freefranky10371

Lights illuminate the darkness. Tree’s appear clothed in strobes of red and blue. Wind rushes around me through the open windows. I am a passenger on a hopeless journey. Opioid’s had taken me down many roads, none of them good. When the spike strips appeared followed by her desperate cry, “I can’t steer!” I knew this road would be the same.

The streets of America are littered with the broken dreams of people caught in the rip currents of addiction. The waters of our world are rewarding and unforgiving. The opportunities in the land of the free are beyond compare, but second chances are hard to come by.

Unimaginable pain floods my senses. I can’t move, its dark, I feel encased, trapped. Time seems to stop. Am I awake? There are no sounds. Why do I feel so cold? “Stop moving, stopmoving!” I hear banging, glass shattering, “can you hear me? Who’s with you? Who’s withyou!” I’m awake now crying out in pain. Jessie! Jessie’s with me! Help!

My second chance began in a burning car, in a ditch, upside down, smashed, broken anddying. From a hospital bed in 2003 until today I have faced many obstacles. The things in my lifethat fuelled my actions didn’t disappear like magic. I was still an addict who feared rejection. I was still a broken person. It would be some time before I could grasp it, but eventually I had arealization. It would become the spark that ignited an inferno that engulfed my life.

I remember experiencing a little pill that has changed our world, and completely affected my life forever. At the age of 19 I had two rules, no heroin, no needles. Living in a small Florida retirement community. I would never see these things. That stuff was in the big citieswhere the grimy TV addicts lurked in alleyways with their dirty needles. My knowledge of pillsconsisted of, if it’s a pain killer, take it, so I took it. Soon my life became consumed by anunquenchable thirst for these little pills. In time I would discover what they truly were. Theselittle Oxycotton pills were nothing more than heroin sold in pharmacies instead of alleyways.

For an hour I was going in and out of consciousness. I begged them to give me something for the pain, but they said I had to wait until we got to the hospital. Strapped to aboard, the distinctive sound of whirling helicopter blades, the cold air made me want to shiver Where’s Jessie? Where are they taking Jessie?

When I grabbed a needle and shot up Oxycotton it wasn’t because I wanted to have fun. Growing up I knew I would never shoot up drugs, because I was just a regular kid having a goodtime. I went to youth group, attended Boy Scout’s ; I even won an award for Most Outstanding at the Sherriff Departments Explorer summer camp. Never considering it could go from JUST having fun to JUST having to use. Never imagining, I could ever think ; a life without heroine= not worth living….

My story is a successful story thanks to a second chance. That may be hard to understand from the outside looking in, or from the perspective of someone who isn’t an addict. After all,I’m standing inside a prison today with a natural life sentence. That doesn’t sound very successfull. At least not until you consider the life of an addict is a perilous one. A second chance is never a sure thing. The other side of the coin is death. Jessie and I were both heroin addicts. On the morning of July 31st, 2003 we decided to get help. I would turn myself in and Jessie would go to the methadone clinic. I would go to jail and get my life in order, and one day it would be happily ever after. Before that though, we decided to get high one last time for old time’s sake. Waking up in the hospital after my first surgery my Mom and Dad were at my bedside In my heart I knew the answer before I asked the question. I looked at my Mom and asked where they had taken Jessie. She didn’t answer me. I looked at my Dad then and asked him. I think you already know was all he said. One last time for old time’s sake. Three weeks after her21st Birthday, no more chances, Jessie was gone.

After the accident. I struggled with the question of “why me?” Why not let Jessie live instead of me! Why not let the man in the truck she hit live instead of me! Why, why, why. Lots of questions, no good answers. Who deserves a second chance anyways? Some people say everyone does. After the accident though I didn’t feel like I should be the one miraculously surviving to tell the story.

Unfortunately Jessie’s story is not an uncommon story. Hundred’s of people die everyday in America from opioid’s, heroin. The rip currents of addiction ; stealing their last breath. A second chance is a gift of mercy, and it was hard for me to grasp. Until I realized Jessie’s story could help someone, and I was alive to tell it.A second chance isn’t promised. I received one to tell Jessie’s story. My journey started in a ditch but it isn’t ending there. What second chance have you received? Who paid the price for it? Many have paid the price for mine, and I’m living each day honoring the sacrifice’s made for my opportunity. Will you join me? Will you step into the realm of the unknown and make beauty from ashes? It won’t be easy, but telling this story wasn’t easy either.