November 26, 2018
Erin stood behind a makeshift podium in a small room in the community center. She looked out at the small crowd seated in plastic folding chairs, their faces blurred by her subconscious need to protect herself. She cleared her throat.
“Hi. My name is Erin, and I am an addict.”
She paused. It wasn’t something she did often. Opening up to people, admitting vulnerability- those weren’t easy things for Erin.
“Today, I am four years sober. From narcotics, at least.”
There was a light smattering of applause, but Erin pressed forward, ignoring it. She didn’t feel it was deserved.
“I first tried cocaine when I was 15. I didn’t have much direction. I had a really hard time in school. I didn’t really feel like I belonged anywhere. And I didn’t really care about anything. Getting wasted at parties started to feel like the only time I had something to offer. So the first time I did it, I didn’t hesitate at all. I just did it. And I loved it.
By the time I was 16, I was using almost every day. I got arrested for the first time, sent to rehab for the first time. I met some people who actually understood me. I really thought that would be it. But back in the real world… we just enabled each other. Falling off the wagon for the first time was really hard. I felt like the biggest disappointment to my parents. I wasn’t smart like them, or driven, and the fact that they wanted to help me seemed to make things worse. I didn’t think I deserved their help.”
Erin felt a stinging sensation in the back of her throat. A warning to the threat of tears. She gritted her teeth, took a breath, and began again.
“It became a cycle. A lot of misdemeanors for possession. A lot of court-mandated rehab, that never seemed to stick. Eventually I couldn’t get arrested anymore. Or I’d be facing real jail time. But instead of motivating me to get clean, it just made me more careful. I started hiding from the world. I only spent time with people I was buying from or using with. I lashed out at people who still cared about me. I had stopped living with my parents, sleeping on people’s couches or in their beds. I started stealing shit to trade for drugs. Nothing serious, but it became routine. And then…”
She trailed off. Erin could feel pin pricks in her eyes, thinking about those years of desperation, loneliness, and confusion. She didn’t want to talk about the gory details. There were too many fucked up stories she could tell. But none of them seemed important. Or, almost none of them.
“I was 21 the first time I lost someone. I guess I was lucky it didn’t happen sooner. I mean, I knew people who had died, but no one I really cared about. Until-“
It was too much. A few tears managed to escape, and Erin closed her eyes as she silently cried. After a moment, she wiped the tears from her face, brushing off the smudged mascara from her hand onto her jeans.
“He didn’t overdose. He was killed. He owed some drug traffickers money, and they killed him. He was one of my best friends. There one day and gone the next. And no one really seemed to care. The police hardly looked into it. He was just a drug dealer to them. They were probably glad he was off the street. But he wasn’t just a dealer. He was a human being. A person with a family he was trying to support.
The next year and half was kind of a blur. I don’t think I stayed sober long enough to form a memory. I know I did things I’m not proud of. I know I hurt people I cared about. But everything’s kind of blurry until four years ago. I had just turned 23. I went out to some seedy club with a friend. We crashed on someone’s couch. He had sold us coke, I think. I remember laughing about something. I guess a lot of things are funny when you’re that far gone. And then we fell asleep” She took a deep breath. "I woke up the next morning. My friend didn’t.”
Another drop fell from Erin’s eye, the salty liquid landing on her lip before cascading down. It wasn’t easy to talk about the worst day of her life.
“I tried to wake her up. I tried calling out for help. No one was there. I didn’t know where the guy whose apartment it was had gone. There were drugs in my system and there were drugs in the apartment. I thought about running. But I couldn’t leave her. So I called 911. EMTs came, but it was too late. I gave a statement to the police and they cuffed me immediately. The arresting officer was one of my oldest friends.”
She smiled at that. It had been unbearably awkward, but also deeply comforting, to see a familiar face in her darkest moments. Even though she had alienated him, and he was technically just doing his job, she had finally felt safe.
“I ended up only having to spend a couple days in jail. The drugs in the apartment weren’t mine, and I wasn’t at fault for her death. Although I probably could have prevented it. Still, they gave me a plea deal. I was back in rehab. But for the first time since I was 16, I was actually dedicated to staying sober. And I wasn’t going to let other people distract me. So it finally stuck. After three months I moved back in with my parents. I started trying to make amends. And I got a job. Just a receptionist at first, but then I realized I was actually driven to do something. Tattoos. And i’ve been doing them ever since.”
Erin smiled again. She actually felt proud of herself. It seemed wrong, or conceited, or undeserved. But she felt proud.
“It hasn’t been easy. I still struggled with alcohol. To this day I can’t go more than a couple hours without a cigarette. But I’m living an actual life. I got my own apartment with money I actually earned. I learned how to keep myself busy, and how to clear my mind. The bridges I burned have been rebuilt. Sometimes I think about how much easier a bad day would be if I had some coke. I don’t think I can help that. But as much as I want it sometimes, I haven’t given in.”
She took a deep breath, realizing she was done. “Uh, thank you.”
There was more applause, but the sound felt muffled. Erin curled the corners of her mouth upward, smiling in gratitude. Her sponsor, a middle aged man with a kind face who didn’t mind how sporadic Erin’s attendance was, approached her. He congratulated her and offered words of wisdom, but Erin’s eyes stayed fixated on the chip. One side had the Roman numeral for 4 and a twelve-step mantra. But it was the other side that captivated her. It read: “A new way of living - Just for today.”
Erin clutched the chip tightly in her hand, the burden of guilt about her pride lifting. She was proud of herself, and she was proud of that.
