That Winter of Discontent
The purity of the fresh, white snow blanketing Cleveland belied the desperation of my own situation. Looking out of a window in the abandoned, condemned building I had been calling home for the past few months, I could feel the bitter, biting wind from the outdoors cutting through the faulty windows in the rickety apartment—I heard the eerie whistling sound the wind made as it forced its way in through the cracks. I pulled the scratchy but warm wool blanket closer around me, wondering what I was going to do for the day. A sigh settled over me—I knew what I’d be doing—I’d been doing the same thing every day since I’d run out of money.
Michael had been gone for almost a year—and I’d long since gone through all the cash I’d been able to muster from selling his guns, the pieces of his custom-made Harley Davidson—a bike he’d been so proud of—as well as everything else worth five dollars or more. Then there was nothing more to sell and desperate times counted for desperate measures. Therefore, the past several months, I found myself walking the streets—the desperate ’ho stroll of a depressed area of Cleveland—something I once thought I’d never do. Years earlier, peering haughtily out the windows of the New York City taxicabs that took me to the upscale hotels and apartment buildings of the city, customers paid a minimum of three hundred dollars for an outcall for my services. Those days were long gone.
These days, I jumped into cars without even caring what fate the ride might bring me—I knew it was dangerous but I really didn’t care. Each day, I played chicken with life—daring God to take me out of my fucking misery—please.
The lessons of the street were harsh; a few weeks previously, I’d stupidly gotten into a van with three men. They’d paid me a paltry 30.00 each and after I finished with them, one punched me in the eye, while another kicked me in the ribs and took the money they’d paid me. Then they’d shoved me out of the moving van, where I fell in the middle of the street—barely escaping impact with an oncoming car, whose driver had seen me just in the nick of time. The driver swerved out of the way but he didn’t stop to see if I was okay. He didn’t care—and those days, it seemed no one did. The next day, I was back on the street where another customer—nicer than the last ones—who looked at me without much interest, asking “Who dotted your eye?” although he didn’t wait to hear my answer. What did it matter? It was just another harsh street lesson: don’t ever get into a car with more than one man. I never did again but it didn’t stop the daily cruelties of the street customers.
I barely resembled the exotic beauty I once was. My skin was dry and cracked—the ravages of heroin and cocaine left their marks on my face. My teeth were the most telling of my addiction and subsequent debilitating health. Once blessed with unusually white, straight teeth for never having worn braces, I now was missing a couple of teeth and the rest were chipped, outright broken, and stained. These days, I rarely smiled—partly for embarrassment of the teeth that screamed out for attention but mostly because there just wasn’t anything to smile in those days.
I searched my coat pockets and pocketbook and came up with a dismal 1.25—not even enough for a pack of cigarettes. Searching the ashtray, I emptied several cigarette butts, then rolled up the used tobacco with a Zigzag rolling paper. After blowing on the makeshift cigarette to get it to dry more quickly, I placed it between my lips, scraped a kitchen match against the heel of my boot, and took a deep drag on the butt. It tasted like shit—but it was better than smoking nothing.
After finishing my cigarette, I grabbed a bowl still left from the last tenants of the house—which had to be some time ago, judging from the condition of the house. I braced myself before walking outside to face the bitter cold. I scooped up a few handfuls of snow and placed it in the bowl so I could wash my face. It wasn’t that much warmer inside than out—but it was safer than being on the street.
Each night, I would escape to this abandoned building and fall exhausted under the deep pile of blankets and wool coats, shivering until the morning rescued me from the dangers of the night streets. Then another day, one devoid of any hope or promise would greet me as I wondered what the hell had gone wrong with all my dreams. They’d become lost somewhere along the way—when the aspirations of a seventeen year old became trampled by drugs and hopelessness.
Rolling up another cigarette made up of rescued butts, I had yet another moment of clarity as I wondered how to escape the hell that had become my life. How in God’s name could I get into treatment? I didn’t have a clue.
It is that time of year, folks—as the weather is getting colder, that I start remembering those last dismal months before I was lucky to get into treatment. I also remember how hard it was to get into treatment—and it still is today. We need more free and available treatment centers—which will save others the suffering that I had to go through.
Peace,
Melinda
Played: 517 | Download | Duration: 00:05:45
Categories: Addiction,Personal Stories,Cocaine,Prostitution,Heroin,Lost Dreams,Treatment,Drugs
Tags: treatment crack addiction prostitution lost dreams working the street cocaine drugs heroin homelessness
Ciao Melinda! Oh wow. I could feel and imagine all the emotions in this post. I love the flowing of the sentences and the way you choose your words...it's all just perfect. And still it's kind of unrealistic that you truly lived this life. I know, I know, I've said this many times before ^_^. But I can't tell you that I won't say it anymore haha.
But really Melinda, I truly respect and admire you for all you've done ^_^. And I do think that your story and your book and your experiences can help so many others! You found positivity again, you regained your life back. Nothing is impossible! You just have to think, to know and to feel that it is possible!
Thanks again for sharing!!
Take care!!
*hugs*
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Hi TJ--thank you so much for stopping by!
It took me a long time to be at a place where I was ready to share my story--and for some years, I wasn't sure that I would share it at all because of fear of what others might think of me. But the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that it was important for people like me--those who are 'success stories' to share their stories so that people will understand the importance of treatment--that treatment does work.
I really appreciate all your good thoughts, TJ!
Melinda
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Hello hello! Just a quick note from me ^_^
I made a post today about my fave blogs and of course I included you!!And this comes with two awards. Usually people give out just one award...I just don't follow the rules.
You don't have to do anything with the awards though, I just thought I tell you. Not that you will discover it and think 'Why didn't she tell me?!?!' haha.
Hope all is well and that you have a lovely Sunday!
Ciao!
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Wow, TJ--thank you so much! You just made my day!
Melinda
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It never ceases to amaze me that people who believe themselves to be civilized and compassionate will support building more, bigger and better prisons and send people to them as often as they "need" to be sent there, will not even consider funding and building treatment centres and sending those needing treatment as often as *they* need it.
Imagine how many people living behind those bars might be free and productive members of the society if some of that money had been spent on treatment centres instead of prisons?
As a people we are not, I think, as civilized as we would like to believe we are.
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So true, SV! And what's even more incredible is that it is absolutely true that not only is treatment more effective than simply incarcerating drug addicts--it even costs less. This is the biggest reason I decided to go forward with my story--to try to raise that awareness.
Treatment does work if it is done in a manner that is comprehensive and of enough length to really support change in a person. I was in treatment for six months and I needed every minute of that time. But when I left, I was ready to be successful and productive in the world.
Thanks so much, as always, for stopping by!
Melinda
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You're a miracle. An absolute miracle. You are a testimony to the supernatural that is possible for us all. Keep writing. I think you have many unknown fans.
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Awww--thank you so much, Jen!
Melinda
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Like SweetViolet I'm amazed at the short-sightedness of the general populace and the politicians. Building more prisons is not the answer to the drug addiction problem. We all ought to be aware that incarceration is expensive and not effective and drug treatment programs are. We ought to be prepared to do everything we can as individuals and collectively to encourage the rehabilitation of drug addicts. So how do we get there from here?
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Hi Timethief!
You ask a great quesiton!
"So how do we get there from here?"
What it will take is for people like me to lobby for more treatment centers and for pressing politicians to "sentence" drug abusers to comprehensive treatment rather than simply locking them up--which does nothing to deter drug use. There have been some excellent research studies done on this very issue--is treatment more effective at stopping recidivism than incarceration? Virtually every research study that I have read indicates that this is true. But the problem is that the general public still views addiction as a criminal concern rather than the health issue that it really is.
The bottom line is that we need to educate the general public--and I believe it is through people like me that this will be done!
Thanks so much for stopping by--and for your always thoughtful comments!
Melinda
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Melinda, While, I think transforming of your past experiences into amazing posts is not a problem for a talented writer like you. But at the same time I understand that recalling the memories full of pain must have been difficult for you.
Melinda, I am saying this because reading this post makes me feel your pain as if I was a witness of your being shoved out of that moving van. It's winter here in Lahore as well, a good time to go deep in your writings.
Melinda, you have shared your pain, for others to learn that:
Never ever come close to heroin addiction and never go in the streets and "the up scale hotels" wich teach harsh lessons.
We can also learn from "That Winter of Discontent" that if an heroin addict street girl can become Melinda Roberts Tyler, a great psycholgist, a great writer, other addicts, isolated, worried people can also become useful living citizens of our societies. They just need courage, attention of a few kind hearted people and I believe with God's help with them nothing is imposible.
Melinda, Thank you very much for taking your time of writing this story in an inspiring way.
Surely, There is a Great Lesson in it.
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Dear Ibn Hanif,
I am sorry that I made you feel such pain. The reason why I write so frankly and honestly about such painful experiences is that I want people to understand the extent of suffering that addiction brings on. I don't think many people really do understand how terrible it is to be trapped into such a horrible existence.
Most people consider heroin addicts criminals or deserving of their painful life--but most addicts (including myself) are people who are suffering from emotional pain from which they need to escape. If people understand that good people--decent and honest people --can be involved with drugs, then perhaps more people will be open to persuading our governments to provide available treatment to addicts. I hope to end others' suffering.
And yes, Ibn Hanif--I also want to prevent others from making the same grave mistakes that I made--so that they will never have to go experience any pain or have to go into treatment themselves.
If I can inspire people to know that change is possible --that as long as there is life, there IS hope--then that's all good too.
Take care, my friend--
Melinda
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Melinda-I cried when I read this. How cruelly the downtrodden and vulnerable are treated in this so-called human world of ours. I'm so glad you're out of the storm now, out of the cold, and have found warmth, happiness and protection.
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I am so glad too, NP--more glad that you can imagine.
I hope that my stories of pain and suffering can highlight the need for making treatment available to every addict who has that moment of clarity--as I did.
Melinda
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I had tears in my eyes as I read this post. I could almost feel your desperation. I do hope that treatment will become more and more available. I also hope that addiction/mental health treatments will continue to lose their negative stigmas. I know I have been absent from commenting but I have still been reading along.
Take care,
Jennifer
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Jennifer,
Although I am sorry that you felt so bad while reading this post (and others have made similar comments), I hope that some of my story will impact people in the same type of manner--to make them understand the true desperation that every addict feels when they have those moments of clarity. Addiction was a choice I made--but it was because of a complicated set of life's circumstances that drove me to want to mask every emotion I had.
Don't ever apologize, Jennifer--we all get busy--life happens. You and I are friends and we both know this. I should finally be returning to the Bay Area soon and I so hope we can find a time to have lunch or coffee.
Take care, my friend--and thank you, as always for coming by--and for your thoughtful comments.
Melinda
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Your candidness is truly heart-warming and gut-wrenching because of the nature of the subject matter. As you work through the emotional turmoil inside, you are simultaneously setting the soul free. Love and forgiveness are answers.
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Liara!
So nice to see you! As usual, your words are so full of wisdom and warmth. Thanks so much for stopping by!
Melinda
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Dear sweet sister: thank you so much for writing this. I am so gald that you found your way back from Hell, and I agree that people need to stop viewing addicts as beasts and start seeing addicts as sick people in need of treatment, not incarceration. The cruely in this world is so appalling. I am up late with the stomach flu and web surfing, so I decided to see what was up with you. As usual, you have soothed my spirit. This is a really hard time of year for me. I never realised that I was a survivor until I got into recovery 23 years ago...started drinking at 9 years of age and smoking dope and popping pills at 16...and life is not always easy, even in recovery...weird that mind-body connection...I can't decide if my body hurts because my spirit grieves or vice versa...anyway...it is grading time at the old ed. factory...and I have been reading essays and other student writing until my eyes roll backwards...I love my babies, but sometimes the work is taxing...not sure where I am going with this...anyway...thanks for your light and your beauty and your honesty, sweet sister.
XOXO
Trish
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Dear Tricia,
I am also very glad to have survived what I did.
Tricia, I do believe our minds and bodies are intricately connected so it makes sense that a person's body hurts when their psyche is hurt. We both know that all too well.
I have also learned that recovery is a process--and there are ups and downs with it, just as there are with any relationship. We can only hope that our good recovery days outnumber the bad.
Melinda
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It amazes me to think what we put up with when we are feeling so low. So weak and sad, that all the humiliations seem trivial. It just becomes what we do because what else do we do?
So many people are out there on the streets. I'd rather give them my money/some food etc any day than give it to some charity. Maybe its enabling them though? I don't know. I worry that charities don't reach all these people I see out on the streets however.
What are your thoughts Melinda?
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Hey Svasti,
It's a real dilemna--whether we are enabling or helping. What I try to do is to give people food, clothing--particularly in the winter--giving a person a warm coat is a wonderful thing to do. I also do give money--but not too much--because many of them DO use it for drugs and/or alcohol.
I find it very difficult to walk by a person who is asking for money--I almost always give a little, if I have it.
Nice to see you again, my friend!
Melinda
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