Hi my names ashleigh I'm a 30 year old single mama to a beautiful 5 year old girl. I am a recovering drug addict who has battled against society, bullies and stigma since I was 13. I write to cope. I write to share hope. I try to be for someone what i wish someone had been to me- and all that matters is that hopefully something I write will make even 1 person realize they are not alone. So- here's my first share, on my addiction.
It's the taste of decay that just hangs from your lips, and the label warning death you won't find on your scripts. It’s the life you uprooted when you chose to get high; its forgetting you’ll fall because drugs have you convinced you can fly. It’s the sun, it’s the stars, it’s the thin crescent moon, its that sticky tarred substance left burnt on your spoon. It’s a desperate escape, a long road walked alone- it’s a clear little baggie that’s been stamped “Al Capone.” It’s the feeling of warmth that rushes your veins; it’s that deep altered state you feel eases your pain. Its whiskey breath- Its your dealer speed dialed. Its thinking you’re okay as you’re getting killed by denial. It’s a horrid existence-its gruesome at best; a masquerade of torture in which you're now obsessed. It’s a somber old photo that you’ve rolled into a blunt, its “chasing the dragon”-its winning the hunt. It’s the voice you can’t hear, that you thought never mattered- it’s the mirror of life in which you have shattered. Its never enough and you’ll always need more; it’s a causality of life laying dead on the floor. It’s the high of your life- sending chills through your bones- its that pretty glass house at which you keep casting stones. It’s a broken down palace, our bodies so battered-it’s the blood on the walls where our brains have been splattered. It’s the devil in mourning- he’s a brute and a fiend-and the angel’s left crying cause she could not intervene. It’s a dead-bolted casket, an air deprived crypt; a damp murky tomb the reaper holds in his grip. It’s the trigger you finger, it’s the tracks lining your skin. It’s the rip tide that drowns you as it sinks you with sin. It’s the poet with rhythm who loves dropping rhymes; it’s the man in a suit behind bars doing time. It’s the screams—it’s the darkness—is this where it begins? Where it ends? Was that first shot of dope worth the life it’s condemned? Its why you're divorced- why your kids won’t come back. How unfair for them to see their mom booting smack. Its a girl interrupted, a mind gone insane- had you never been taught that drugs fry your brain? Its days running through nights, its life fading—gone black; it’s the hands of time you can never turn back. It’s the fire inside you- it’s the truth heard in your lies; you think they've been fooled, but they can see through your disguise. Don’t try to glamorize it- get the facts- keep it real- take time to acknowledge all the things drugs will steal. So, before that first hit, that first bump, that first slam.....remember addiction's that bitch who does NOT give a damn.
-Ashleigh Campora
-Ashleigh Campora
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