Through Surrender We Find Peace

I was 7 years old when I moved to Orlando, Florida from New York. My dad went to prison when I was 2 years old and my mom did the best she could, but after Christmas of 1997, my brother and I were sent to Florida to be raised by my grandparents. Her boyfriend was selling drugs out of the house and kicked us all out. In New York there was abuse in various forms, and lots of fear. But with my grandparents, there was love and security and stability. I cried every night, until life with them became my new normal and I eventually loved it, and I knew I was loved, safe and protected. They kept us active in sports and dance, we went to church, and they supported us with many hugs and affirmations of love and encouragement, that extended to our friends and community.

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The first funeral I attended was when I was 10, it was for my favorite cousin, 28-year-old with a newborn baby. She had died from an overdose. My grandparents tried to help many people in our family, so I saw firsthand what drugs and alcohol could do to people. I decided early on that I wanted to be like my sober/happy grandparents, and not end up like a lot of my family…dead, or in survival mode and miserable.

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I was generally happy from 2nd?grade to about 8th?grade. I was outwardly a social butterfly, but it didn’t match my insides really, where I felt I never fit in with any group, anywhere, and tried on other kids’ identities because I didn’t have my own, I didn’t like “me” at all. When I got to meet my dad in prison at age 11, I thought I’d found my missing piece/peace. He was a prison preacher, so we talked a lot about God and visits were good for a while. But when I opened up to him about my life, he was displeased with some of my choices, and our relationship turned to one of condemnation, blame, and intolerance.

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Thankfully, I had a few good friends at church and school, but when they moved my 8th?grade year, I became extremely lost and depressed.? I begged my grandparents to make a geographical change so I could pursue dance at a magnet school in a nearby area. They thought it might be good too for my brother, who had just been diagnosed with frontal lobe epilepsy at 16 years old. In his mind, it was a death sentence, because he would not live a normal life. But we were all hopeful for this “geographical cure”.

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It was not a cure. We both spiraled pretty quickly. First, I tried marijuana with him and some friends after school one day and didn’t like the way it made me feel out of myself, so I left that to him. But when I found alcohol later that year, and an older boyfriend who sold marijuana who was old enough to get my drinks, that felt right. Alcohol was my solution to the heartaches of my loved ones and myself, and my boyfriend and I were going to be all the stability I needed. Ha! I began to use both substances heavily, and by my senior year, I was bringing alcohol to school in water bottles and skipping most of my classes. I barely graduated. My brother went to prison for armed robbery earlier that year; he and his friends got high on a lot of substances that night and hit the town, literally. And my boyfriend went to jail for drug trafficking around the same time.

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I couldn’t pay for college and had no scholarships lined up, so I went into the workforce with no real direction. Three months later, at 18 years old, I became pregnant with my son. I quit drinking immediately and didn’t pick up for a while after having him. I was done with it all- for my son if not for myself! My boyfriend and I got a home together, that lasted for a year. Then I picked drinking back up, and he didn’t. Our relationship became abusive, and I was kicked out. I tried to make it on my own after, going back to Valencia College, working 2 part-time jobs, and supporting my son and I in our little apartment. I lasted less than a year and went to the homeless shelter. Finally, I called my grandparents who graciously took me and my son back in.

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By age 22, I was always working but never had any money because it all went to my next fix. I just spun in circles. I was always in the streets, either using or selling drugs or myself; I would disappear for a couple days, try to get sober back at home, then wash, rinse, repeat until my DUI. It was the day my brother was due home from prison and instead of picking him up to bring him home, I got picked up and went to jail. I was court ordered to go to DUI school and A.A. meetings. I went to 2 A.A. meetings, and felt like the people understood me, but I just wanted to learn how to not have bad consequences—not to stop drinking and drugging forever.

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So, for 8 more years, alcohol and drugs were my masters. My Papa was diagnosed with dementia when I was 26, and I became the worst I ever was. I spent every waking moment scrounging up change, stealing from family and pawning for my fixes. I didn’t want to live anymore, but also didn’t want to leave my son motherless, although I truly thought he’d be better off. I begged my grandmother to get me Baker-Acted, and for the God I once believed in to just take my life and spare everyone else the pain.

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But instead, there was a bed available at a nearby treatment center my grandmother had found, so I went, desperately. First to detox, then for another 30 days. I spent my 30th?birthday in rehab. It was the first time I was physically separated from my drugs in 16 years. And after 30 days I had hope that there was a solution, because of the people of AA & NA who came and shared their success stories. I was told to find a support group and get a sponsor to walk me through the 12-Step program, and that I would get better if only I would be willing to put some work in. It was true! I relapsed quite a bit my first year trying to get sober, but when my Papa passed away in August of 2021, peacefully, I gave up the fight. I finally took the program seriously, and I stayed sober and have been ever since. My brother passed away June of this year (2023) from an accidental overdose of fentanyl. My grandmother asked me if I would handle his funeral and arrangements and it was an honor to be asked, two years ago I would’ve drunk or drugged myself into oblivion instead. Maybe even death.

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I remember when I was really young, praying to this God I didn’t understand, to help me help my family and the world, because I saw so much pain. Today I get to do exactly that, by being a peer, and sharing with others the hope and solutions I’ve found in recovery. Recovery to me means LIFE, and living with a full heart and sharing that with others who too may have a missing piece/peace. ?