I am a grateful recovering addict, and my name is Jennifer. I was born in Knoxville, Tennessee, in 1969 and moved to Atlanta, Ga., when I was four years old. My earliest memories were ones of “being lost and different.” I can recall my first memory before we moved to Georgia, I was still a toddler, and I was staring out of my bedroom window, trying to figure out where I was and why strangers surrounded me. Once in Georgia, I was about five years old, and my cousin was poking fun at me one day. He kept telling me that I was not even supposed to be in our family. This statement caused me to question my mother about his words, and she decided to share with me that I was adopted. Today, it still amazes me that my cousins’ words were so powerfully hurtful, and they stuck with me for a lifetime. In those moments, my identity was formed. “The adopted kid that nobody loved.” I would spend decades wondering what was so wrong with me that my mother would throw me away. I always felt different in devastatingly negative ways and was always searching for a place to belong.
By age ten, I had begun searching for a way to escape the constant voices in my head that hated me. I started using forms of self-harm like burning myself and cutting. I can vividly recall the relief as my inner pain converted into outside pain. I would continue this pattern until I was fourteen and started using tattoos in place of my cutting. It is complicated to explain the sense of relief tattoos provided, but like all forms of self-medication, it was only temporary. Fourteen is the same age that I drank for the first time. I woke up to a few of my friends laughing at me and describing the night’s events. I had a blackout and almost drowned in a pool, so my friends had to come and pull me out. I remember none of it. I remember telling myself that I had better not drink that same type of liquor. Maybe a different kind would not affect me that way. My father was a pretty hardcore alcoholic, and I was terrified of ending up as bad as he was, so at the highly educated age of fourteen (yes, that is sarcasm), I began bartering with my disease and did not even realize it. I have had so many experiences with blackouts due to alcohol that I could not possibly count them. It seemed that if I drank, it was either to blackout or pass out, there was no in-between.
I was a pretty good student in school. I ran track and was a cheerleader, but my family moved school districts at age twelve, and this move would change everything for me as a child. I had no friends, and the kids that lived in my new environment were not serious about school, and they all were skipping class almost daily. Of course, I followed their lead to fit into my new surroundings. Within two years, I was drinking, smoking weed & cigarettes, and had my first sexual encounter with a boy that eighteen and ended up pregnant. I wanted that baby so badly. A baby seemed like my solution in my child’s mind, and my inability to cope with the abandonment. I mean, if I had a baby, it would never leave me and would love me forever, right? Unfortunately, my older boyfriend was physically abusive, and it took a toll on my child. On May 9, 1985, I gave birth to a still-born baby girl named Kassi Renee.
I was fifteen years old. I chose to use this loss as an excuse to quit school, and the use of harder drugs became a necessary evil to cope with the trauma I had experienced. It is important to note that this was in the ’80s, and psychedelics like LSD were popular back then. I used them A LOT! Just as alcohol, I found myself in blackout situations and would fear ending up “as bad as my father,” so after a few blackouts, I would quit. The ability to stop when I saw warning flags was a set-up, in a sense. I always felt that all drugs had this proverbial warning message that would allow me to avoid becoming addicted. It was such a lie.
In January 2002, more trauma would enter my life. My best friend of twelve years was found in her bed, deceased from an accidental drug overdose. Then six weeks later, my boss was murdered in the bar I had worked at for over a year. Within two weeks, the popular show America’s Most Wanted would be in our restaurant filming the tragic events that transpired that day. The man responsible for robbing our workplace and murdering our boss has never been caught. This event and an introduction to methamphetamine would be the catalyst that shook my world to its core. I began using methamphetamine daily, and within a year, I was trapped in the grips of a powerful addiction. There were no warning signs like I had always believed there would be. Before I knew it, I had collected thirteen felony drug charges. When I went to court in 2005, I weighed 72lbs and described myself as the walking dead. But, no matter how much prison time I was facing, I still could not stop using. I had a very lenient judge, and since it was my first time being in serious trouble, he sentenced me to a year in drug treatment, plus five years of county probation and some fines. I went to court that day high, and I left court that day to continue getting high. I could not believe that all these people could look me in the eyes and not notice I was dying. There was nothing powerful enough to save me. I was so broken and trapped that I had succumbed to the reality that I would die in the state I was in. Three months would pass before my probation officer would catch on that I was not in rehab, and he finally began reminding me, often, that I was not meeting the requirements of my sentence. He told me not to come to his office the following month, and I had better be in treatment. Of course, the next month came, and there I was still stuck in a death grip enforced by methamphetamine. When I missed my monthly probation check-in, I knew it was down to two options. 1) go on the run or 2) fight for my life. I understood clearly that there is not a man-made prison on this earth that could be worse than the addiction I was being held hostage in, it just was not possible, so I chose to try and fight for my life.
I made the call to my probation officer at 5 pm on a Friday (of course, I knew it would give me the weekend to spend high), and he told me to be in his office the following Monday at 9 am. I will remember that weekend for the rest of my life. I wish I could type out the words that would best describe the true nature of the fight I was up against, but words would not explain the true nature of fighting addiction. I can only say that it was like the “good” angel fighting the “bad” angel inside my head, and both were using my voice. I cannot tell you how I managed to get into my car that Monday morning and surrender my life to a probation officer that barely knew me. Like all the others, he could not see the death behind my eyes. He asked me how on earth I made it to his office that day, and I will never forget my response, “Mr. Neville, if I could answer that question, I would cure every addict in the world.” I have never meant anything more in my life than that statement. Of course, he had to lock me up, but honestly, I was so grateful. I knew that would be the only thing that could save me from myself and give me the few weeks I needed to muster up the strength to try and stop using.
I ended up in a facility in downtown Atlanta. I was so relieved to be alive. I went to groups five days a week and lived in an apartment with four other women trying to beat their addiction. I was introduced to Narcotics Anonymous (NA) and met a woman there that would sponsor me. I gave recovery everything I had for two solid years. I was entirely under the belief that there was nothing in this world that would ever make me intentionally choose to go back to using methamphetamine. Again, I was wrong. After two years of recovery, I began to slack off on my meetings and slowly started running around the same hangouts I used to before I started using meth. I started drinking, and eventually, someone was there at the right moment with a little baggie, and I was off to the races again. The difference was that a seed had been planted. I would spend the next eight years trying hard to control my drug use and, in my mind, was pretty successful, but I knew what I was missing. My life of freedom was gone. I was back in the prison that addiction provides. I truly began to pray to please let me get arrested because I knew it saved me once, and it was the only thing that could save me again. I got my wish, and in 2015 I found myself waiting on court dates for an additional five felony drug charges. I was so relieved. I felt in my heart that I was bound for prison, but I was determined to do it drug-free, and I was going back to NA. Prison did not scare me nearly as much as living dead and being held hostage in my mind and body.
I was sentenced to fourteen months in drug treatment and another five years of probation. Off to treatment, I went again. This time was different for me, though. I am entirely aware that I will intentionally use methamphetamine again. It will start by using substances my mind believes I can control, like alcohol, but it is all lies. I cannot use any mind-altering substances, or I will be trapped in the same misery. I have found a way to make my relapse worth something positive by learning from it and embracing it. I became submerged in the recovery process, soaking up all the information I could. The one thing I missed the first time was fully working steps the NA way and learning how to heal the five-year-old little girl that was told she was adopted. I had to figure out how to love that little girl, so she was not in pain anymore, and there was nothing that needed self-medicating. I must maintain my meeting attendance and stay close to women that are clean and are living this new way of life. I had to get a sponsor and work thoroughly through the 12-Steps. I am serious about saving my life this time and continue to do the things that have continuously kept me moving toward healing. I have an extensive network of women n my life today that are there for me daily. They encourage me and support me on my hard days. I sponsor women and help guide them through their recovery. I have women I trust today, and women trust me. I give back to Narcotics Anonymous through service work. I am on the Knoxville Area Convention Committee so we can host an NA convention in our home town and I also sponsor incarcerated women through Narcotics Anonymous World Service.
My desire to stay clean and as a direct result of working a rigorous program, the girl that quit school at fifteen is now a sophomore in college. I am working on a Bachelor’s in Science with a primary focus on addiction counseling. I have worked in the addiction field for over five years and am currently a recovery coach. I get to help women that are just beginning their recovery process.
The most rewarding part of my journey outside of self-love is the determination I have found within me to make my felonies valuable. One hardship I have discovered is that the tarnish of a felony can be extremely challenging to overcome. It is quite an eye-opener when you have to face the reality that felons are the only individuals whom it is legal to discriminate against in the entire country. It happens everywhere. This discrimination has given me fuel to fight even harder to overcome these obstacles, and I hope to help others knock down these barriers. Today, through years of perseverance, I have access to courtrooms and get to speak on behalf of the women I coach as they face some of the scariest moments of their lives. It is one of the most significant rewards of my journey. I get to spend every other Monday facilitating a group at our local parole and probation reporting center. Lastly, I have access to the Knox County Detention Center every Wednesday night, where I feel incredibly honored to take a Narcotics Anonymous meeting to the females wearing the same shoes I once filled. Through my lived misery and experience, I feel honored to walk into facilities today and share a story of true freedom. Freedom from addiction, but most importantly, freedom from self. I do not hate myself today, and I am grateful to identify as an addict who has not felt the need to use drugs since October 7, 2015. If this addict can get clean and find a new way of life, I know anyone can.