No More Chase Left

1. Flashback

I am doing my best not to scream out any obscenities right now, as I follow the blood quickly trickling down my finger and into the palm of my hand. There are two large thorns stuck in between my index finger and thumb. The word “Shit-balls” makes its way out of my mouth followed by, “welp, time for a break.”

I somehow make it over the 85 bags of top soil and 114 bags of mulch obstacle course to my car without further injury only to lean against the car door with both hands because I trip over a stone the size of Brussel Sprout. The obscenities fly out of my mouth now. Loudly! Tears rolling down my face, “I need to go the fuck home!” The anger radiating through my body, I don’t feel anything as I yank the thorns out then irately start the car and peel out of the driveway.

I pull into a gas station and look at the blood which is now covering most of my right arm, half the steering wheel cover and creating three bright red globs on my jeans. I grab baby wipes from the console and make an attempt at cleaning the mess. I look around, as if people give a shit what I’m doing, but “just in case, I better be secretive of this blood, don’t want anyone thinking I’m shooting dope in here”, because this is the normal thought process of an addict, even in recovery. It’s right at this moment, my anxiety spikes to a 97 out of 100. “Fuck! Why the fuck am I even still alive??”

I don’t know what triggered it. Maybe it was the blood. Maybe it was the song playing on the radio. Maybe it was that specific gas station in that specific town. Maybe it was seeing my ex husband pull up at the pump directly across me with some woman who is NOT his current girlfriend. Maybe it was all of these working together to trigger one hell of a flashback and another thought I’ll later regret.

I blink and I’m in the flashback. “Don’t do that shit right here, there’s cam-e-ras. Seriously?!? We were supposed to split that, what the fuck? Now I’m gonna be sick and I got that money for us! Selfish motha-“. “MAGGIE! SHUT UP BITCH!” as my ex throws a half G in my lap and cocks his fist back to hit me after he pulls the needle out of his arm. I pull off to the side where cameras can’t see and grab my needle m, soda cap and shoestring from my bra. Prep up, tie off and BAM! I don’t even remember why I was mad at him or why the side of my jaw hurts. I pull the rig out too quick and forgot to untie the shoestring from my arm so blood pushes out of my skin and runs down the top of my hand into the crease of my arm. “MAGGIE! MAGGIE! FUCKING BITCH! MAGGIE!” I lift my head slowly off the steering wheel hearing my ex husbands monsterous voice. I look out the drivers side window and see the cashier staring at me. “Next time, I’m gonna push you out of the car and leave your ass to fucking die. Do you understand? Move over here, I’m driving home.” I shake my head in agreement and slide over the console to the passenger seat. I close my eyes and pray they never open again. But my eyes do open and I’m no longer at the gas station. I’m lying on the floor of a trap house, (which several days later I walked out of with my hands held high in the air for the US Marshals with guns drawn to see) with my ex husband and two strangers staring down at me. I had been dead. I overdosed and died in that trap house. There were several people dragging my lifeless body out of a back door where they planned to roll me down the steep hill past their yard. Luckily, my ex husband walks in just in time to see what was happening and immediately began to throw punches. No one hits him back. They scattered and my body just “thumps” to the floor. My ex drops to his knees and begins chest compressions trying to keep his composure. “This time was close. You have tears in your eyes”, I whispered as I’m coming through. “I am done”, I mouth over and over to him, no sound coming out. I close my eyes again. And just like that, the flashback is over and I’m back in the moment.

I must’ve been sitting for a little while, the ex husband has pumped his gas and is gone, the music from the radio is now a commercial. The gas station looks brighter even though it’s in the same miserable town. I realize I have tears on my cheeks and I’m regretting the questions I’ve asked earlier. I grab my phone to check the time and the date catches my eye first, May 3rd, it’s my dads birthday. “When am I going to be able handle all of this pain? I’m living right. I’m clean! Please!” As quickly as it came, the anxiety is gone. The negativity I carried with me from the job is gone. My have an overwhelming feeling of peace because I am still alive.

I have days like this. I have some days where heroin consumes my thoughts and emotions and it takes everything I have just to get out of bed. I have other days where I am able to forget what heroin even is. I know I need be grateful for both. I do not want to forget the bad things in my life because without them I would not be able to recognize the good. There is always good in bad and bad in good.

My Yin/Yang, the day I died is the day that saved my life.

I never touched heroin after that day. There’s no more chase left in me for that. Actually, I won’t chase anything anymore. Whatever God puts in my path is what’s meant to be. If I have to chase something, it doesn’t want to or shouldn’t be caught.