In the throws of active addiction, I hated the wretched wreck of a life I was leading! Believing myself to be a failure because my husband had abandoned me to become a sex slave to those whose lives don't matter, I would do my best to hide the fact that I desperately wanted to overdose and die from those who love me as well as those around me. I was so unsatisfied with my life that when I contemplated my dismal future I would cry. It was as though I was living my life on a plateau of dissatisfaction and self imposed misery that led to doubt of what any tomorrow could bring.
Then came the day where a new tomorrow arrived.
Waking up from what should have been a fatal overdose this past June 4th, I realized that I no longer loved my husband Ivan. And it was that that opened my eyes to just how many todays I had sacrificed wallowing over him in constant gloomful false premonitions of what another failed tomorrow would bring. Thus the only pleasure I could find was in the vice of ruination I'd refused to forego.
Then it was clear.
I was suddenly able to embrace the fact that it was finally time to get clean, even if it meant walking away from the very little that I owned rather than having it ripped from my hands. And when I did a shower of grace from on high gave me the strength to move forward.
It was as though I had been redeemed.
Now to be clear, I don't say that because I've regained all the belongings I forsook for the sake of sobriety. It's spiritual more than physical. And it's taught me to live in not only the day, but the very moment I exist in rather than pining over Ivan and the hopeless tomorrows that were once barren of even the slightest chance of happiness for me.
So when did my liberation occur?
Three weeks into being clean, I heard the words of Paul's letter to the Ephesians and was finally able to realize just how much I was dwelling on the pain of losing Ivan, as well as that which I'd put myself through in the unrelenting grips of Crystal Meth addiction.
And It's not like I wasn't aware of my obsessional behavior.
I'd spent my entire life romanticising the tragedies and what could have beens of defeat. Looking at my life through yesterday's lense, never taking tomorrow, or even today into account, the past was all there was for me, leaving me unable to forgive myself and move on.
But now I've finally learned to let go.
Hearing that sermon and realizing that I'd survived losing my father at the hand of his wife, as well as being in love with a man who only knew how to rain hatred down on me, then losing my husband Ivan to his perverse addiction along with losing my dog Sally pickles at his hand, the fact that I survived renewed my faith in Christ. And that taught me that through Him alone, I have the ability to survive anything life can throw at me.
I'd just refused to realize that He hadn't abandoned me.
Now I honestly believe that hearing that message one Sunday Morning gave me the faith God needed me to display so that He could pour His grace over me. And it was that that enabled me to finally stop sticking needles in my arms.
Therein, the seeds to a fruitful existence in Christ had been planted. But this is just the beginning.
In the end all that matters is that God is God. He is holy, eternally righteous and he lives inside of my heart. So what was I to do? Should I have gone on using that grace might continue to abound? And if I did, wouldn't that have rendered me guilty of the even greater sin of taking unfair advantage of the crucifixion?
I'd spent the better part of my life spitting at the face of God and failing at everything. So the answer was clear. It was time to bend my needles into plowshares. It was time to give up my sins and be baptized, as I was just last night.
But still, I'm not perfect!
As it's declared in recovery, we strive for spiritual growth rather than perfection. So there is no end whatsoever on the road I travel in sobriety. I must continue to gird myself up with the recovery meetings my church holds, and keep myself in an almost perpetual state of prayer, rather than becoming complacent, the route of relapse.
But that's only the spiritual part of it.
In the world, I have finally learned to no longer think of or even care about what happens to the likes of my old flame Phillip or my soon to be ex-husband Ivan. They just don't matter to me in even the slightest of ways. And that's not to imply that I despise or hate them either.
I just got tired of renting them space in my head!
All they ever wanted from me was money, never so much as caring about me other than worrying about their meal ticket being taken away. So to go on stressing over them was pointless. All it ever did was give me an excuse to go on using Crystal Meth.
And that's all I needed!
