February is what I call "recovery month" because it contains my clean time anniversary. It is always a time when I do alot of reflection.
The last day I used, February 26, 1998. I was "living" in the Hotel Kinney with rats, roaches, and other creatures of the night. I was completely emaciated. for the first time in years, I was alone. I didn't have a boyfriend. I had gotten to the point where I was using to exist because I couldn't call it anything else. I had no veins left. I was shooting up in the soles of my feet. I had tried methadone unsuccessfully because I couldn't stop using while I was on it. My habit was out of control. I was using speed heroin and cocaine in the same syringe. I remember it used to make me feel normal, almost like I do now, for a few minutes then came the depression and sickness. I could barely walk from all the needle pricks.
I knew the police were looking for me. I had a suitcase packed in my closet so I would be ready the day they arrested me. I was hoping I would finally get out of jail with my own clothes. When the police came to the door just after midnight, I had been drinking, smoking crack and using heroin. I am not sure why I opened the door but in hind sight I'm glad that I changed my future with one turn of a knob. When I saw it was the police, I told them "all the dope is mine" so they would let my friend go. When they put me in handcuffs, I never asked to bring my suitcase from the closet. I consciously thought "I never want to come back to this place, to this life". And I never have.