Miracle’s Do Happen

Recovery Farmhouse wants to thank “Miss Anonymous” for this miraculous story

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MIRACLE’S DO HAPPEN By Stacy Roach

My drinking problem started at 12 years old, drinking myself to sleep every
single night just to deal with (or not deal with) what my cousin was
doing to me every night after my parents went to bed. My mom found a
whole garbage bag full of empty Jägermeister bottles from where I was
drinking a whole bottle every night. My mom tried getting me help after
that for my alcoholism but I was nowhere near ready to receive that help.
My addiction flourished to popping pills and self-harming and still
drinking. When all of that stopped numbing me the way, I needed it to, I
started smoking meth. For a while, I smoked it socially (every weekend and
sometimes during the week). However, my addiction made it very clear
that socially was not enough… By 17 years old, I was a full-blown meth
addict. I met my first husband when I was high on meth and on a run for
more and he happened to be the dope man. Nine solid years of pure hell
started from that night on… Meth was my best friend and every time we
were even close to running out of her, we had to go chase her down for
more. My ex-husband made it as well so the search was never but a cook
away. When he went to prison, I was still on meth but needing something
more to numb me from the pain I felt from missing my husband so bad. I
was introduced to crack cocaine and was instantly hooked. Spent every
penny I had then whatever I could steal to get it. I was brutally raped
and beaten by the crack dealer in his trap house one night and my mom
found me the next morning walking, eye swollen shut and eyes lifeless
with tear stained cheeks. I didn’t want to live anymore. The cops treated
me like the criminal because I was a crackhead at a crack house and they conveniently lost my rape kit to prosecute my rapist. He walked free. I
never smoked crack again after that but my addiction spun more out of
control than ever after that… Abusing so much benzos, I lost many days,
not remembering much of anything. Just the way I wanted it. I didn’t want
to remember. I just wanted to forget. Every time I spoke to my husband on
the phone and every visit I came home from, I was balling like a baby. He
was so verbally abusive and mean to me. He blamed me for the rape. Mom
stayed up with me countless nights from the torture I was in mentally
from the rape and feeling like my husband hated me. It was all my fault.
When he got out of prison, on my birthday weekend we went to my sister
and her then boyfriends house and got drunk and high. I went in the guest
bedroom we once stayed in and passed out. I woke up to being punched in
the back of the head and him screaming at me and tearing my underwear
off. He beat me so bad that night and anally raped me. Telling me how
much I deserved it for letting the crack dealer f*ck me… What little
bit of soul I did have left, he murdered that night. My own husband raped
and beat me unconscious. I screamed and begged for help, nobody came to
my rescue… No one. I started shooting meth very soon after that. I was
also shooting and popping large quantities of opiates with it. Everyday,
we stayed on the road wheeling, dealing, and finding our next fix. The
beatings from my husband became a normal part of everyday life and
honestly, I didn’t care anymore. Just get me my next dose so I can block
it out. When I got pregnant with my oldest daughter, I was excited and
full of life for the first time in several years. I felt like I was
getting a fresh start to do things right and would finally have someone
who loved me unconditionally… I couldn’t even succeed at that. My
husband beat me throughout my pregnancy, cheated constantly and although I didn’t do meth during my pregnancy, I okayed it by taking opiates my doctor was prescribing me and I smoked weed. When she was born, she was the most beautiful little girl I had ever laid eyes on.

When I looked at her,
everything else faded. The pain, the shame, the guilt, the fear,
everything… In that moment, all I felt was love. God I loved her so
much and wanted to protect her so bad… But, I was a junkie. I loved her
as much as I was able to love her. I protected her as much as my
addiction allowed me to. She seen him beat me and choke me unconscious
so many times. She never should have seen that. She seen me high.
God, what have I done? In my addicted mind, I just used even more to
cover the guilt and shame I had. I got pregnant again… I was heavily
addicted to Spice. I did not use anything but Spice during my pregnancy
with her but I used so much of it daily. My ex-husband cheated on me with
someone very close to me during the last part of my pregnancy. When I found out, it tore me to pieces. I smoked even more Spice. I was so selfish…
When my baby was born, she cried so much. My husband swore she wasn’t his (she looks just like him) and he would scream at me and beat me when she wouldn’t quit crying, sometimes while she was still in my arms. I held
her pretty much 24/7 and the crying never stopped. It was my fault… I
used more. My parents got custody of my girls, rightfully so. They could
provide and do for them what I was nowhere near able to do at the time. I
was so sick and tired of being sick and tired. Tired of being a junkie.
Tired of him beating me. Tired of being a worthless mother. Tired of it
all… In 2013, my husband beat, raped and poisoned me. I was transported
to the best hospital in Alabama, UAB, and one of the best surgeons in the
world spent countless hours trying to keep me alive. I had to have
several blood transfusions from bleeding to death, my kidneys and
intestines had shut down and the doctors only gave me a 20% chance to
live. The odds were against me. This was it. He finally succeeded in
killing me… God wasn’t done with me yet, though. Eight weeks later,
after a very long painful fight to live, I got to go home. I had 30
something staples in my stomach and a feeding tube hanging out of my arm
to go home with… My poor mom had to get up at three and 4am every single morning to change out my feeding bag and when the home health nurses wasn’t there to nurse my wounds, my mom was doing it and bathing me. She helped save my life. The addict in me was still raging though… I ended
up going back to the very man who tried killing me. The beatings
continued and shooting dope was still my daily life. This was the
insanity of addiction… Repeating the same thing over and over expecting
different results every time. Different results never came. I finally
left my ex-husband for good, There is a protection order in place and I have been tempted but have not gone back. I still had not gotten clean YET. I would go on binges of shooting massive amounts of dope to popping opiates and benzos every day. When I was not shooting dope, I would rationalize my pill popping and drinking by telling myself it was better than shooting dope.

I had several overdoses, several detoxes also mental hospitals later and losing my family and homes. I was so miserable. Drinking enough to kill a horse from the time, I woke up until I passed out at night, popping tons of pills, smoking lots of weed and when able, still shooting up dope. I had lost my family. I had lost every home I ever had. I owned nothing anymore but a few cloths and pictures of my kids. Everything else I had sold or pawned for more drugs.
I had lost every decent relationship I had. I was completely alone in my disease.
Even when others were around me, I was still so alone. I was intoxicated
one evening and a friend of mine, who I call my guardian angel, made it
clear I needed help NOW… At the rate I was going, I would not have lived
another two weeks. I would wake up every single morning and cry, cursing
God for waking me up another day. Why wasn’t I dead?! This wonderful
friend (who I’ve never even met) called and got me into a halfway house
in Delray Beach, FL, the recovery capital of the world. I was on a plane
early the next morning and there was no looking back…

I knew I HAD to have a change. I could not keep going as I was. I did not want to keep going as I was. I stayed at the halfway a few days and the house manager got me a scholarship to one of the best rehabs in America called Palm Partners. I stayed there 40 days and that broken down girl that
walked in there was leaving a happy, healthy, strong woman ready to face
the world. I had some rough patches in the beginning but when I fully
surrendered and let God lead the way, change started happening. I soaked
in every single thing they taught me at rehab and brought back with me
some very valuable life lessons… Rehab was the best thing that is ever
happened to me in my life. I’ve had a complete physical, mental and
spiritual makeover. I am not the same woman I was several months ago.

For the first time in my life, my mom is proud of me. I have my relationship
back with my parents and my children. I have happiness in my heart
instead of hate. I am at peace now. Has it been a walk in the park? No,
some days have been hard. I lost a dear friend of mine that I was
in rehab with to this sickening insidious deadly disease within my first
week out of rehab. That was so hard! Nevertheless, God brought me through it.

All I have to do is get through 24 hours without using and each day that I do
that, I have succeeded in my goal. I get to my meetings and I do my step
work and I firmly believe in giving back to a program that’s given so
freely to me. I can honestly say my worst day sober has still been better
than my best day using. I may have been a sick girl before but today, I am
a healthy woman in recovery. Today, I am clean. Today, I am happy, joyous and free. Nobody ever said this journey would be easy but it’s so worth
it.
ANONYMOUS

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