|"It's getting worse. The judge gave you the least possible sentence for heroin possession twice before. The next time I see you, you'll be dead and I don't want that. It's time for residential."|
I called my addictions counselor at Carson to complain about what my Probation Officer had said, but she didn't take my side. She agreed with him. She told me every time she said good bye she worried that she would never see me alive again.
My Dad is in jail for dealing. My mom overdosed and died. My stepmom is straight. She knows her son is my dealer, but she can't stop him and she can't turn in her own son.
I'd heard this before. My stepmom had already cried a bunch of times when I'd leave the house to score. At the time, I could hear her pleading with me not to leave, but I couldn't feel her. It was like a wave of life was coming and I had to go catch it. Heroin was that wave. She could never understand. She had it backwards. She thought I was going towards death because she didn't know that my life was already a walking death and heroin showed me life for awhile. It helped me live.
"You're PO is right," my Carson counselor said. "So was your stepmom. There's a way to live that deals with the pain and that doesn't destroy everything--your health, your hopes, your family and friends. It is going to be hard, I promise you that, but I know you can do it. We are on your side."
It is a six month program out on the Cape. My Carson therapist is calling my stepmom and working with my PO. I guess I could hear my therapist in a way that I couldn't hear my stepmom or my PO because my therapist did it herself. She is in recovery. She fought her way back to life so she could help people like me. Actually, she says it differently. She says she believes she came this far for me, for me in particular, to show me there is another way, because there are people out there who need me to show them the way. That kinda really gets to me, right in my gut, you know?
By JAC Patrissi