Words form the threads upon which we string our experiences…..
-Aldous Huxley.
Tomorrow, will be two years to the date of when I had to surrender myself to the police to be arrested. I didn’t want to be arrested but was willing to do whatever was necessary in order to begin taking accountability for the destructive nature of my behaviors when I was actively using drugs.
I was fingerprinted.
Photographed for a mugshot.
Handcuffed and shackled to another human.
Transported in a prisoner vehicle.
Locked into the bullpens of the courthouse to await my arraignment.
After several hours I was finally taken from the crowded jail cell to see the judge. As I was led into the courtroom, I remember the look of disappointment and sadness on the face of my parents as they watched in horror, the cumulative results of where my addiction had finally led me.
Several women stood as I did, lined up one by one against the wall, hands cuffed behind our backs, each waiting our turn to see the judge. After about 20 minutes or so my name was finally called and I was led up to stand before the judge by the court officer.
Two years later and this blip of a moment still stands out as if it just happened.I remember the handcuffs biting into my wrists.
I remember the walnut colored wood that adorned the courtroom.
I remember the worry on the face of my parents.
I remember how the judge never even glanced up from my paperwork.
I remember how I now was addressed, no longer by name, but as a docket number.
I remember my heart beating fast, hard and loud.
I remember the sweat that began to bead on my forehead.
I remember for the first time in my life I had lost my freedom of choice.
It wasn’t up to me if I would walk out of the courtroom that day or be shipped off to the county jail in Riverhead. My behaviors, my actions, the things I did, the life I lived; had all whittled away at the one thing I thought I could never lose.
The power to choose.
Day by day, moment by moment and step by step I had slowly given up my choice of freedom in one way, shape or form with each shot of heroin into my arm. I had become so lost in myself that I never saw the corner I was painting myself into. I had never seen the reality of the situation, I had never thought it could be me.
It was then I got clear….
Made my decision…
Knew what I wanted..
Knew what had to be done.
No flowery words, no drawn out descriptions…I got straight to the point.
I wanted my freedom back.
I didn’t get sent to jail that day and I was fortunate enough to never have to return to a jail cell . I bargained with the courts for close to two years, taking the responsibility for the crimes I had committed and in the end walked away with a disorderly conduct charge as opposed to a felony.
A vivid lesson I have reflected upon as of recently as I yet again realize the struggles I have in attaining the life that I want is simply because I don’t get to the point.
I don’t get clear.
I don’t make decisions.
I don’t really know what I want.
I paint a picture of my life in a landscape of watercolors that bleed into one another, each color blurring into the other, one word describing the next. My desires losing intensity in a whirlwind of words, as I depicting every scenario, color, emotion and event.
In my focus on the details of the bigger picture…I get lost in the swirls of the sunset, the glow of the sunrise, and the stars that glimmer in the dark of the night.
Now I step back…close my eyes…take a deep breath…and get to the point.
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