the war on p

There is nothing real in me

Nothing good left

I don't think. I don't talk. I don't smile.

I miss my children trusting me

I miss my children

I see them every day but I don't look

I hate the sound of my voice

I hate that my children try so hard

To be perfect so I won't send them away

I need to go for a while

I need real and honest help

May 2006

I wrote the poem above during my first stay in Ward B (mental health care ward, Auckland City Hospital).

I was admitted by my mother, who feared for my safety following my first drug-induced psychotic episode.

I am a recovering P addict, clean seven months now. Every day I thank God my P addiction didn't totally destroy me or, more importantly, the lives of my children.

P changed me, it stripped away everything that was real and good about me as a person.

I am working fulltime now in a job I love. I am enjoying taking back "wellness".

I am not immune to relapse but I am safe while I am clean and I am happy.

I can feel again, and my children are trusting me again.

Angie