I am a terrible writer. I am almost ashamed of myself when I post on Medium.

Im going to write this one time.

I feel obligated to tell you, just in case you ever read any of my articles.

Why does my spelling suck so bad? My syntax , my grammar, all of it.

I’m going to tell you the true story of part of my life.

One time.

And then I’m going to tell you why I keep writing in a sea of Grammar Nazis with brilliant minds that perfectly articulate whatever they want .

I was born.

I dropped out of high school. ( I’m not going to tell you why. )

Technically I dropped out in 8th grade. But I was in all advanced courses. Testing out of high school in some subjects.

I returned briefly in 10th grade for 6 months. I couldn’t assimilate, and it was torture really. I had been locked up, living on the streets , and High School was too much of a culture shock.

So I stayed out. Got a boyfriend in a band that was older than me and was getting into every bar I wanted to, before the age of 18.

Of course this story is going to get worse before it gets better.

I sank into that dark hole of heroin

And I was lost to the world

Years lost,

Days went by I didn’t know what day it was,

I didn’t know it was Christmas, Thanksgiving, 4th of July.

Didn’t call home. Didn’t want to.

I didn’t see summer, winter, spring.

My life was consumed and I didn’t leave the Shooting Gallery

I didn’t take showers.

One time I lived in a Shooting Gallery that the toilet had exploded and leaked out into the carpet of the bedroom , and we pissed in the bathtub for 6 months.

The one of two things that’s good about heroin is that it hits hard and fast and before you know it , you’re on your knees.

At 23, I hit bottom.

Bad.

I was sitting in an abandoned house 4 months pregnant and shooting up speedballs with some bums, and the thing was that I came from a good family. One that loved children. One that had a mom that had all three of her babies without any drugs at all ( because she was afraid to hurt her babies) I had parents with Masters Degrees. I didn’t eat a Twinkie till I was 15. I wasn’t abused. I knew right from wrong. And I hated women that used drugs while they were pregnant. I hated parents that used drugs while raising their kids.

One of the things I thought I had were my values. Still. Even after having no shoes to walk down the street in.

I would never hurt a child. That wasn’t me.

I had so many things I believed in through the years, so many promises to myself that heroin made me break.

“ I’m never going to shoot up.”

“ I’m never going to lie to my friends”

“ I’m never going to rob a house.”

“ I’m

Never

Going

To

Shoot Up

Pregnant.”

And I heard a voice , in that dirty house.

Looking at my arm and that nook where the needle tip was about to go in

“ You’re going to have to die to stop.”

And in that moment I realized .

I was an addict.

I gave up all of my future , my family, my cars and clothes, my people that I loved, my friends,

It wasn’t because I just loved heroin.

It was because I couldn’t stop. Nothing could stop me.

Nothing sacred. Nothing pure. Nothing lovely.

Nothing in me was strong enough

I would have to die before I stopped shooting up.

I was everything I hated .

I was someone who couldn’t uphold her values

I was someone that lied.

I was someone who compromised themselves

Well, anyways, having heard the voice I realized that suicide was my only option.

Looking back, it’s funny , because getting sober wasn’t an option. That’s how deep I was. It wasn’t even a possibility. Living without drugs or alcohol was that much of an impossibility. That was something that happened in movies or to people that weren’t really addicts … people that used on weekends. People that were not like me.

So I tried to overdose myself.

It worked. The people I was with had to do CPR periodically for two days. I was out for 48 hours.

But I fucking woke up.

I woke up.

I took myself to the nearest rehab hospital, it was Charter back then.

I walked in and and told them I had about 10 mins before I was gonna start shitting my pants and throwing up.

They took me. With no money. No insurance.

Because they thought I was pregnant , I had to kick cold turkey.

I did.

My baby died though during my overdose .. Which was probably a blessing for both of us.

So I got sober.

But that’s another story.

I ended up doing all the regular life stuff that we do.

But two years after I did I realized that I needed a G.E.D.

Because I wanted to go back to school.

Because I had a beautiful new baby that I needed to support.

So I decided what they hey, lemme go down and try to take this thing and if I fail, I can always take it again.

So I went to take it and I remember I went home and nursed my baby and went back to take the rest of the test.

I passed. And I even scored so high in some subjects with only 2% of the rest of the country. Math I barely passed.

I went back to college and tested into my freshman year classes.

So, Medium, this is why I suck.

I suck at all the things the rest of you are good at.

And I’m sorry.

I keep writing though, because I feel like the biggest sin is to hide. To be afraid.

I will not be afraid.

I also love this. And I love hearing you. Seeing you. Knowing you. Sometimes. Sometimes you make me sad. But I love it always that you are expressing yourself.

To not allow myself to share , would be the real loss.

It’s also great practice.

So

Know that I know ,that my articles ,that they suck sometimes .

They are terribly written, and paced and the grammar and spelling is atrocious.

But that’s not the point.

This is.