I have learned that the beginning isn’t always the start of something. The beginning could very well be the end for some things. My end began on a nice summer day in 2009. I couldn’t have been more okay with my life at that point. I was 20 something with my own place, my own car, a high paying job, great friends, a wonderful girlfriend, and a child on the way. Little did I know, sitting at a red light, the end to all of those things would rear end me at that very spot. Bloodied and hurting, I stumbled out of my car to inspect the damage done by my impending doom. I had no idea that the damage to my car, which was totaled, would be the least damaged thing on this day. After a quick but careful check of the wreckage, would I then see my fate.

That fate came in the form Christopher Wayne Gary – the driver of the car that had struck me. Gary was a troubled man, whom had just not only an hour ago, shot and killed his mother. After killing the one and only mom he had ever had, Gary figured there wasn’t much left for him in this world. He figured he would take the cops on a high speed chase, with the blood of his mother still on his hands. That chase would end with a collision into the back of my car. Gary would then step out his car, surrounded by police and closely watched by myself. He would then proceed to kill himself at that very moment. Til this day, I can see his lifeless body laying a few feet away from me.

With all of that mayhem, still the worst was yet to come. The worst would come with a follow-up doctors visit after the tragic accident. For my back pain and intense headaches, the doctor would proceed to prescribe me 10mg Vicodin. That was the moment that my end had began. Time would fly by but surely enough every month I was sure to make it back to that same doctor for get my pain medicine. Years would continue to roll on and the same thing continued. I was now reliant on a substance to live my normal everyday life. With no knowledge of the negative affects, I would blindly continue to take these pills and various other kinds  of medication for my pain.

That same story continued for some more years, until my luck had run out. in 2014 I would find a way to be discharged from my doctors. Not until then did I have my first withdrawl symptoms. It was some of the worst feelings I have and would ever experience. Like most addicts would do who had nothing on their mind but being high or pain free, I would hit the streets in search of pills so I could make it through the day. Things were moving so fast. When I finally got a chance to stop and look around, I realized that mostly everything I ever had was gone on or on its way out. I spent so many years blinded by a drug that I didn’t care about what or who I was pissing away.

Things would continually get worse for me at that point. Pills quickly turned into heroin once I had no doctor to supply me with my drugs of choice. Now, there wasn’t a minute where I could think about anything else besides getting high or how I’m going to get money to get high the next day. I was living a nightmare. The drugs would break the bond I had with my family and friends, it would rob me of any desire to work, and it would also take away the few emotions I had left after so many years of taking painkillers. Even worse, it would land me in jail, facing my demons alone in a cell for months. Still, the drugs were so deeply apart of my being, that I was awaiting the day I got out just so I could get back to them. Surprisingly, I would stay away from drugs for a few months after my release. Still, I was a prisoner in this world. Even without drugs in my life, there was a lot of damage left over from them. There were too many pieces to pick up than I could handle, so I did the only thing I knew how to do – get high.

Now I’m back to what I know. No longer did I feel out of place, because the drugs had suppressed any emotions that would make me feel uncomfortable in any situation. Soon after my decision to pick up again, would I re-lose the few things I had gained during my clean time. This time I would lose so much that I did not even have a place to rest my head. Roaming the streets with nowhere to go, or nobody to talk to got old quick for me. God reached down and touched me somewhere in between those wicked days and I landed in a detox program in which I have been a full participant of til this very day. Now I can begin again. Am I saved or healed? No I am not. But, I am more aware and I have regained my feelings. That has been enough to keep me strong. I do not want to forget what it feels like to be happy, to be sad, or to love. My emotions are all I have at the moment and I guard them with all I have. They have been my strongest defense against drug use. Wish me luck !


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