube down my throat, tubes in my nose, and an IV in my arm. I had been on life support in another town for days. When the doctor asked, I thought it was still that same day in that same town. I spent the next week of my life locked up in a hospital with nothing but to think. I started thinking God must really want me here for some reason. Maybe my kids do need me.
When I got home, I took action. I got on different medication, started doing counseling and really working on my problems. I even took a class on healthy relationships. I got divorced and in just four months, my kids came home. They had been in foster care for a year to the day. It was the happiest I had felt in years. Four months later, my case was closed and I had full custody of my kids. I started reading the Bible and going to church, and met a lot of great people that I am very close to today.
I have now been sober for 13 months, I take my medication every day and of course, I still have ups and downs but I am very happy. I want to help others in the same situation. I want to inspire others and let people know with hard work and dedication anything is possible. The first step is the most important step. Quit blaming others and quit feeling sorry for yourself and just do it.