His name was Versaje

V.E.R.S.A.J.E CUZ I CAN’T AFFORD IT

V.E.R.S.A.J.E CUZ I CAN’T AFFORD IT

His government, was Cory, but as of late, he went by Versaje, with a J cuz he can’t afford it. ;] His words, not mine. VersaJe was such a fitting name for him if that makes any sense. It suited him so well. We have been friends since around the 8th grade, and he was always GUCCI. That is legit. So the fact that now, at 31 years old, he took on the name, and was, VersaJe… it’s just, perfect.

If you knew him, you loved him. I loved him. I loved every bit of our friendship. As we got older, it was one of the realest, just like him, just like me. We were always raw, real, bold, and just, THE MOST, with each other. Always. We did the most. He was one of my biggest fans, someone who supported me through and through, and I him.

Something happened though, we didn’t keep in touch. We didn’t answer our phones as often, or with as much excitement as we usually did. We didn’t check-in/up on each other at random times anymore. We just lost touch, we stopped blowing up each other’s phone’s with messages, comments, facetime calls, we just stopped. I’m not sure really, I do not understand why, but I am beginning to unearth the lessons that my beloved friend has taught me.

I’ve lost a lot of people lately, too many in fact. So I am used to hearing the cliches that come with loss. This one though, is starting to hit me differently, it’s starting to make more sense to me, in a different way. They say, something along the lines of people being lessons… it’s put in many different ways. Different versions… but the one I’ve come to know, is this next one.

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That is a big pill to swallow. It makes sense though.

Well, I mean, I guess.

Right now though, today, I can say with certainty, that I’d trade in all the lessons I’ve learned from and throughout our friendship, to have Cory here today. There are plenty of other people I can learn lessons from. Why my people? Why so many of my people? Why so many of the good ones?

Cory was a good one. Always. I won’t say that he didn’t have a mean bone in his body, because he did, but you would never know it, unless of course you crossed him or someone he loved.

Our friendship began in Rockland, circa 2002 at ‘party centraL’ ( aka at the Westberg’s house ). We were ” The Crew”, ” The shadies”, CCCCCSQUARED <3 . That is ALL for another story, this one is strictly Cor.

He was, if not THE first, than one of the first boys I ever really kissed. It happened in the ditch. That night my friends and I had gone to the teen center and came back with Cory, Ryan & Chris. We thought we were SO cool. That was the beginning of our friendship, Cory’s and mine.

It’s crazy when I think about it, because sooo much has happened in the last 10 years alone, nevermind the last 20+, and throughout it all, all the addictions, the drama, the losses, the people, the places and the things, the growing we both did and did not do, we still remained friends, CLOSE friends, thoughout all of these years. Not all of us have kept in touch, but all of us have kept in touch with Cory.

Cory was the common denominator in my life. He was always there.

One of Cory’s passions was planning events and bringing the people he loved together. He was always a comedian, and could make anyone laugh with his charismatic wit.

I am grateful to Cory for so many things, so many things that I cannot even begin to list them here. I am the most grateful for the fact that Cory always loved me, no matter what, we could always talk to each other about our shit without judgement or fear, and with PLENTY of jokes — SELFISHHH <3 .

As I try to write about my dear friend, I’m listening to his PodCast on Anchor. I’m struggling a bit through the sadness, so for now, I’ll end here. Im so grateful to be able to hear his voice, and some of his thoughts on ANCHOR- Go listen now – his name is Versaje on Anchor- That’s V-E-R-S-A-J—E J BEFORE THE E CUZ HE CAN’T AFFORD IT!

Rest in the sweetest Peace My Dear Friend Cory Until We Meet Again Angel <3

5 Cents

THE NICKEL orrr… 5.. FIVE CENTS

FINDING 2 NICKELS

Great..no , AMAZING, SOUL TOUCHING, article to read, that I came across while searching the meaning, and symbolism of,; finding shiny Nickels, sometimes more than 1 in a day, 5 cents, and the number 5 in general. It is written by Nancy Wait, who has a collection of amazing reads on her website, NancyWait.com. (Hopefully this is legal, I’ve tried to do as much as possible to make sure it is) You can find her article by clicking HERE, or by clicking above, as I’ve linked her article.

There are a few people I would follow to the end of the world. Would, would have. Some I loved for longer, much much longer than others. They are falling off the face of the Earth.One by One. Every so often. Lovers. Best friends. Friends. Family. Lovers. Lovers…. Loves.

For years and years this has gone on. One at a time. It keeps getting closer though. Closer and closer. Little by little. Slow by slow.

I would have followed them. I would have , but I can’t. Someday, one day, we will meet again.

I just knew

I don’t know exactly what it is with us. Was. What it was, with us. I just don’t know exactly what it was about us. There was something though. Something. A connection of some type, much different than any other.

A cosmic connection, or magnetic forces.. something always brought us back to one another. Even if we never really were. We were not ever an us – but we were always us.

I knew it before I even had the slightest thought of it. I knew it before I ever really even knew it. I felt it. That sounds so strange, even reading it back to myself. It sounds like a narrated script read aloud in the very first scene of a sad movie. It sounds so scripted. So fictional. It isn’t though, it’s real life, and real thoughts. I’m just writing them as they come.


I’ve lost some of the most important friendships and relationships in my life, to drugs, and death. Drugs always ultimately result in death. Period. Note that. Save that. Highlight it. Remember it and never ever forget it. It is nothing but the truth.

Early on in my first attempts at recovery, I was always taught that; Relapse is a part of the process, it is a part of your recovery. You must fall to get back up stronger. You need to fail to know what it feels like, to always remember.

It was something that was said by lots of people, in lots of places. Recovery specialists in programs, counselors, therapists both inpatient and outpatient, long time recovering addicts in the rooms of AA & NA, C.O’s and or fellow addicts in prisons, or institutions. It was the nice way to react when someone was feeling bad about themselves for relapsing. When someone who had been clean for some X amount of time had a slip up, and continuously beat themselves up for it. Of course, that won’t help them, but will it? Whether they had 10 years clean, 10 months clean, or 10 days clean, “relapsing is a part of recovery.” I can still hear some of the voices that I’ve heard… saying the words. It’s almost haunting.

I’ve come to conclude that, that does not have to be the case, and it should not be said as such. We need to find a better response to say to a recovering addict who has just slipped up. Telling them us, that it is all a part of the process, and that relapses are supposed to happen, just isn’t always going to be okay anymore. I don’t think so at all. Yes, our personal failures, slips, falls, and relapses, are in fact, for sure a part of our process, but it is not a part of the actual process.

You do not have to relapse to hold onto your sobriety.

The why.

My why. Why do I believe this so strongly? Well, my friends. They are why. The people I’ve loved. They are why. The people I thought I would have in my life for all of my life, that is why. They are why.

Their relapses were all a part of their recovery process. Their Relapses were a part of their recovery process?? Their Path to recovery? One would get clean one way or another, stay clean for however long, relapse, or not, and start all over again. Right? That’s what I’ve always done. I go back to what I know. I have a go-to plan. I’ve always followed the same steps that I know I need to follow, that I know will get me back to where I needed to be.

Luckily, in the meantime, in the learning /process to my recovery, I did not die. By the Grace Of God, I did not yet die.

My people though. They relapse, and they die.

Now, they are forever sober. However, they did not leave in that way. Their relapse, the ‘part of their process’ to recovery, got them dead. It took away their lives and their chance at ever working the process again. It took away everything. The relapse that is a part of their recovery, killed them.

This is why I believe that we need to stop telling addicts that it is okay to relapse. Because it is not okay. It is not safe.

Forever in their 30’s. Forever your age. Forever Clean & Sober. Forever Loved and missed. Forever, may you rest peacefully, every single one of you.

Until we meet again my twin flame…

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Back up off me

I think she is going to kill me. Her or him.. I do not know anymore. I don’t even know the difference between the 2 of them anymore unless we are face to face, which does not ever happen anymore. They are keyboard warriors.

I do not even F@#$ with them. They have to stay f@#$ing with me though. Always. Randomly. They pop up.

I hear footsteps, crunching in the solid, hardened, snow. Do they not realize that I can hear? The only other sounds to be heard was my wind chimes. Lots, and lots of beautiful, whimsical, wind chimes.

A neighbor comes out for her bedtime smoke. The door creaks, she coughs, the footsteps go silent, but still, there is something, someone, wrestling in and with the bushes.

The neighbor to the left pulls up into their driveway, loudest car ever. Headlights shining directly into the restless bushes.

Someone is over there. Someone is listening, well, watching. Waiting.

I stay put for as long as my soft, sensitive skin will allow in this type of weather. I am right here.

Two of the cameras have picked up slight movement, with some noises, voices, what are they saying? What do they want from me?

I get a notification, a facebook messenger kind. It’s them. His facebook, but I cannot determine which one of them it is hiding behind their phones, their texts, talk to texts that make no sense at all, their her illiterate writing skills. I think its her. It has to be her. She is very insecure.

That is why the messages I’m receiving are vicious , mean, down right hateful and nasty. It’s her.

She is watching closely…. yet says I am the one looking for their chaos. No, no… I am not seeking your bullshit, however – I am aware.

I am very aware. I am sure to know, whatever I need to know. I will not act. I will wait.

Waiting is what I’ve been doing. Watching, waiting. A year of wasted energy and time… actually, 2 years now? Wow. What a waste.

I wish they would do well. I wish they would get right. I wish they would leave me alone. I’d do anything to get that poor man away from that demon of a woman. She is crack. Her life is that exactly.

His never was. Shes got to go.

Not my business anymore, just sad. Regardless, leave me alone. I am an adult. A grown women who wakes up every single morning to raise a family. Something she is not familiar with. I think to her, responsibility, life, etc… is just a figment of imagination. She does not believe people can be normal.

That’s fine. Live and Let Live, RIGHT?

I may be a mother, an adult, a women, but I will do whatever it takes to protect myself and my family.

Rating: 1 out of 5.
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P.s I hope your alive

Please don’t be True.

Please don’t let what I believe to be true, be the real Truth.

Please be okay. Please be here still. Here on this Plane, in this universe somewhere, grounded. On dry land, on shore.

Please don’t be what I think it is. Please.

I hope it’s something simple. Simple, no that’s not the word… but just anything, anything other than what I’m starting to believe.

I am aware that everyone has a sobriety date, or at least, everyone will. Though they are not all etched in stone, some very much are. Some proudly display their sobriety date on their facebook and IG walls, while others have it literally engraved in their stone, their headstone. Then there’s the people, who end up back stuck in the middle, ( many of us ) – or just – straight still in the middle BEEN in between, never left. The ones that happen to slip & fall, Sh$# that’s a bad hit. A bad feeling, I know it all too well. It happens to the best of us, but not all of us make it back from that slip and fall. That’s the worst part about relapse.

That’s why we are always in recovery. Always trying to stay clean.

Birth Dates, Sobriety Dates, Anniversary Dates, and Death dates, all seem to eventually add up. They all end up with multiple meanings, to multiple people, there’s billions of us. When we share such dates though, is when the meaning is given, therefore it serves purpose. Many purposes. Sharing a sobriety date with a loved ones birth date. Sharing a Birth date with a loved ones death date. Sharing these days is what makes them special to us. Not the way they are written or where, or why.

I share my birth date with someone that I’ve loved. I share my sobriety date with someone else that I’ve loved, it was their Birth date, when they were still on this plane. It’s why I hold it so closely.

I share the date of the first time I gave birth, with a friend I love, except it was the last date she gave birth. Our daughters share their Birth Date. Which is also, the day of my grandfather’s Birth Date, not year, of course. My anniversary Date has been the same date, in 2 very long term relationships. Another child of mine’s Birth date, another date that I gave birth, is shared with Halloween.

There are so many dates I remember for so many reasons, yet half the time I cannot even remember where I left my keys!

I’m just praying that your still okay.

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To Give up

I am a fighter. I’ve found that fighting is what I do the most. What I do the best. It’s not that I want to be a fighter. I don’t like to have to fight for everything. I don’t even realize it when I’m doing it. It’s just what it is.

If someone takes from me, I want it back. I will get it back. I will do every possible thing in my power, to get said thing back.

I’m sure of that. I don’t give up ever. If I do happen to fall short though, it is not for very long. So I just say instead that I do not ever give up. I will never give up.

Dramatic as it may sound. It is cold hard truth, bruh.

I’ve been fighting this way for 12 solid years now. But it feels like forever.

I fight for what I want. I make it a point to get it.

Whats the whole point of everything anyways?

Does it really mean that much if you can just take it? Is it even important to you? Does it really vibe with you, call to you?

Yeah, Fight or Flight is human nature, its instinct – for every friggin situation. Right?

Fight, Flight, or Bite your tongue? That’s basically flight?

I know all that has been said, but maybe sometimes I give way too little credit.But,- Well, what are the options? What does giving up consist of anyway?

I guess it must be different for everyone though, obviously.

I mean, giving up for me could also be a lot of things. Just, when I’m having a crappy day, I think of that, like.. “ugh I give up”, “I’m loosing it”, “I’m all done.” Like, what do I even mean by those things?

I’m not friggin done with life. I just give up hah. I can’t go use drugs. Not that I want to but I mean, that’d be a form of giving up for me.

Can I run away though??

No.. haha although, I wish. *silly faces*

I’m playing! Gotta lighten up my mood some way or another. Whats up with you tonight? How was your day? Anyone have a different theory/ opinion? I’d love to hear it :]

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I am a fighter. I’ve found that fighting is what I do the most. What I do the best. It’s not that I want to be a fighter. I don’t like to have to fight for everything. I don’t even realize it when I’m doing it. It’s just what it is.

If someone takes from me, I want it back. I will get it back. I will do every possible thing in my power, to get said thing back.

I’m sure of that. I don’t give up ever. If I do happen to fall short though, it is not for very long. So I just say instead that I do not ever give up. I will never give up.

Dramatic as it may sound. It is cold hard truth, bruh.

I’ve been fighting this way for 12 solid years now. But it feels like forever.

I fight for what I want. I make it a point to get it.

Whats the whole point of everything anyways?

Does it really mean that much if you can just take it? Is it even important to you? Does it really vibe with you, call to you?

Yeah, Fight or Flight is human nature, its instinct – for every friggin situation. Right?

Fight, Flight, or Bite your tongue? That’s basically flight?

I know all that has been said, but maybe sometimes I give way too little credit.But,- Well, what are the options? What does giving up consist of anyway?

I guess it must be different for everyone though, obviously.

I mean, giving up for me could also be a lot of things. Just, when I’m having a crappy day, I think of that, like.. “ugh I give up”, “I’m loosing it”, “I’m all done.” Like, what do I even mean by those things?

I’m not friggin done with life. I just give up hah. I can’t go use drugs. Not that I want to but I mean, that’d be a form of giving up for me.

Can I run away though??

No.. haha although, I wish. *silly faces*

I’m playing! Gotta lighten up my mood some way or another. Whats up with you tonight? How was your day? Anyone have a different theory/ opinion? I’d love to hear it :]Name(required)Email(required)Please rate our website(required)

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My Everyday challenges

Things that should come easy, should be easy enough, that aren’t. That don’t. Mental health? Self care? I forgot the importance.

Sometimes , a lot of times… i feel super useless at staying home.
I cannot simply sit and play or run around playing pretend with my child all day, or I won’t get anything done around the house ( tried & true for over and throughout a decade , I swear 🤚🏻)
I can’t sit on the computer / laptop/ phone, all day trying to work on / set up & market my business and blogs , putting all my energy into an entry, or a design, a project. Because I do that. And when I do, I feel as though I’ve wasted another day and another dollar. Literally. And I feel rushed and awful by dinner.
I cannot run around the house cleaning up after my toddler, or my school age kids all day because I just DONT. Maybe I just don’t WANT to do that anymore…
Or run around washing, drying, folding, putting away, all the laundry, dishes, work tools, project , etc.
Cuz I don’t want to do that either ; even though I really really should –

I mainly walk around my house in in circles.
Going from one thing to another,
From creating a product and design to folding the mountain of laundry I’ve created.
I go from building my site online, to playing store with my toddler.
I go from vacuuming, to cleaning up a huge liquid spill, usually on a carpet in my living room, or all over a wall, and in all the hard to reach/ even harder to clean, cracks, crevices & corners. In between appliances, and down the sides of the oven.

I go from packing some products, listing them online, packing a shipment, and putting it all out there, to literally crawling around the living room floor with my toddler, a flashlight in one hand, and a grabber in the other, face pressed against the carpet , trying to reach all the toys that my toddler has lost in the depths of there whoever knows when, but now MUST have them.
I smoke a cigarette ( I need to quit, I have the patches , I’m quitting.) – and while I’m smoking have to run in to help in the potty, change the channel, look at a block creation, or to just “ watch this”.

God there is just stuff everywhere. I just want to be “in the moment” with my toddler while I still can.

I want to be less impatient. Less rushed.
More patient, more steady.
Slow it down, but keep up.

I just want y’all to know- that today, I do not know how to get there. Not yet.
But I’m working on it. I’m trying.

Bare with me.

I’m truly Sorry if you don’t like it, it’s only the truth.
I’m trying to be the best mother, maybe I am then.

Read more , the rest of this story NOW @
http://www.truthmommy.com

  • da truth mommy

The 4 sets of completely different, 100% unique, gorgeous, soul reaching, all seeing eyes that I have watching me constantly, think that I am the best. …. Well, most of the time.
My preteen who is going on 30, does but won’t admit it. She wants to hate me.Isn’t that what teenage girls eventually do?? Hate their moms for a minute?

Great. I cannot wait to go through that over and over and over again. What about boys?

Do boys always love their mamas? They say that- but it hasn’t rang true in my family. I have brothers. I’ve seen cycles, stages, phases… I’m terrified. 👀

No, but really though, my kids mostly think that I’m “da bomb dot com”. Yes, they for real say that. ✊🏻👊🏻🤞🏻

I just feel like I can do better. I want to do better. Of COURSE my kids will think that of me. I think I’d really have to be a MONSTER for them to think otherwise, right?

I don’t even want to deal right now- but I have to go take care of this.

I have to do all the things that I don’t want to do. I’m here. I am alive and well, and Im beyond blessed to have my super large, loving , happy, healthy family to take care of. It’s my why.

This is the truth today.

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An introduction of why I’m here.

Hi, I’m The Truth Mommy!! I’m trying to get out there and be known for giving , “the truth about momming”, and everything else I know or can tell you. I’m currently working on/towards a book.. I’m Here to journal my good days and bad days and everything in between. Hey, don’t blame me if you don’t like it, I’m just telling it like it is.
Telling it like it is, regardless of judgement. I am a recovering addict. My recovery Date is November 1- 2015. I didn’t do it without help, support, medical support, motivation, tears, sweat, pain, family support, and my amazing husband.
For years I thought I had it under control, and could get or just stay better (whether ‘better’ meant my sobriety, or my mental health depended on the time) for, my kids. Always trying to fight, for my kids. Doing everything I could, everything I was supposed to do, to bring my family home. Get better for them all, never for myself. It never seemed to be enough, but that wasn’t the case- the case was, I just wasn’t afraid enough, it wasn’t real enough, I didn’t care about me, or what happened to me anymore. No one else did, why should I? The 2 men in my life (baby daddies if you will), that were supposed to be a part of my support system, part of my family, had completely destroyed my self esteem. They both took advantage of my vulnerability, they fed off of it. I would move mountains for both of them, I’d jump when they said jump. HELL They had my children, what was I supposed to do?? That my friends, is a story for a different post. Not today Satan. This post is about ME. I can’t won’t distract myself with that type of pain, going back to that will ruin more than my entire day. I live with so many resentments. I cannot even begin.

So, here is where this story really begins, this is going to lead me to where I am today. The day I woke up, totally Naked, alone, head hanging over one corner of my bed, not even aware of the date or time, SO confused, my house completely ransacked, all of my hidden belongings, including my rent money, drugs, and jewelry were GONE. My dresser COVERED in confectionery sugar.
That was on Halloween, in 2015. Halloween is supposed to be a fun day, a special day, a day for trick or treating, dressing up silly, plowing candy, and it just so happens that it is one of my babies Birthday’s, 10/31. That was the day I knew I had had enough, I had to stop. I had to live. I was alive, and I had NO idea how. Eventually, that same day, I put the pieces together, looking through my phone, my laptop ( at the time my life line), making phone calls, frantically searching my house, wracking my brain. I remembered exactly what happened. I know exactly what happened. All I can say on here, with honesty, is that MY ANGEL was with me. He must have been because I was literally left in my apartment to die. People had been with me, people had used with me, and those same exact people had robbed me, and then left me. Those people, I grew up with. Those people, 1 of them, I had saved before with narcan. And they left me in my bed, thinking I was DEAD… to die. They were the ones who were always afraid and would run. At least 1 of them had been there for all 5 ODS that I had saved at my house. I never let or left anyone to die. F$#@ YOU for that. Later one that day, I got myself together, got myself “right”, and then made a bunch of important phone calls. I was retracing the steps I had taken the last time. The time I had 2 and a half fucking years of sobriety. The time I could say with what I thought to be my full honesty, I do not know how I EVER did that, I could NEVER EVER do it again. I could’ve sworn that I was afraid enough to never go back. That I had lost enough, to never want to go back. The 2.5 years had only come to an abrupt end earlier that year, I want to say May, is when I relapsed, but that wouldn’t be the full truth. I had relapsed long before I began using that way again. This time though, I was DONE. So here I am, more than 5 years sober. I won’t say I am cured, I will say, I wanted to live and be there for my children, and I AM.

I have more stories to tell than you could imagine. I’ve been to Prison, (not jail), multiple times, for petty things like probation violations etc. I’ll never forget how scared I was in the back of that van the very first time. My first 30 days. I never could have imaged how many more times I’d be in that same situation again, or that each stay would become longer and longer, and take more and more from me and my family. I had a baby in jail, and didn’t get to see my baby until a few months later. Can you imagine that? I held that baby for 2 days, no one was going to take that time from me, no matter how hard they tried. I am only human, not a monster. Humans should never treat others the way I was treated. Shackled to a bed being scorned and threatened for breast feeding my baby? It was inhumane.

If you’ve come this far, before you form any negative opinion of me personally, if that’s where your thoughts are, keep reading first, and you may just see things from a perspective you might think you’d never see, or even want to understand.

MIND YOU this; the day I was officially released , sometime in late November, My PO wanted me to go back to prison, she fought tooth and nail for me to finish up another 6 month bid, for NOTHING. Once my lawyer presented the LOADS and LOADS of paperwork she had accumulated and put together for my case; all of my negative tests, the meconium sample, and the inaccuracy proven of the quick cups they used, (the ONLY one that picked up a food grade of positive), once she finished her statement, The Judge, a different one from who sent me there, an understanding man with kind eyes, pretty much told my PO off, looked over to me, and with SUCH sincerity, apologized to me. he said I NEVER should have been forced to have my BABY in prison, and told my PO that holding me was completely inappropriate, and unnecessary , as I had IMMEDIATLY , willingly PAID FOR & took hair follicle test, multiple urine’s at multiple labs, and even the hospital records that showed my baby and I tested positive for NOTHING!!!!! OH AND!! This is great, my due date was 11/1/13, my one and only fail was on 10/12/13, I was sent back 10/18/13, ANDDD MY COURT DATE WAS 10/31/13 . So, yes, as you can probably imagine, at midnight on 10/31, I laid on my bottom bunk in my cell, praying to GOD to PLEASE not let me have this baby right then and there, PLEASE just get me to the courthouse tomorrow. 7 years later and I haven’t spoken of this, but I remember it all SO clearly right now, like it was MUCH more recently than that. I remember envisioning what would happen if I was in front of the judge and dramatically went into labor, or in the patty wagon on the long ride there. I was so afraid. I felt pain. Pain I did not remember, but yet I knew what was happening. So I started watching as the guards did their rounds… every 15 minutes. My contractions were 15 minutes apart. At 12:45, I gave in, while a C.O was rounding, I stood at my cell door’s tiny window waiting. When the flashlight hit my eyes, I said… ” ‘I’m in labor” , he replied, ” Are you pregnant?”, than, ” Are you sure its labor?”.

I spent 6 months in prison, pregnant. It was not my first rodeo BUT pregnant?? I went in February 23rd, and on April 20th, I was told I was pregnant. So that was fun.

After wrapping up those 6 months, I was released directly from there July 1, was out and happy , with a DCF worker and PO up my butt, I was doing everything right, everything they told me to do, I did it and more. Including calling a number for a color, ( pink), which was called for 2 random urine’s a week, AA/NA meetings, working on putting my family back together,and Let me just say – WE WERE KICKING ASS!! Hell we were on the road to getting our family back., AND add a 3rd addition. I’d been sober for 10 months, called my color super late one day as I was laying in bed stuffing my face with caramel apples and breakfast sandwiches. We had no car, but borrowed one, I did my thing, went to walk away and BAM I fail the quick cup. I seriously thought my PO was JOKING because we were just talking about how AMAZING everything was going!!

The following days and weeks were HORRIFIC. I was losing my mind. How the FUCK could this happen? How the FUCK did I fail this one urine? I went to the hospital and gave a supervised urine in the ER, and another an hour later at the lab. I even offered a hair follicle test in which my PO said I’d have to wait at least 7 days. So i did JUST that!! 8 days later, I went and paid $85 for a full panel hair follicle test. The results didn’t come in until I was gone, but it was ONLY the quick cup I failed. Anyways, after being tortured,tormented, and followed, by my PO with police, DCF, & just trying to prove myself innocent, for 2 weeks, I am sent back to prison, after I did everything possible to prove my innocence.

Listen, I’ve been pregnant multiple times, and not ONCE did I EVER use drugs while pregnant. NEVER. However, at my Wednesday night meeting, the night before that power monster of a day ,(10/12), I had devoured 3 everything bagels , and had 1 on the ride to do my urine. BRO, I WAS 8.5 MONTHS PREGNANT and HUNGRYYY!!! NOW LISTEN!! I WOULD NEVER EVER HAVE THOUGHT THAT what happened would happen!! I have always called it a myth, ALWAYS called bullshit on it.
It was actually the lab tech that did my hair follicle test who offered this information to me. Poppy seeds. Yep mmmhmm I KNOW!!

My PO wouldn’t ever believe that, she didn’t. My counselor, my doctor and my pysche , all came up with that same answer, with no persuasion or even HINTS…… Poppy seeds. Food Grade levels can show up on lab tests, they are very VERY small numbers because the food has minute traces, a quick cup can pick up the food grade levels, HOWEVER, it can NOT decipher the actual level/ amount ingested.

TELL ME, how could that whole situation NOT HAVE fucked me up mentally??
How could it not have destroyed me and made me and angry, violent, mean person?

How am I not one big walking ball of HATRED?


Well, it did for a while, and I was for a bit. SO that was that.

Now, here I am today, with my family..
“Stronger than ever, Beating all the odds that have been against me. ” As I suppose they say. There are so many times I dwell on my past, and my present. I always wonder…

Yes, there was a time where I was a bit of a shitbag, & I was living a bad life… making bad choices.
Yes I made the decision to use solely on my own at 19– I chose the places I went to and the people I hung out with. I made the decisions that I made on my own. I promise though, I never knew they would lead me to where I’ve been, and what I’ve gone though.
I never knew I would become so addicted. I never knew that drugs would eventually destroy my life, yet leave me here to suffer.
A lot of my most important friends and relationships, are dead. I’ve said goodbye to FAR too many people I love.

So theres that story. I’m ready to tell it and I want it to be heard, and known about. So share it. Tell me your thoughts. Does my story sound familiar, or are you reading this is complete awe, because you thought this sort of thing only happens on Netflix, HBO, only on TV.
A lot of people may blame me, call me a terrible person, shame shame shame – but today,
I can let that shit roll right off my shoulders. You could not walk a mile in my shoes at my age, and I probably couldn’t walk a mile in yours either.

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