I know I sound like a fucking broken record.
But why does it hurt so much still? I’ll be fine for weeks, then suddenly crippled with grief. Tears streaming down my cheeks. That deep ache. A visceral anger.
I sat with my father at a bar drinking Caesars the Christmas after he was diagnosed with Cancer.
“I just don’t want to die,” he said.
It’s tragic to see a man fear for his life as he leans on a bar.
Watching him cry as he said goodbye to his cousin Johnny. A solemn farewell to a lifelong friend at the side of a hospital bed. Johnny Graham tipped his dark hat and escaped the hospital room with mystery and dignified devastation.
The airport will never be the same. You’ll never be there to pick me up again. Now when I make my way to my moms house, I stare at my shoes in the Uber, barely looking up as we pass the house you died in. The rain hitting the windshield in a chaotic downpour.
Just give me some kind of sign. Are you truly gone forever?
On the anniversary of your death, I gave in and got high. The rush of the first hit of weed in over a year.
"Yes, this is how life is supposed to feel!” I think immediately.
If I had to describe the difference between sober and high it would simple.
There’s here, then there.
I was here and wanted to be there.
My body immediately calmed, my senses more aware than they had been in months. I wanted to listen to music. To dream. I could be somebody. I really could be somebody!
I was shaken out of the delusion by the sound of the baby monitor.
Good lord I’m a mother.
“I can do this,” I think. “I’m not a bad person, I deserve a break.” I walk back inside my house.
My darling little baby looking at me. With the most sweet innocent face, breaking into a smile.
That’s when I knew I was falling.
I had made a mistake.
I was a bad person.
A shitty mother.
I couldn’t feel my earlobes which is a terrifying experience in itself.
“Calm down Lauren, for Christs sake, you were high for like 27 years. Just calm down.”
I look down. Oh fuck, MY BABY KNOW’S I’M HIGH.
I feel such a disconnect from her. I felt horrible. I held her closer. “Please don’t hate me baby. Mama made a mistake.”
The addict inside of me had won. It had been gnawing at me slowly for weeks.
A vulture on carcass.
The part of our brains that gets addicted is so powerful. I fought this demon and continue to fight it now. Its slithering sly voice, tempting then convincing.
Come on, just one hit.
I slam a cold glass of water and tell myself this will pass. Only a few more hours.
“I’ll watch TV, that’ll distract me and then I’ll be sober.”
I stare into a void of commercials. Some kind of HIV medication ad. The politically correct actors smiling at me through their residual screen actors guild payments. A couple in love, safely protected from AIDS with this magical pill. A montage plays. I decide 2022 is terrifying and I shut off the TV.
I felt the lowest I ever had. This immaculate child looking at me for everything in the world and I was battling on the frontlines of the war in my mind.
Pick up the baby. One foot in front of the other. Don’t trip. Change her diaper.
She still knows I’m high.
I just held her in my arms and sobbed. How could I have failed her so completely.
As I dumped my contaminated breast milk down the sink I knew I couldn’t go back.
My brain still harassing me. Chipping away at my soul.
An ice pick hacking a glacier.
It was a terrible experience.
The deep tired set in. My eyes so heavy. My motivation dead.
You think I would have learned that drugs don’t make lives, they take them.
I let my sadness compromise my happiness.
And I won’t do it again.
Now when my daughter smiles at me I know I’m clear and doing the best I can.
And I can smile back.
Oops I did it again