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Letters from Crystal Meth Users

  • Feb

    Proud to Be Called Mommy

    I'm almost 25 years old and my boys will be 6 and 2 in August. I was so in love with this man that I ignored the fact that I had a son and went out partying with this guy every day. I lost my job and everyone I loved who tried to warn me. A month after we were together we found out I was pregnant. Well, when I told him I could not go through with an abortion he freaked out and said he wasn't ready for this and I should've believed him and walked away then, but I didn't. I stayed with him trying to convince myself that eventually he would come around, and he did, for a while.

    We moved into our own place and my son had his own room and they would go fishing and spend time bonding, but what I didn't want to see was the emotional abuse that was taking place. He would come home at three a.m. and wake us up “schitzing out” standing by the windows. By the time I was seven months pregnant, I had lost my job and he changed the locks and told me to leave.

    Heartbroken and depressed, I had to move into a hotel with my mother. When I went into labor he actually showed up. He held his brand new son and called his friends to tell them that maybe this could be his own flesh and blood. About a month later we took a paternity test and proved to him that, indeed, he did have a child. He had quit smoking pot and doing coke and was only smoking ice. We would get a hotel room and get high, with our son in the room, and I would go home no sleep and irritable. That was only on the weekends.

    I finally got my own apartment and he slowly moved his things in and the ice was never ending. Every once in a while when I hadn't slept for days I would get very depressed and want to quit doing that and become normal like I once was. The cravings would make me crazy and he would tell me just to smoke a little bit so I'll feel better. It seemed like I was lost with no hope. My older son told me he didn't want me anymore and went to stay with my mother, so it was just the two of us with a one-year-old baby that spent most of his time watching movies and playing by himself. The only time I left the house was to go get groceries and diapers and I would rush back home for another hit. I knew I didn't want to live like that but he made me believe that I couldn't do anything about it. Even when he would hold me down and tell me "if I don't fight him, it won't hurt", I would just cry that's all I could do.

    I spent five months fighting this hopeless battle of never sleeping, eating, or being out in public. One day my sister decided to come in town for a visit and when she saw me she started crying and said I look like I was dead. I was very pale and had gone down to 90 lbs. and I had scabs all over my body from picking at my skin thinking I had some kind of bugs crawling on me. Thank God, she decided to stay with me and get him away. She had no idea what was really going on and why I looked like this. I didn't know how to tell her I was poisoning my body purposely. My moods swings and temper kept getting worse and she finally had enough and got in my face yelling about how I have become so cold-hearted and crazy.

    It happened I found a place to go for treatment and gave her the phone number and let it all out. What a relief that was I spent two weeks in a treatment center without seeing anybody I knew and learning about what I was doing to myself. I was finding a person I never knew existed sober and happy. My mother and sister got a place with us so I could work and go back to school to become someone that my boys can be proud to call "mommy." It was a long hard road, but I have come so far and I don't ever want to go back. I love to come home from work and have two little boys running to hug me That's what life should be all about, not the nightmare I was living before. It takes a lot of strength to want to walk away and if I can do it I believe anyone can.

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