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I am a day late on my self-imposed time schedule to write this week’s issue of my blog.  I was busy yesterday making labor intensive chicken enchiladas for my nephew Tim’s engagement party last night (it was a great party, we all had a rollicking good time, and his fiancé Corbin and her parents are all wonderful).

I spent the first half of this day poring through all my writing, and trying to decide what my topic would be this week.  I found a story that I wrote about my father’s passing, which I had already posted on Facebook, but in this journal there was another half to the story.  I will blog it soon.  Not today, though.

I found some writings from 2007 which break my heart.  I was in Kimball Northeast in St. Barnabas Behavioral Health Center in Toms River, NJ, just one of the many inpatient rehabs I was in before I ‘got it.’  Unfortunately, though I say in these writings this will be the last time, it wasn’t; just like the times before, it wasn’t.  It would be another three months, three months of homelessness and drug addicted insane living until I finally checked into Bergen Regional on October 23, 2007, and began the process to recovery.

At the time of this writing, and for some time after, I was living under the illusion that a twelve step program was the only way to get and stay sober.  This is a widely held belief fostered for years by the twelve step programs, and is accepted as well as any mainstream religious views.  I believe now that one of the setbacks to my recovery was the belief that I had to follow their doctrine or remain an addict.  I was victim to the belief that I would always be an addict, no matter what I did, how much I grew, or how long I was clean.  That was a detrimental message for me.  As we move along here in our relationship, dear readers,  I will explain further how I was freed from that belief, and it has led me to live this sober life, knowing I will never go back to that Hell.

For now, let me share with you these sad writings from a shamed and suffering addict who still did not have a clue:

June 26, 2007

I am going to start this stupid journal now because they say that I am going to be able to work out some issues this way, and it will help me ‘on the road to recovery’.  I am scared to death to be locked up again; and this time, to not be able to leave!  This time, there is no one who will take me in if I leave, and I have nothing of my own left.   I have nothing to fall back on.

This addiction has become frighteningly and rapidly worse in such a short time.  I am truly surprised.  I am shocked and mad at myself and my faulty mind.  It is suprising that I have become one of the ones that ‘it’ happened to.  I consider myself so smart, yet all of my actions for the past two years have been so dumb!

I know the decision to get sober cannot be based on emotions.  I would run away and hide from them if it was, as I always have.  If I could decide with my head, I’d say I am not strong enough, that I have tried too many times.  If I could decide with my heart, I would cry and ask someone to please take care of me, so I cannot rely on my heart, either.  I have to use what is left of my common sense.  There are drug friends dying around me all the time, but as long as I am still alive, I should work to find something to live for.  Mostly, I cannot give up on Zachary. He has given up on me, and for good reason!  He is afraid to ever come home.  He says he ‘has food’ at my sister’s, where he is living now, as her legal ward.

When I asked her to take him while I got better, she said she would only do it through the courts (2011 note: I failed to mention then that Karen did this so she could obtain child support, insurance and be allowed access to all school documents and make legal decisions for him).  The judge did not have any sympathy for me; in fact she said she was totally pissed at me for the way I disregarded Zachary’s well-being to feed my addictions.  She said I looked terrible.  Later, Karen told me that she was going to tell the judge, “She usually looks much worse.”  The judge also felt I needed months of inpatient rehabilitation.  I, of course, decided she was wrong.  I tried outpatient rehab after that, but I just could not make it stick.  I need help wrapping my head around needing help!

July 1, 2007

Dear Zachary;

I miss you so much!  I hope you are enjoying your summer!

I just wanted to write to make sure that you know how sorry I am that everything worked out this way for us.  We both know that it’s all my fault, and I pray to God daily that you can forgive me!

I am happy in a weird way that I am stuck in this hell-hole with all the craziness that comes with it.  The other day I realized for the first time (which I am sorry about, too) how much I have lost in the past two years and how much I have made you lose, too.  I think it finally has sunk in that I can’t keep falling and getting back up.  I lose too much, and one day I won’t get up again.

So, I am done!  I said it in a meeting last night.  We are supposed to do this ‘one day at a time’, but I have done that too often, and it was like an easy way to cop-out for me all the time; but no more.  I am going to give all of my energy to getting better, so I can be a better Mom and a better me, even if you never want to live with me again.  My proudest moment would be if you were proud of me, which I know you have never had the opportunity to do before.

I just want you to have a happy life, and for that reason I am really glad that you are with Aunt Karen and Uncle Mike.  I wish that I had been more willing to see how hard I made life for you, then maybe I could have changed, and kept you with me.

I have to address this.  I am so sorry about the men; Spyder and Angelo and the other idiots that came and went in the past couple of years.  I had no respect for you, my son, who was the man of our house.  I was stupid and selfish, and I know that is hard to forgive, but I pray that you can.

I love you with all my heart and soul, Zachary, and that is a fact.  You have always been Number One.  I just forgot how to show it.  You are my son.  You are everything to me.  I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove that to you.   I hope you can at least believe that my intentions are good.  If not, I understand.  I will just have to work hard to prove to myself and you that I can do this!

I can’t wait to see you!

I love you Most always!


July 3, 2007

After conducting exhaustive research which spanned a period of forty-plus years, I am finally prepared to enter the results into a book entitled, “Drug Down.”  “Drug Down” is a play on words, of course, but I choose the name due to the importance each meaning has had in my life:

  1.  To be pulled and dragged forcibly in a downwards fashion.
  2. To be in a nadir due to usage of a drug.
  3. What you ‘put the’ to in recovery: You put the drug down.

As I write this, I sit in what is hopefully the last rehab I will feel the need to subject myself to (2011 note: of course, it wasn’t), in what is remaining of my life.  I am grateful to be here.  This quarantine of my body, mind and soul was my choice, and for once it feels like the right one, as does starting to work on my book again.

As with many other books, I have opted to begin this tragidramedy (with action and adventure, too) in the present, flashing back and hopefully forwards as it progresses.  I hope you will find this book as funny as I have found my life.  If you find it scary or too sad and cry, then I have done a good job of relating my outrageously over packed life to you.

Each week it becomes a little harder to write this blog.  I read these writings from an obviously troubled soul, and I find it fascinating that someone could be so astray, and astounded that the someone was me.  I see some lucidity that crept into the writings, and from that I know there is  hope for those who are still suffering.  Each day without drugs is a day closer to clarity.  I now live each day as a whole person and not an addict, not even a recovering or recovered addict.  That is the difference from every twelve step attempt I have made in my life, and the results are real and startling.

My past is there.  It’s real; it’s heartbreaking and I cannot deny it.  I feel I must share this with all of you in the hopes that somehow it will do someone some good.  However, I don’t have to be identified as this person anymore.  For that, I thank whatever God, Kharma, or Positive Energy out there has allowed me to find my inner strength and move on.

Thank you for taking this journey with me.  It’s great to have you along for the ride.

copyright 2011, meg marlowe


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