You wake up sick. Look around to be sure where you are.

Grab your phone, text the dope man

and wait. Wait. And wait. Go to where your man tells you to meet him and don't be late. Then
wait. Wait some more. You're sick, hot and waiting. You finally get your dope. He shorted you.
It's crap dope but it'll do. You text your back up dude. Wait. Wait. He's out. You text your main
dude to complained you don't. But you need more. You start texting and calling your hustles for
cash. Bob has $60 for ya but insists on a blow job this time. You assure him it's on. You meet
Bob for the $60 but plead a cold sore coming on. You wait and wait for dope man. He finally
gets back then and tells you where to meet. You go and wait. He texts you to come in. You go in
and wait. Just as the door opens someone is pounding on the front door, lights are shining in
every window, the front door is smashed in then the yelling, yelling yelling to get on the ground,
to shut the fuck up, to put my hands here to put my hands there. .
I am a recovered cocaine addict for over 11 yrs now. It's important to first understand, that
addiction is an escape of what is painful or traumatic in a persons life, past or present. It's a
coping mechanism, and there's always something painful behind the addiction.

For me in my days of snorting cocaine, my every waking moment was about coke. Thoughts of
when I'd do my next line, how much I had left, making plans to get more, finding money to pay
for it, what lies I was going to tell my family when I went to get it. When I ran out, my thoughts
were also always thinking of coke. The anticipation of going to get it, of doing the first line
again, who I was going to party with, and the lies I was going to tell my family of where I was
when I was partying. Coke was my first waking thought, and my last thought before bed. I'd
even have dreams about coke. It consumed my every thought, and my entire life was only about
cocaine.

It was fun to do, in the beginning. But when the addiction takes root, you're always chasing that
first high when you first started--called chasing the dragon--and you are never able to achieve
that first high feeling again. I was also suffering with MDD (major depression) at the time, so
when I got high, it was very uplifting for me, mentally. I was happy, outspoken, out going, on the
go! But when I ran out, the comedown was horrid. I would have nose bleeds, my sinuses got
stuffed; talking with a stuffed nose, was a sheer clue that I had been using—It raised many
eyebrows. I became severely more depressed than normal, and my thought process was so off
kilter. When the come down was after days of being high, I wanted to kill myself. I started
feeling angry and became verbally abusive to my family. I hated my life and I wanted out, and I
felt trapped. I started isolating myself in my bedroom, not wanting to interact with my family; I
just wanted to be alone. I just wanted to do coke. Sometimes I'd get so much coke, I'd be up for 4
days without sleep.

One time I had to drive my teen to school in this condition. I was light headed, couldn't see
clearly, was extremely anxious and very nervous and scared. And I had to pick him up from
school later. I started getting anxiety attacks more frequently, especially if I had smoked
marijuana while doing coke. Sometimes I'd snort so much that my nasal cavities got so dry,
they'd bleed, and then I'd get stuffed up. This happened often, sometimes right after I just bought
some. I didn’t want to go home in that condition, so I'd pull into a parking lot somewhere and try
to clear my nose so it didn’t alert my family. In the midst of my addiction, when I was around
my family high, I was always nervous. I'd become very quiet and could hardly make
conversation. I'd go to bed and sit up awake, just staring into darkness, high, trying to come
down.

Eventually, this all lead to having a nervous breakdown. For six months all I did was lay in bed
and wail. I wasn't showering or taking care of myself, and I'd only get out of bed to buy coke. I
was in so much emotional pain, that I just wanted to die. I'd cry to God and beg Him to take my
life every day. My chest was physically heavy from feelings of loneliness and emptiness. I felt as
though I was drowning, and my family could see me going down, but no one reached out to help
me. I was sitting on the bottom of an ocean desperately wanting someone to care. Finally, God
was the one to reach down to the bottom of that ocean and pulled me out. He yanked me out and
put me on dry land, and onto a path of recovery, love healing and acceptance. It was very
difficult to stay sober, and I had triggers all the time. But eventually, I was able to overcome,
with the help of Jesus.