Time Bomb

After losing my mother, I lost pretty much lost all interest in the whole life thing. I didn’t want to do anything. I had just relapsed super hard prior to flying to Atlanta to watch mom go, and now I was a hollow man. Fear, self pity, and heartache dominated me. And the monster had been awakened. The obsession to use drugs now touched every single thought and every aspect of my day to day life. The fuse had been lit, and it was only a matter of time before things got really bad. The first couple weeks back in Indiana after my mom’s funeral I was able to just sort of fake it. In and out of drug court meetings, counseling, and meetings. Dozens of people asking me how I was doing. And I would give them the same lie every time, “Yeah, I’m alright.” I was not alright. Nor would I be for a very long time. My polluted and broken thinking told me things like “Drug Court will understand, you’re grieving, you’ll have a free pass if you use, it will be fine, now is your chance.” And I listened. My first time use back in Indiana was about two weeks after Mom’s funeral. The second followed shortly after, then the third, and the many more to follow. Once I start, I cannot stop, and this time was no different. I was now back in the full blown grip of addiction. And things just kept getting worse. I dropped out of school, lost my job, lost the truck that was loaned to me, and my rent was stacking up. But the only thing that that I could seem to focus on was how I was going to keep using and get away with it. The answer was simple, I wasn’t going to. I started failing drug tests, and would get the usual penalties for them, community service, a weekend in jail, and writing a paper. Eventually, my using would get so bad that I would have to walk in and see my case manager to tell her that I need help, I was so far gone, I would have to go in patient somewhere, or I was going to die, if I was lucky. The team agreed to get me into a local treatment facility, after they strapped a GPS bracelet on my ankle. I had reached a point where I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse. But, as with addiction, it can always get worse. It was about to…

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