June 24, 2010

Editorial

South Boston Online has written many editorials against the all-too-common abuse of drugs in South Boston.  However, nothing can match the eloquence of Susan Morrissey, a professional writer (The Patriot Ledger, Women’s Wear Daily, The Brockton Enterprise), when she wrote about her own drug problems.  She called her essay “The Voices from Within”, which we are publishing with permission as our editorial this week:

THE VOICES FROM WITHIN

by Susan Morrissey

  It would start with little voices in my head – the ones that told me all those lies, some big ones, some little, and a few in between.  The ones that told me I could have that one bottle of narcotic cough syrup, I could have that one Valium or one little Percocet.  “Who would I be hurting anyway?”, the voices in my head would tell me.

  The voices told me that this time would be different, everything would be different.  Just one – just this one time.  These are the same voices that kill thousands of teenagers and adults, both rich and poor, each and every year.

  For myself, they cost me the loss of my marriage, my home, my child, and ultimately my freedom.  They took away my dignity, self-respect, and confidence, causing me to be an erratic and irresponsible adult.  They wiped away my dreams, my hopes, and finally, my aspirations.

  Because when they arrived, sometimes deafening and unruly and not easily ignored, I would try not to listen.  But, they would still come so unrelentingly … when I was cleaning the house, driving my car, or even dressing my child in the morning.  I’d hear them at various places … the market, in a restaurant having a nice dinner, even at a movie theater, or while having an annoying conversation with my parents.

  I would think about how this time I could have just one … sure, just one!  And then the cycle would begin again … because relapses start that way when you’re an addict.  It starts in the mind and then activates the body to that one pill, that one drink, or that one snort of cocaine.

  And so off to a doctor I would go, a different one each time, of course.  And I would tell him or her a tall tale – I pulled a muscle in my back, I had social paranoid phobias, persistent migraine headaches, and chronic bronchitis.  And nine times out of ten, I would get that prescription and off I would go into my own little world.

  It was wonderful in the beginning.  The edge was gone and I was in control again … that wonderful rush, that welcome feeling, would come over me and looking back, I would have sold my soul to the devil for that feeling at the time.

  Then I would decide to stop for awhile, briefly.  I’d stop, start, fall apart, get clean again, and then fall apart all over again.  This was my life – a series of detoxes, attempted half-measures, and relapses all over again.

  Before this addiction took hold of me, I had tried to achieve all my life, whether it was in the pool as a competitive swimmer or, later in college and in my post-graduate education.  Sure, I could swim miles upon miles, study until sunrise, and ace a test, yet I couldn’t get clean.

  At times, I looked fine on the outside and at other times I didn’t.  I would stroll my toddler outside my condominium and talk to other moms, and I would wonder if they knew.  Do they know I’m an addict, I pondered?

  There were times when my daughter was a baby and a toddler and I would sneak into her room at night just to watch her sleep.  “What is wrong with me?”, I would say.  I would lightly touch her soft, flaxen hair and precious face, which was flushed from the warmth of the covers.  And I’d close my eyes to try and hold back the tears and screams.  I would thank God I had not hurt her in some way that day. 

  I swore that I would change.  But when the next day came, there I was back doing the very same thing!

  Then the proverbial crap hit the fan:  I was arrested for prescription drug forgery, placed on probation, and ultimately, sentenced to prison. 

  While in prison, I thought a lot about this addiction, when it came about, and how I could rid myself of it and leave this life of hell in the lurch.  I became willing.  I became open-minded.  I became desperate.  I would do anything not to get myself in this boat again.  This is Hell on Earth, I thought.

  And so, upon my release, I went to AA.  I did 120 meetings in 90 days, went to counseling, asked for help, told the truth, and got honest with myself and those around me.  I also delved back into my writing field, a profession that had given me a great deal of personal satisfaction.

  I guess the hard work paid off because I am now going into my second year of recovery from prescription drug abuse.  But the voices will always be there – that’s my reality as an addicted person.  They never really go away, but I can control and recognize them now.

  Sobriety is as fragile as it is glorious, because addiction will rob you of everything dear to you in your life.  It is the only disease known to man that tells you – those little voices again – that you don’t really have an affliction.  For the first time in years, I feel like I have come out of the darkness into the rays of light.

  As you can see from her essay, Sue truly valued sobriety, but tragically, she didn’t make it.  She had been at St. Francis House for a year, but after 25 years of taking prescription pills, her body was worn out.  Susan Morrissey died on January 3 of this year. 

  At her memorial service in St. Francis House, the petitions mentioned her exuberant life and talents; the family, friends, and her daughter whom she left behind; and the support she gave to St. Francis House.  The candles lit during Sue’s remembrance ceremony symbolized her roles as a daughter, sister, niece, mother, companion, dear friend and neighbor.  And now she’s gone forever.

  There was heart-rending sadness at Sue’s passing.  But there’s an even harsher, bleaker side to the universe of substance abuse – that unholy trinity of pills, drugs, and booze. 

  Capt. Richard Evans, who commands South Boston’s Police Station 6, states that almost all crime in South Boston is drug-related.  He is focusing police efforts accordingly.  You have heard of the situation along our border with Mexico, where drug trafficking has led to a virtual outbreak of war.  In Afghanistan, the opium poppy crop is financing the Taliban.  The few dollars paid for a dose of heroin in South Boston may buy the bullet that kills an American soldier from here, who could be your friend, your classmate, your cousin, or even your older brother.  How uncool is that?

  Don’t even think about going to that universe.  It’s so, so hard to get clean again.

Email us your thoughts at: Mail@SouthBostonOnline.com