My Purgatory, Better Known as Hell on Earth

Before I got locked up this last time and decided to stay clean, I was trapped in a state of torment. For years I have described this as purgatory. Before 2011 I had no connection to the word purgatory, but what I experienced after choosing to pick up drugs last time was nothing less than hell on earth.

If I could create a picture for the definition of purgatory it would be me strung up in the most painful way, suspended by my arms and legs in a state of perpetual mental, physical, spiritual, and emotional torment. That is what my last relapse was like.

When I made the decision to use drugs again in 2011, I did not actually want to use, I did it to escape the reality of my relationship. Addiction is like that, it is cunning and insidious. I lived by some pretty crazy rules for a long time. Rules such as; if I said I am going to do it, then I am doing it. “It” included things like using drugs, committing crimes, staying in abusive relationships, and other things that were not beneficial to my peace, tranquility, and success. I did not realize that I had the right to change my mind, which got me into a lot of trouble. I was raised that you keep your word no matter what, even though the people that taught me this often did not follow the same rule. This kind of thinking on more than one occasion caused me to follow through on very destructive decisions, but I refused to be someone that did not keep their word.

With all of that being said, I cannot say that my decision to use last time was a bad one; it did bring about a lot of pain, torment, and anguish, but it also changed my life. However, during the time from choice to pick up again until my arrest, my life was an absolute nightmare.

After my mom died my siblings and I had a service for her, I was drinking pretty regularly following her death. I relapsed before this, but this is when my addiction began to spiral. I then went to Tacoma to see old friends. The guy I was married to went back and I was hoping to run into him while I was there. That did not happen but I brought a friend home and she came with meth. I am not a huge meth fan, but I will do any drug so it didn’t really matter. I was working at the time as a painter. She and I did the dope she had and I spent the rest of the week working, drinking, and hanging out at the house. I had to take her home and I never went back to where I was living in Idaho. I stayed in Tacoma and kept on using drugs.

From the time I arrived back in Tacoma, the place I left in 1997, my life began rapidly spiraling out of control. My elbow was broken when the husband slammed me through a motel room wall, he broke into my car, stabbed my tires, smashed my windows out over and over again. Eventually the car was totaled after he beat the entire car with a bat. He chased me from place to place stealing my things out of my car, beating me in front of people, he would text photos of my cars location when I thought I was hidden, I was homeless, I was strung out on heroin and meth, I was committing crimes, I was afraid, I was angry, and I was tired. He was relentless. I stole from him, he stole from me. We fought each other in the street, he chased me with guns, hammers, knives, bats, and anything else he could use to beat me. My life was insane. I turned 40 years old and was running from place to place trying to evade this guy all the while my addiction was spiraling out of control. I hated my life but could not stop using. Friends tried to help me, they were distraught thinking they would soon never see me again, and the guy would always find me. I tried to stick with him and then found out he was having sex with men. I was devastated and could not live with that. I had to go. I looked at my life and saw the decades of failed attempts at a peaceful life and knew that the only thing I really needed was to die.

He came after me one last time. He busted through the door of my friend's house with a hammer and forced me to leave with him. Before I exited I grabbed my backpack where I had hundreds of pills that were meant to knock out people so I could rob them. I had more than 400 psychotropics and I took them all. I figured if he was willing to smash my head in, which I believed he would do, I was not going to give him the pleasure of owning my death the way he had someone else I knew. I was going to own my death, he was not taking that from me. He drove around with me and I was getting drowsy. About 30 minutes in he stopped and forced me to puke, but it was too late. I woke up 4 days later reeking of urine at an apartment with my friend, Donnie. The husband forced my friend to take me and then followed us around for nearly 4 days so he would not take me to an ER. He was banking on me dying in the car with Donnie. Donnie worked overtime to keep me breathing. When I woke up I could not speak. There were words in my head and when I opened my mouth only noises came out, no words. I was not happy to be alive but I could not express the way I felt in words. In time I spoke again, but I knew the damage I had done taking all of those pills. I was dope sick but found heroin in my urine soaked pocket. I hung my head in shame because no matter how hard I tried I was stuck in hell on earth. I wanted out, I could not take this life anymore. It seemed my entire life was spent in agony. I spent the next period of time hiding from bounty hunters, trying to feed my addiction, hiding from this guy, my car was taken so I was driving stolen vehicles, he terrorized everyone I knew so I stayed on the streets to keep them safe, I hated my existence. This was nothing more than a continuation of the previous decades. For years I wondered why God would allow something like this to be someone's life. I prayed for death, I just wanted it to end.

2 months later I was arrested, my prayers were answered. The moment I was removed from the environment, I died to that life. That is when my new life began.