When I read this article by Stanice Anderson in the Huffington Post, I became breathless! What a testimony of God’s love and healing powers! Be Encouraged Today!
You know that saying “God helps people who help themselves?” Back on a miserably hot August-in-Washington, D.C. day, I was not trying to help myself. I was locked inside my office on a Sunday, pulling heroin out of a fanny pack.
The truth? I was so sick and tired of myself and my inability to fix my life. I would do anything but deal with my life; so it was not unusual that I went to work by myself on a Sunday knowing that no one else would be there. Before beginning the day’s tasks, I pulled out my freshly stolen stash.
Heroin is what quelled the emotional pain of resentments, piercing memories of rape, abuse and other dark secrets that festered within me. Though, I only meant to wet my feet — it pulled me in — the waters of addiction run deep. I had long since abandoned my son to his paternal grandmother. My hopes of ever becoming a good mother were lost. I squandered my dreams of writing. Belief in God? Gone. Any semblance of self-respect? Also non-existent. All that was left was the job that anchored me to any type of social acceptability.
As I cooked the heroin up in the bottle top, I noticed it was pale yellow in color. Perhaps, I had stolen from the wrong plastic bag. There were two. One was pure uncut and one “scrambled” or cut and ready for street sale. What does it matter, I thought, I’m sick of myself anyway. I tied my panty hose that I kept in my desk to use as a tourniquet, found a willing vein in my wrist, drew blood into the syringe, and slowly pumped in the heroin mixture. The usual warm rush flowed up from my feet and radiated up through my legs and then … everything faded to black.
Read: Church In Mississippi Church Refuses To Marry Black Couple
I felt and heard the sound of thuds on my chest. Sweat cascaded from my body in what felt like rivers. Spikes of light came into an unfocused view. I heard the shrill of a siren. I saw glimpses of trees and buildings in what seemed like warp speed. For a moment, there was a familiar face. I heard muffled voices of snatches of words that together made no sense to me.
“Pressure dropping … line … call … doctor … heroin … office … chest.” There were overhead florescent lights; a chill on my back, a pinging sound … a long shiny needle … “Ms. Anderson” … a scream.
I woke up in ICU.