I can’t tell my story without talking about my mother. My mother was my inspiration even though I did not know it back then. She was my support, my cheering section and my greatest enabler. When I was a child, she was the one who told me I was a winner and though most of my life I felt like the opposite of that, it was mother’s voice I heard when I needed to feel like I was worth something. So, I could not write a true account of my life without talking about the wind beneath my wings …my mother.

My earliest recollections were of how hard my mother worked. She was a nurse, in the 1960’s when black nurses were not treated much better than black maids, or paid much better either. Yet my mother was considered successful. Looking back, I think that was first experience with confusion. I say this because for all of her success, my mother, my mother never seemed happy. She was exhausted most of the time and seemed sad most of the time. But she went to work everyday no matter what. I saw her work when she was sick. I recall her working double shifts and all night shifts. When I asked her why she worked so hard she’d say, “you won’t get anywhere in this world unless you work hard, nobody will give you anything.”

By the time I was twelve, years old I had begun to experience feelings I could not understand. I had no ambition, I was sad all the time and most interestingly, I had no desire to work or do anything else for that matter.

One thing I did a lot of was day dream, I imagined I had a dad, (I hadn’t met mine at that time), what I was told was that my dad was a motorman and worked for NYC’s transit authority and that he was a hard worker. I was not told why he was not a part of my life and I didn’t ask any questions.

I had two aunts who were my caretakers while my mother worked. They were jealous of my mom because she chose to work instead of stay home marry and be a stay at home mom. My aunts were very mean to me, at the time I didn’t understand but today I know they wanted to be like her.

My first experience with drugs came after a bout with depression, (although I didn’t know it at the time). I was in my room crying uncontrollably and for no apparent reason. I got through it I did not tell my mother because it was silly and I did not understand what was wrong. This started to happen everyday. I thought I was crazy so I kept it to myself. I began to isolate I did not know what was happening to me. I started to smoke marijuana; it helped so I smoked it everyday. The problem was I couldn’t afford it. So I began hanging with the wrong crowd and doing things for money that were wrong. I didn’t care as long as I did not feel that someone was smothering me all the time.

This went on for years until the marijuana stopped working, I began using other drugs to find relief. My world as I knew it changed and would never be the same. Heroin turned me into a monster, I stopped caring about anything at all except getting more heroin and the more I got the more I needed. And the worst thing was the depression, the thing I tried so hard to get rid of was worst it would not go away now at all.

I tried to kill myself several times, but I guess I really didn’t want to kill myself or else I would have. At any rate, I got clean before I admitted to having mental illness and it was so hard. I isolated myself so I would not be around anyone using and with GOD’s help I managed to get clean. I met someone who helped me get help for my mental illness, I began to take medication and the rest is history. I now work at Community Access as Coordinator of Programs at the Howie The Harp Peer Advocacy Center. Everyday is not a great day but I don’t use and I utilize a program to stay sane and it is working. Work is my saving grace. I am somebody and most important I know it.

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