The Throws of Addiction

I used to be such a happy girl. You would never catch me looking down, but always looking up at the sunny sky. I found joy in even the smallest of things, you know? The small creatures god created, how a smile from a newborn baby would signify to me that everyhing would be ok, no matter what. I loved my mother, and I was absolutely daddy’s little girl. And then in middle school, I was bumrushed by all of the taunting, teasing, and abuse that kids get to deal with in school. Slowly but surely my spark dimmed and my fire died inside.

So that’s how my demon was birthed- one line of coke. “It’ll make you lose weight. Then boys will actually like you and not tease you anymore.” I was 15. A straight “A” student, never skipped class, never bad-mouthed my mother or father. Then along came my ticket to the dark road we all know so well while battling drug addiction. We will call her “Natalie”. We were BFF’s , you know, best friends forever! We did everything together. And everything always involved drugs, and getting jack-ed up to the moon. Mom started noticing the signs; erratic behavior and paranoia. I had dropped out of 9th grade with “Natalie” so we could do night school and have fun during the day. I was getting brutally tortured at school right. So bring out the drugs lest I forget! At this point we had graduated from powder coke to crack-cocaine, or “butters”. What a rush. That bittersweet taste…you know you are beyond oblivion. Every day. Every night. I wanted it, and I wanted more! NOW NOW NOW! My crack demon had gotten a hold of my soul. I was a mere shell of an 18 year old girl. So off I went to Mountain Manor. “Natalie” stayed behind. This was a requirement from mom and dad to remain eligible for their support. Spent 3 months in, then was released to a half-way house. Big Fuck-up there. I made friends (dumbass) with some of the older, more experienced addicts in the half-way house. I thought we were all tight. I was ok until about a month and a half later, when I gave a room-mate a ride to the Rite-Aid by our halfway house. We get home, I go lay down, tired. She comes in my room with an orange-tipped syringe of some sort that I had never seen before. “Girl, you are about to be in heaven.” The addict in me screamed “DO IT DUMMY!!!” Screw it…im down. She tied a string around my forearm, and injected a honey-colored liquid into the vein on top of my hand. 5 seconds pass….I collapse on the bed. I’m in love. I’m in love with H. H makes all of my problems disappear. It is expensive, but I don’t care. I love H, and H loves me, she keeps me well. She makes me feel unbeatable, she makes me feel no emotion but I do feel euphoric. I am now 23. I now am a junkie. Worthless. Alone. Broke. Confused. I have two beautiful babies. My darling Kieran is 4. He loves Spiderman and Batman, and thinks he can conquer the world; which he can. His contagious joker-type smile would fill you with joy. He is my little hunter, nature lover. Anything outside, he is exploring..and boy does he love his mother. Then there is Rosalie…my sweet baby Rosalie. She is 1 year old. She was born a Methadone baby and was in NICU for 2 days. Not once did I leave her side. I saw the neonatal abstinence syndrome come into play and that in itself is more than enough to tear my soul into shreds. What a piece of shit I am. To make an innocent child suffer through withdrawals because I was selfish and greedy. She never had a choice, Little Rosalie. But her smile….boy that smile, would capture every cell in your body. Her little fingers and toes smelled and felt so good, so soft against my skin. She was me…no she was not, she was the purer, non-corrupt Melody. We connect in a way no one would understand. I grew her inside and birthed her and raised her the 1st six months without a word or call from their father.

They are now in DSS custody due to negligence, more or less “drug-use”. Their father, who I refuse to name, hates every single cell inside of my fucked-up, drug-ridden body. Little does he know, my pain and angst stems from the infidelity, the beatings, the rants, all of the evil he imposed on me. He always got away with it though. His family always backed him and covered him, lied whenever needed to make sure he did not have to answer for his actions. Even though he loved H too. No one else knew, but me. No, I didn’t sell him out. Because throughout all of this I thought he still may love me somewhere deep inside his narcissistic body. His “fiancee” “Alisha” we will call her…is ten years my younger, one of the women he was with while I was pregnant with Rosalie. She find this all amusing. She loves to remind me how worthless I am, how she deserves to be their “step-mom”, that she deserves them, and loves them more than I. She knows nothing of being a mother. That’s when H floods my mind….melody, you want to forget? Right? Take me. I will make it all go away.

Yes, I am an addict. I’ve been beaten, abused in all ways, my skull and eye-sockets fractured. All by the man who I was supposed to marry, and live my happily forever after with. Just the 4 of us. She doesn’t believe it. I’ve tried to tell her. She says im jealous, that Justin has found his true love and I need to just “DIE.” So IN goes the needle….outward I exhale bits and pieces of my shattered being into the atmosphere to dissipate along with my pain, and devastation.

Same with my mom, who left me behind to escape my dad’s alcohol addiction…Needle in…pain gone.

Let it be known. I know every sparkle in their tiny eyes, every dimple and birthmark on their body. I know every finger and toe, and every tantrum. I AM and ALWAYS will be MOM.

I am a woman. I am a broken woman. I am mom. I am a Junkie. I am begging for my life, while running head first into the danger zone. I am irrational, obscure, tainted, scarred, and a mess from hell. But DAMMIT, I am fixable.

I am in detox as I write this, and I will be moved to long term residential treatment monday for a year-long program at The Healing Place. Demon, get ready to leave my body for GOOD. I dont want YOU. I want my CHILDREN.



Melody L. Clore