I was a wretch

I writhed in the driver seat of my car.  I kicked my legs straight and clenched my muscles trying to help them stretch.  The muscles itched.  My arm pits were wet, always.  The skin on my body was clammy.  It was everyday.  It was 70 degrees outside, but I had the heat all the way up.  I sat there shivering.  Writhing.  I pushed greasy hair out of my face.  I couldn’t take it.  I had done this too long.  Years.  It just kept getting worse.  I didn’t have anything left.  I couldn’t remember the last time I had gone home.  I couldn’t remember how many days it had been since I saw my daughter.  Had it been weeks?  I tried to push her out of my mind.  The guilt made it harder.  I couldn’t shake her face from my brain.  I whacked my head backwards, hard against the headrest.  Trying to shake the image of her away.  Trying to shake the guilt.  I kicked my legs again straight and clenched my muscles.  I did the same with my arms.  God they itched!  I reached down and pulled the lever and lowered the seat back so I was lying down.  I writhed around.  I circled my feet, then my hands, trying to make the itch go away.

I went limp and let out a cry of exasperation.  I couldn’t do it anymore.  I stared at the ceiling of my car.

Please.  Please God, help me.  I can’t do this anymore.  Please.  Just don’t let it be cops.

I couldn’t imagine kicking like this in jail.

Please, please help me.

I would cry if I could.

I believe this moment was my amazing grace.  I believe I surrendered at this moment.  A few weeks later I was hospitalized.  I was in the hospital for three months.  From there, I worked my way into the recovery community.

I’m now sober six years.