Aug 18, 2014

Credit: JamesDavid
I hit my bottom over a year ago. All of our bottoms look different; mostly ending in jail, institutions and even death. My story doesn't veer into those directions, but I was close-to all three. I  started the program of AA and found myself surrounded not by alcoholics but by drug addicts. I’m not discriminating… we all need some level of help. To separate us does not make sense on a financial level for these treatment centers… I've only met two other girls who were seeking help for alcoholism. So, I have heard the stories of drug addicts- not glorified; only mere experiences which are supposed to lead to strength and hope for one another. I've been told it’s most difficult to be an alcoholic because it’s everywhere, well drugs are too- if you want them to be!

The condemned stories  became extremely real last weekend. I picked her up from work and noticed a change. Her level of anticipation was extremely annoying. She couldn't hold a conversation; the past five minutes kept repeating themselves. I tried to rationalize my thoughts, I went straight to denial. She has so much to stay sober for. Maybe she’s excited about getting her license back, visiting her children in Connecticut  in a few weeks, getting off of probation… the list goes on.  Sunday night was worse. It seemed as though her lower jaw wished to escape from the structure of her mouth. Her hips swayed as if music were playing. She always had a tendency to move her wrists when she spoke… but she wasn't talking.

I went to bed. The next morning I found myself in a horror movie. I found her body tense; tongue and lips swollen. She moaned in agony- and I left her there. I talked to one of our friends-she came over and another followed. Her bedroom was dark and still until we woke the beast. She glared at the three of us hovering around her bed. Her eyes were solid black; full of rage. Then tears poured when she hung up the phone with  work.
Credits: JamesDavid
 Five different extreme emotions rolled into minutes which seemed as though hours had passed. All I wanted to do was get out. I had a shoot that day. First thought was to cancel so I called a friend. I knew he would tell me what I needed to hear. So I took his advise. I packed a bag and got out of self. I drove an hour to the shoot and turned all of my pain and confusion into art. I wanted so much to end up back home and that morning been a dream. But that is my reality. That is my friend lying helplessly, in her mind, on a bed full of needles.  All I can be is a sober option for her and to others wandering aimlessly through this part of their journey.

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