We were supposed to wean ourselves off those damn pills. We figured a week in advance was enough time to actually enjoy ourselves down there without being sick. Unfortunately, that never happened.
The addict in us kept saying that we’d do it tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll stop —just one more night. Well, tomorrow never came and the night never ended. We were leaving.
Uh-oh. How would Becca and I pull off opioid withdrawal in another country, in front of her mother and father (little brother too) who so kindly decided to invite me (and pay for) an all-inclusive family vacation to Aruba? I don’t know. The truth is, we wouldn’t pull anything off at all.
Here’s what went down.
It was winter break 2011. I managed to still have a few girlfriends. Make that one, Becca; however, this upcoming family trip was about to turn our friendship into something else and not in a good way. Brad, my boyfriend at the time and drug dealing partner —was also going on a family vacay.
His mom and dad (little sister too) were driving to New Orleans for an epic few days. He asked me to come with, but it just so happened to be the same week as the trip Becca invited me too. I remember trying to decide between my best friend and boyfriend. I could sit in a car for 10 hours with Brad and his family or go on an all-inclusive paid vacation to Aruba.
Unfortunately, I forgot to take into account that all of us were severely addicted to opiates.
Like if we didn’t have at least 60 milligrams by early to mid-morning, we’d be sick, severely sick. So we made it our goal to never make it past 9:00 a.m. without snorting something. Becca was one of our best customers who happened to be my best friend —like I said, back then, she was my only friend but I was more than OK with that.
If I can be honest, I’d say it was a mutually beneficial relationship that started after she needed something to cut the edge. When alcohol wasn’t enough, I remember her asking if anyone at this particular house party had any pills. We did. After someone pointed her in our direction, she and I connected almost immediately. She gives me the money, I give her the pills along with my number. I tell her to hit us up anytime.
She definitely took me up on that offer. And so our friendship began.
Becca had her own apartment and we were staying at Brad’s parent’s house (mostly because we were robbed at my place and I was too afraid to go back). And so, we’d make home deliveries to her condo and stay a little longer each time. Day by day, we got closer. Week by week, we became friends. She started inviting us over more and more and we’d always accept —cigarettes, bubble gum, and selfies.
Plus, we could openly snort whatever we wanted unlike the rules at Brad’s. Eventually, we became so comfortable with one another, her place was basically our second home. We also started spotting her pills. Meaning, if we were hanging out and she didn’t have any money but still wanted a little something, we’d give it to her anyway. She even let us sell to our other clients directly from her couch.
Since she’d always pay us back, it always worked out.
I thought it was the least we could do, considering.
I will say, during this time in my life, it felt like I had to be high in order to have fun. Since we were, in fact, high all the time, it was always fun —until there were no pills left; and when that happened, we didn’t account for how badly we’d hurt, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.
Becca: Hello, my friend. I know you will read this message tomorrow when you are bored at work lol… I’m mad fucked up right now. I wish you were fucked up with me hehe… All I can think about is the “all you can eat sushi” at the resort in the Caribbean we are going to… It’s gonna be super fresh cuz the ocean is right there. Sushi is one of my favorite foods and now I will have the opportunity to try new kinds I’ve never had before with my BFF.
Well, I hope you’re not too bored at work. Maybe someone really weird will come in and make things interesting.
Text me tomorrow loverrrr =]
Just like she said, I receive her message that following morning. I worked part-time as a receptionist for Vector Marketing —one of those pyramid scheme companies, I’m sure you’ve heard of. In short, you sell Cutco products (mainly kitchen knives) to customers, typically friends and family members, through one-on-one demonstrations. But they don’t tell you what you’re going to be selling until halfway through the freaking interview. I mean, knives? Yeah. That’s why.
I can say all of this —knowing first hand because I actually started off as one of those independent contractors. But after they told me I had to purchase a set of knives for $250 and then use that as a sales guide to show customers, customers that I’d have to find without any referrals or leads, I was hesitant to see how anyone made money.
I mean, I got the job to make a salary and now I had to spend more of it just to keep it? I don’t think so. No one I knew wanted these things but, of course, I made my mom, (the reason I was getting a job, to begin with; she was annoyed that she had to pay for all my stuff), purchase some of these products just so I’d look good in front of my new boss. I’m sorry, mom.
Half the kids usually ended up buying the knives —just like I did.
Then once they’d figure out no one wants this shit, they’d quit; just like I did —leaving him or her out $250 (me again) and the VM people with a hefty profit. Luckily, I found someone to buy that set off me for $275 —who’s profiting now? HAHA. So I tell my supervisor that I’m quitting because this is absurd.
He comes back and asks if I would be interested in a more administrative role since he saw something in me he didn’t want to let go. I’d be getting a base pay and didn’t have to worry about commissions. I needed extra money anyway so I end up saying yes. And now, I was the lady on the other end trying to convince as many people as humanly possible that this wasn’t, in fact, a scam. Life really is full circle.
Anyway, after the end of business that day, I go home to finish packing.
We were leaving in the morning and I wanted to spend as much time with Brad as I could. We had gotten pretty close —or was it co-dependent? Nevertheless, I hadn’t been without him for longer than a few hours. I just kept going back to that picture of Becca and I on the beach. So I thought it would all be worth it.
Brad and I talk about our plan for the impending withdrawal. We thought we could just wing it and we’d be OK. What were we thinking? Well, if you remember, I also used to get FOMO real bad. As a result, I tell Brad that if I couldn’t do pills on vacation, either could he. Technically, he could. I mean, he was driving to New Orleans so there wouldn’t be any security or someone combing through his shit (besides his mom) but he agreed. He said it would do some good to take a break anyway.
So now it’s almost time for bed. Brad wasn’t leaving until later the next day but I was off first thing in the morning. I had plans to stay at Becca’s parent’s house so that when we did leave, we’d all be together. Brad drives me over at around 10:00 p.m. I kiss him goodbye and walk inside as he drives away. He had previously given me the last 10 pills for Becca and I to split today and tomorrow.
We obviously snort some right away.
Then proceed to pass the fuck out. When our alarms go off the following morning, we wake up, get dressed, snort another one each and head downstairs for breakfast. Her mom, dad, and little brother were already at the table chomping down on some cereal. They had no idea just how bad off we were. In fact, they didn’t know we were addicts at all. We join when I announce how excited I am for our upcoming trip and how thankful I felt to be included.
They really liked me and I genuinely liked them back.
We chat a bit more before we finish getting ready prior to departing. We load up the taxi we’d be taking to the airport with all of our luggage. Luckily, I thought it would be a good idea to save a few for the actual plane ride. Thank God we did because flying first-class internationally isn’t as glamorous as it may seem.
Well, maybe for everyone else but not us. It was a 12-hour trip and our high was fading as we got closer. We didn’t feel sick at that point though. I’d say normal and normal wasn’t where we liked to be. Except, in a few hours, we would have done anything to still feel normal because that fucking withdrawal was about to kick in. Not yet though.
When we landed, we didn’t have to walk through that long tunnel —leading you to a gate where you then have to walk a little further to baggage claim, all of which is inside the airport. I say this because we actually landed outside and were led directly off the plane from right there instead. International airports are always a bit different from the ones in America.
Baggage claim came to us.
So we collect our shit quicker than I thought. OK. So far, so good, right? Keep reading. Next, we find a taxi out front and drive on over to our beautiful resort when I notice that there aren’t any stop lights. Apparently, I was right. It’s a thing. Traffic is actually regulated through the use of roundabouts without any lights. They also drive on the left side. Why? They never told me.
Anyway, we arrive at the hotel about 20 minutes later. We were greeted by their staff as soon as we pulled up. I was pleasantly surprised when I found out this nice local man was about to be our own personal butler for the entire week. We (Becca and I shared) all received our own —to do whatever we needed, which included things like making reservations, saving us lounge chairs at the beach, getting us drink or extra towels —the list goes on. We never got a real chance to use any of that.
The only thing we got out of him was a laugh when we tried to ask him where we could find drugs, but he wasn’t that type of guy.
Can You Say Epic Fail?
Honestly, I think he thought we were joking. We weren’t. Prior to that though, he did show us to our suite, which was beautiful by the way. They really went all out. It was basically a villa inside a hotel room. We had our own kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom and it even included a washer and dryer. But we didn’t care about any of that. We unpack and do our best to settle in. If we weren’t about to be so sick, it would have been one of the best vacations ever.
That evening, we end up having dinner with Becca’s family at one of the many restaurants directly on the resort’s property. I remember them all getting lobster. I remember wanting —so badly, to be into all this but the truth was, I was starting to come down. The drinking age is 18 over there so we thought by having a few drinks, we’d feel a little better. We thought alcohol would cut the edge.
We were too weak to go out, which her parents thought was weird. Live it up. Get crunk in the club. We’re on vacation, they’d say. We couldn’t do any of that. We stayed in our room for the rest of the night. Things were about to get bad real quick. I must have taken like 15 Advil PMs that night. I wanted to sleep and just get this day over with.
Except, I didn’t want to wake up either. I knew tomorrow would be worse than right now. But if I could just fall asleep and get a good night’s rest, maybe I’d feel a little better —not so much. Opiates tend to have short half-lives. Meaning, they leave the body quickly, though effects can last for several hours.
Many factors play a role in how long these pills stay in your system.
It’s all dependent upon how much of the drug you used as well as how you ingested it. Prescription opiates typically come in pill form. Taking a drug orally means that it has to pass through the digestive system first; so it can take around an hour for the high to begin.
On the other hand, substances like heroin or illicit painkillers are more often injected, smoked, or snorted. These methods create a much faster and more intense high, but they leave the body sooner. We were obviously snorting our pills (smoking them too) so as a result, that next morning, we were feeling like complete shit.
Needlesstosay, if we thought last night was bad, we were in for an even ruder awakening (literally).
Feeling weak and irritable, Becca’s mom comes in to open the blinds and says good morning. Clearly, she didn’t know just how sick we were. We wouldn’t be the happy go lucky beach babes that she most likely envisioned for us. She invites us for breakfast, but instead of joining her and the others, we decide that we actually wanted to go for a run. Then, we’d casually make our way to the beach for some sun, fun, and food.
Her mom was in complete agreement. She knew Becca was a runner and that I loved fitness. She thought we were so cute working out while on vacay. Little did she know, we were only doing this to see if it would induce an endorphin rush, which would maybe ease some of our withdrawal symptoms. We tried. Well, she did. After everyone left, I actually couldn’t muscle the energy or courage to make it out. If it was at all possible, I was starting to feel worse (and worse).
Sometime later, Becca finishes her jog and joins me in our room.
Instantly, she falls to the ground. Oddly enough, she found me laying upside down on the bed. I tell her I’m sitting like this so that the blood would rush to my head and maybe resemble a high. I don’t know why but it actually helped. I will say that this position and the shower were the only places I felt okay (a tad better). Hours went by and we still couldn’t get out of bed, but we couldn’t stay either.
It was a catch 22 and it would only get worse (and worse). Still stuck on the ground, now in the fetal position, Becca was feeling the same things I was. In short, we were puking what felt like every hour. Every inch of our bodies were covered in pain. We were in a state of total despair. The cravings consumed Becca and I. And the mental part of opioid withdrawal may be just as crippling as the physical.
I never felt so awful in my life.
I literally would have robbed anyone including myself at gunpoint just to get my hands on one stinging pill, but there were no pills available or at least we didn’t know where to get them. At the same time, I couldn’t move or even think about moving to do any of that.
Instead, I somehow make my way into the bathroom. I decided that I needed a shower. Then I hear Becca holler something from the other room (we were home alone) as she slowly inches into the bathroom. I tell her she can come in when she says, “Macey, I cannot feel like this for one more second. What the fuck are we going to do? I kind of want to go home.”
We seriously think for a few minutes as we start to devise a plan. I didn’t know this at the time but apparently, Becca had done this before on several family trips where she left before it was time to go. She battled with some mental health issues just like me (maybe that was why we got along so well).
I learned this later on from her dad how on numerous occasions, she’d arrive with her family. Let’s say, St. Thomas. Becca would enjoy herself for like a day then she’d get real bad anxiety —so much so, that she’d convince her family she needed to go home or something horrible would happen. Her family just wanted her to feel safe and happy so they’d usually call the airlines and arrange a way home for her.
Since this was a reoccurring thing, it was also the perfect excuse for us to leave.
Except, we literally just arrived in paradise less than 24 hours ago; so we had to sell it. I wish Becca luck as she goes to talk to her mom and dad. At this point, I had just gotten out of the shower and was putting some clothes on. I go back to my upside down position on the bed. Oh, and I prayed like hell they would let us go home. Becca tells her parents about her anxiety, drumming it up a bit.
She also said our flight home was on Friday the 13th and she refused to travel that day because something was telling her it wasn’t safe. If that wasn’t enough, unluckily for me, she kind of threw my relationship under the bus. She said that I was missing Brad so badly that I couldn’t stand another second without him. I let it go if it meant we could get the fuck out of here. Now Becca’s family really liked me. They thought I was a good influence on their daughter.
So they take everything she said into account and make their decision.
Whatever Becca Said, Worked.
At the time, I didn’t know what she ended up telling them. But I didn’t care. When I see her come back with a huge smile, I knew she had to have some type of good news. And guess what? She did. We were on the next flight out. I couldn’t believe it. I think it was because her parents were pretty wealthy —wealthy enough to take a hit and buy us each a new one-way ticket home, disregarding the one we already had.
I remember getting a second wind and packing. I remember finishing before Becca, anxiously waiting for her beside this one large window in our room. I sit down and stare at the gloomy palm trees that effortlessly swayed back and forth as I tried not to hurt. I start to envision the thrill of snorting a pill, an act I’ve come to love —that in itself was motivation enough to hold on a little longer.
Luckily, Becca’s mom had gotten us a car service; so all we had to do was wait. We walk to the lobby to sit outside in anticipation when Becca’s dad approaches us. I was a little nervous to talk or even see him, but I had no choice. I play it cool. Remember, Becca was the one with anxiety issues, not me. I explain how sorry I was for all of this. He understood. He actually asked if we could talk in private.
I thought I was in trouble.
“Macey, I just had to pull you aside and say thank you for being here for Becca. I’m not sure if she told you but this has happened a few times on a few other family trips and we thought by bringing you, it would change her attitude. I want you to know that we do not blame you for anything. You guys are welcome to stay at our house together until we get back next week. Make yourself at home.”
I thanked him as much as I could when our car arrives —saved by the bell. We hug goodbye and off we go. We had no idea that this trip home would be the worst of all time. At this point, we were feeling even more awful than before. How were we supposed to sit on a plan for 12 hours like this? We had no choice so we carry on despite our insides.
We arrive in Charlotte, North Carolina what felt like a day later.
Ugh and then we had to wait even more. We had a three-hour layover. I remember laying on the airport floor. I remember remembering that we had snorted pills on the surface of her laptop the day we left. So we thought we could get a little buzz from the residue on top. We didn’t. But we were desperate. Thankfully, I had cell reception again. Becca kept insisting that I needed to text my dealer so we could lock down a plan to pick up more pills once we landed.
So I do just that. My parents sent me $500, a week prior to cover all of this —like for travel expenses, which worked out perfectly since Becca’s family wouldn’t let me use any of it. They even gave her and I extra —just in case, her mom said. We were cash rich for a few days. So I text the supplier and explain our hellish situation. He said he was sorry. He also said that he’d set aside 30 pills just like I asked and to come on over whenever we got back.
Hours later, our plane finally arrives.
We were almost to the finish line.
We were so close yet so far. We end up buying some alcohol once we were on the plane. I had a fake ID and for whatever reason, we decide to use it. Screw it. Why not? I remember thinking —somehow it worked. We chug some wine then somewhere in the clouds, we fall asleep. We wake up when we hear the fasten seat belt alarm as we feel ourselves descending. Holy shit. We were that much closer. Luckily, we were able to avoid checking any luggage. We didn’t want to wait even longer at baggage claim.
So we fit whatever stuff we had into our two carry-on items. Our plan was to get off the plane as fast as possible. Becca’s family really went above and beyond. I say this because they also got us a car service for the way back (like right now). All we had to do was make it inside the airport and out the front door.
Well, the time comes and we do just that. Fuck. We’re even closer. We could almost taste it. While we’re on the way back, we explain to our driver that we actually had to pick up some homework from a friend. So we ask if he could make a stop before dropping us off at Becca’s parent’s house. He agrees. No problem, young ladies.
I couldn’t freaking believe it; we actually made it. We were here.
It was almost midnight by the time we arrive at my dealer, Dee’s house. He was actually a friend of mine —or used to be. Now our relationship was mostly business but I wasn’t complaining. Luckily, no one but Dee was home. We had dark circles under our eyes and looked like total shit. It didn’t matter though. We small real quick (like real quick), hand him the money and just like that he gives us our pills —all 30 of them.
We, of course, weren’t about to leave without snorting one or two. Who am I kidding, we did three that instant. Finally. OMG. Holy fucking shit. Instant relief. I remember that moment vividly. It makes me sick. I think I was shaking I wanted one so badly. I don’t think I ever wanted something so much. I give Becca hers then start breaking up mine. She did the same. I roll up a random dollar bill and fucking snort. Like I said, instant fucking relief. I finally felt okay. So did Becca.
Hell, we were more than OK. We were on top of the world again. “Fuck yes!” she happily blurts out.
We casually thank Dee and head for the door. Our driver was waiting and we were set. I still couldn’t believe we actually conquered this shit. One second we were in Aruba dying, stuck in a faraway land in so much pain. And now? Ugh. We were back home with our favorite pills and potions —it was such a false freedom though. We quickly get in the black on black Lincoln Town Car waiting for us.
I thank our driver a few more times for waiting as we pull out and go to her parent’s house a.k.a. our final destination. We were officially done. We decide to stay up all night to snort and smoke more pills —literally the second we stepped onto her property, it was a nonstop snort-vest. I mean, we had to make up for lost time. Well, because of this, Becca was already running low. Me? I was stocked.
I told her if she ran out, I’d spot her until her parents got home.
I felt like it was the least I could do considering her family paid for everything. Nothing could stop us now, I remember thinking. It wasn’t until the next morning that things took another turn. Per her family’s request AND the only condition of us being able to go home early, Becca had to attend therapy. She had to talk about why she left yet another family trip before its conclusion —because clearly, this isn’t normal behavior.
It’s now roughly 8:00 a.m. and I remember her gently taping me (I was still in bed), saying, “Sleep in and make yourself at home, Mace. I have that damn therapy appointment. I’ll be back a little later and we’ll hang out all day. Love you, lady.”
Keep in mind, last night, she bought six pills from me.
She bought them using the last of her parent’s money, the only money she had at the time. And since we had been to hell and back together, as well as a token of my appreciation for our friendship, I secretly gave her two extra for free. Anyway, a little later, Becca gets home. I suppose it was something said during her therapy session, but for whatever reason, she was now mad at me.
Somehow Everything Was My Fault?
And, I needed to get out like right now. I wasn’t welcome anymore. Sayyyy what? She literally left a few hours ago, telling me how much she loved me. It made no sense. I knew I wasn’t the best influence by any means but considering all that we had gone through and spoken about the last few days, I couldn’t understand why she was freaking out merely because I brought pills into her parent’s house. These were the same pills she wanted the night before.
These were the same pills she specifically asked for. Hell, these exact pills were the reason we left our trip, to begin with.
Her parents didn’t need to hire a therapist to figure out that one. Except, while she’s spewing this narcotic discrimination, she’s high on those exact fucking pills —those same disgusting pills I dared to bring into her parent’s house. The same ones she said she’d die over if she didn’t get them into her system. The same ones she fiend for with me. I didn’t get it. But, I wasn’t going to stay somewhere I wasn’t welcome.
I did have my own apartment so I figured I’d go there until Brad got home later that evening. I tell Becca that she was acting like a crazy bitch. But she just kept saying that the idea of having these gross pills in her family’s home disgusted her to no end. So there was no getting through. I was over it and she was in denial. Happily, I pack my stuff up. She offers to drive me home —what an awkward car ride. Oh well; her loss. I knew she’d come crawling back once she ran out of pills. There were other dealers in town but no one nice enough to spot her like us.
When I get home, I remember calling Brad telling him about this epic failure and everything in between.
I should have gone with him. Except, he had just of a shitty time as I did. He ended up bringing his guy best friend, who too was an addict. And so, like clockwork, they battled through some pretty awful withdrawal symptoms just like we did. They craved those same pills just like we did. Plus being without me for a few days didn’t help either.
We were in the same boat (literally). At least, he’d be home later that night. He called saying they were on their way. At the time, I was alone at my apartment scared AF so I was more than happy when he finally arrives.
He ended up making a few stops on his way to me. One of those being Dee’s place and a few customers who were just as happy he was back as I was. An hour or so later, I hear a knock at my door. He was here, officially. We kiss, hug —all of that. Then, we chill and get high all fucking night. We go to bed somewhere around three. When we wake up, I check my phone and he checks his. Between the two of us, we had 61 missed calls from Becca.
Called it, fucker.
The pills she hated so much yesterday had worn off and she needed more. Funny how she said, she was never going to talk to me again. Funny how she said she’d never ask for pills again either. I knew that was a lie even then —it still was now. I give the phone to Brad. He was dying to yell at her for making me feel like crap. We had the pills so we had the power.
“Becca, you are a piece of shit for talking to Macey like that. Now that you’re out, you call us asking for more yet yesterday Macey was the devil for bringing them into your house? You’re a hypocrite and a bitch. You still owe us money from two weeks ago so unless you intend on paying that debt, you are not welcome here.”
He was harsh, maybe too harsh but she needed a reality check —pick a lane, lady.
If you’re going to be an addict, be a fucking addict. If you want to stay clean, then stay clean. Don’t come at me for wanting to stay an addict. I grab the phone from Brad and tell her that she made me feel so dumb. I remember saying something like this.
“Dude words hurt and you made me feel like shit. You made it seem like everything was my idea and my fault, yet, you were the one making me call Dee as soon as I had cell service to lock down our exchange. You go to your session high as fuck and come home only to make it seem like I’m the bad guy. But now that you’re sober with nothing to snort, you come crawling back like nothing happened? I’m sorry but that’s not OK with me!”
Guess what she says back?
Nothing. Instead, she starts crying. Her withdrawals weren’t in full effect but it had been almost 18 hours so she was beginning to feel it coming on. I knew she couldn’t handle any of this without getting high. And if I can be honest, Brad and I needed all the money we could get so we weren’t going to make her suffer for much longer. We made our point. I get back on the line and tell her to get her cute self here and we can talk about it some more.
Like I said in the beginning, she was my best friend. So I made sure to end the conversation with her knowing that. I mean, I understood her hot and cold behavior because I recognize all too well the ins and outs of mental health disorders —like how they make you feel and behave. So yeah, our trip to Aruba didn’t go as planned. We didn’t read books on the beach or drink beer poolside.
We didn’t take Instagram worthy pictures (even though Insta didn’t even exist yet) or flirt with cute boys. We didn’t buy those awesome yellow sunglasses we saw in the lobby or wear our matching bathing suits we spent hours online shopping for. None of that happened. In fact, none of that even came close to happening. It was literally the opposite. But you know what?
When we thought we were literally going to die, we kept fighting. When we couldn’t hold on for another second, we didn’t stop. When everything hurt and nothing made sense, we simply put one foot in front of the other and walked a few more steps. That’s all any of us can do on this road we call life. Because it’s in those moments —when you think you can’t go on —that’s when you find an inner strength you never knew existed. I didn’t know how much I could actually handle until I had no other choice but to persevere.
And let me just say, I wouldn’t be the humble strong independent woman I am today without any of this. At the time, I didn’t understand, but as I’m sharing my story with you now, I see it all so clearly. Back then, remember —Becca was on her way to hang out after blowing up on me. I decided I was going to let it go. When she arrives, I greet her with an oversized hug.
Regardless of everything in-between, I loved her.
And so, we talk about how her actions and words negatively affected me. We talk even more. Brad puts in his two cents and ultimately, she apologizes. I end up apologizing too. I mean, I made a lot of mistakes back then. I’ll be the first to tell you that. I think it’s important to own your shit —good or bad. I think people will respect you for it. Honesty isn’t always pretty, but it’s real.
In short, we make up. I was more than pleased. She pays us back the money she owed and buys a few more. Then, she gets high. We snort some ourselves and all chill at my place for the rest of the day. This was our normal. And it felt more than OK to be back.
The year continues —same shit different day. It wasn’t until an intervention, detox, two rehabs, one halfway house, a few churches and several years of white knuckling that I finally got sober. Today, I have almost five years. It was a long and cold road. It was a confusing time. I mean, I knew the life I was choosing to live wasn’t OK. I knew this even then but I was in too deep.
Those pills I talked all about —well, they meant more to me than my own life. They were an instant death grip on my soul. That’s the easiest way to put it. I didn’t know which way was up. Everything I once appreciated slowly evaporated into thin air. I would have never been so callous. I wouldn’t have stayed that toxic. It’s just the lines of right and wrong were more than blurred. But eventually, I saw the light.
So —what’s the moral of this tale? What’s the final takeaway? I’ll leave you here with this.
If you hear the dogs, keep going. If you see the torches in the woods, keep going. If there’s shouting after you, keep going. Don’t ever stop. If you want a taste of freedom, just keep going.
*names and some details have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.