SICK

Small time drug deals and a passion for growing pot filled my world before I met Greg.  But the first time I got off a flight, strolled over to the baggage claim in my carefully chosen new outfit and picked up two brand new flowered suitcases filled with eighty pounds of Mexican swag pot, I felt like I had found my true calling in life.  The adrenaline rush of getting away with something big along with the money I would make was a new kind of high I’d never before experienced.  I was instantly addicted.  Making money organizing drug runs around the country was intense.  Greg and I were a money making duo like none other.  Life with Greg was exciting for a while but it wasn’t long before it became a cat and mouse game – then a complete nightmare.

Words like belittling and narcissistic were not in my vocabulary.  Later, learning these words helped me disconnect from the mental torture.  The tension would build as I protected him while he isolated me from friends and family.  Then there would be an incident of abuse which confused me.  At first it was lying, hurtful words and actions but quickly escalated to guns at my head, knives, and using my son to manipulate and control me.  The honeymoon phase would be another fabulous trip to Hawaii or resort hopping around the world.  I didn’t see the cycle or even understand abuse.  The drugs and alcohol allowed me to tolerate and numb the pain until my spirit dwindled down to a shadow of nothingness.  How could I escape the far reaching sabotage of any attempt at my freedom?  Could there be a way out?  Could I find a way to spare my son from this drug infested violent existence that would surely crush his soul?

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