"Free," by Jackie Joy

I got the message loud and clear.

Go to rehab or you’re fired.

That was twenty four years ago.

March 2001.

I stayed sober for exactly one month.

Kicking and screaming, I dove back down the rabbit hole.

Just a little weed.

Just a little alcohol.

Off to the races of 24/7 inebriation.

Until I got it.

I have alcoholism.

Bodily and mentally different.

Can’t metabolize it.

A mind consumed with controlling it.

A body allergic to it.

The second recovery began 7/17/2001 and lasted for well over a decade.

Then my drug of choice became pills.

Pills for pain.

Pills for anxiety.

Pills for depression.

Pills to sleep.

Then I started stealing my husband’s opioids.

Soon I was nodding off at my desk.

Nodding off in my living room.

Then the magic elixir.

Weed to to titrate off the pills.

Weed mixed with nicotine worked.

Until it didn’t.

Don’t let anyone tell you weed isn’t addictive.

I’m on my second, or is it my third weed recovery.

The night sweats.

The nightmares.

The erratic emotions.

The rage.

Today is 90 days.

Again.

Feels good to be free.

To be honest.

To really embrace being me.