Writing 101: Lost and Found

Writing 101: Lost & Found

 

Dear Diary,

The warmest feeling I’ve ever known is nostalgia and the same time it can be lonely. Being able to “feel” is a feat all in its own, I’m so used to numbing myself that every feeling I get is magnified. It’s excruciating to hold back and let myself breathe through it. The tiny demon inside is always trying to grab hold of me and trick me into thinking that it’s okay to get high “one more time”.

This afternoon I almost let her take control. I was caught off guard going through boxes of stuff in storage. Hoping to be strong enough to throw most of it out I came across a box marked “baby boy stuff”. Immediately I knew it was my son’s clothes or toys and I felt that I would probably be able to donate it instead of wasting it in the trash.

The first item to catch my eye upon opening the box was a size 3-6month “onesy”. It was dark blue with a picture of a bottle and said Mr. Milkman. It smelled of Mustela baby lotion when I brought it to my chest, the bittersweet smell made me start to cry. Thinking of all my memories with him at that age. I don’t know why but I thought if I could hold it closely enough I might be able to feel his tiny body against mine.

Each item I held took me on numerous flashbacks. Happy times when I was his true mother and his one & only. These happy thoughts quickly turned into flashbacks of relapsing, losing custody, and each big moment in his life I had stood in the background. The fact that my mom is raising him and I may never get the chance to again felt like a fist in my chest.

I know that I didn’t lose my son, I allowed my addiction to call the shots and I knew the consequences. I knew if I used drugs that my son would be gone. That demon inside took over and I rationalized getting high, thinking that I could do it once and stop.

When I finished going through everything in that one box I was emotionally exhausted.  Nothing got accomplished. I could not bare to part with the little I had left of my first born.

 

Writing 101: Serially Found

On day four, you wrote a post about losing something. Today, write about finding something.
Today’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second installment — loosely defined.

A decade wasted. Hundreds of thousands of dollars injected in my veins, 90% of which was stolen or “hustled”. I have nothing to show for it, I am starting at the bottom and slowly inching my way up.
I may not have material things and live in a supportive-subsidized apartment, but recovery has helped me grow spiritually & find my true soul.

There’s a long journey ahead, the work I’ve accomplished only scratches the surface. The depths I need to reach inside seem endless, the trauma I’ve encountered feel impossible to heal. This cannot stop me. I stay in “today” and deal with things as they come my way instead of worrying about what might happen.

Writing 101: Serially Lost

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Writing 101: Serially Lost (catch-up challenge)__ Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.

Grieving has become an event in my life like the changing of seasons. Loss comes on sudden mostly, but the biggest loss I’ve had slowly chipped away in pieces.

Pain management medication (oxy contin to be more specific) was the soil, seed, sunlight, and water that my disease of addiction  used to grow. Over a 6 month period my recreational drug use turned into daily drug use and with that my identity deteriorated. Values instilled in me growing up had vanished, self-worth was gone, and I was left spiritually bankrupt.

It did not take long for the disease to progress to intravenously using heroin. Constant lying & sneaking around. My family was burned out, they couldn’t live in a war zone anymore. Homelessness didn’t scare me into sobriety like they hoped it would. The little girl they knew was gone, she was replaced with a demon inside the hollow shell of my body.

I had no clue what was happening or why everyone was making such a big deal, in my twisted mind I thought I was only hurting myself. I didn’t know I was losing myself in the grips of addiction.