When I first got clean I reflected a lot on my life. I missed the feeling of relief of going over the Girard Bridge because I knew I was only 14 minutes away from the spot I used to cop my dope at in Philly. I missed the fear and excitement I felt walking alone in freezing cold temperatures down a dark alley in North Philly and hearing ” DOPEA DOPEA DOPEA”. I miss the happiness I felt when I pulled into the local CVS and pulled my new rig out and began the process of “getting right”. I miss the magical feeling of the fentanyl running through my veins as I collapse in my front seat. I miss the hundreds of dollars my “dates” paid me for minutes of my time. I miss having no cares, no job, no fear of not waking up. I miss thinking I was smart for moving into a shitty motel so my PO couldn’t find me and my drug dealer was one door down.
What I don’t miss is having to pull over 6 times on the 45 minute drive I made every day sometimes 2-3 times from Wilmington, DE to Kensington, PA because I needed to throw up stomach acid. I don’t miss spending the last 20.00$ I had on 4 bags of dope. I don’t miss having to Narcan my big brother while I watch him turn black and my heart breaking. I don’t miss being sick to death after having to be resuscitated because I got a “bad bag” I don’t miss keeping my eye on my rearview mirror because I have 4 warrants and my car is not registered, no license, and I have drugs. I don’t miss selling my body for my next fix. I don’t miss knowing my parents are laying in bed at home wondering if tonight is the night they get “the call”. I don’t miss my family not trusting me to sleep over on Christmas. I don’t miss letting everyone down. I don’t miss being raped but not reporting it because I am a sex worker who thinks she is worth nothing. I don’t miss being covered in bruises and having collapsed veins. I don’t miss using old, dirty, broken needles that hurt when I have to poke them in my frail arms, legs, and neck over and over but I am still “not hitting”. I don’t miss my abusive boyfriend beating me because I did not give him the 7th bag or my “wake up”. I don’t miss my kids wondering where mommy is? I don’t miss being homeless and sleeping in a shelter. I don’t miss blacking out for days and waking up in a random hotel in pain and wondering who was here last night. I don’t miss being robbed. I don’t miss stealing and shoplifting to support my habit. I don’t miss withdrawing because my drug dealer is at his sons basketball game. I don’t miss wanting to die. I don’t miss the fear of walking into detox’s and the staff knowing me as a frequent flyer.
This is why I chose recovery.