Title of Tip: Share Light, Give Light
Name: Sarah Northrop, 36
Description: Failing yourself hurts because you can’t lie to yourself, you can’t coerce yourself, and you can’t make any of your decisions go away. You have to live with it every day. You have to forgive yourself for your light to shine through. The only way you can appreciate true light is after total darkness. In my moments of complete darkness—in a room alone, ready to end my life through drug use—no matter what, somehow, my eyes always opened, and I saw the light. I have overdosed nine times and was brought back every time. I am allergic to Fentanyl; the second I do it, I overdose. I tried to use it mildly to escape reality. And every time I used Fentanyl, it was a gamble, but my pain was greater than the consequences. But whenever I was brought back, that darkness never stayed dark for long. They say a cat only has nine lives. I better find light quickly because I’m running out of dark times. No matter how great the pain was, no matter how many times I lost everything—my fingernails were dirty, I had no shoes on, and I had not eaten in days; no matter how many friends have passed away or how many family members had turned their backs on me, there was always the other side of the bridge that I was crossing—even though it seemed endless and I would never make it. Finding light in the darkness is running into somebody I know, showering, cleaning clothes, and being refreshed. There’s always been a stranger or a kind smile, a bird, a butterfly, or a caterpillar—something is always living, even though I felt dead and empty inside. The universe always sends me some living creature.
Instructions: Instead of urge surfing like they say addicts do, memory surf your life to find your light in the darkness: making mud pies with your brothers and sisters, falling out of your first tree, sharing your first apple pie with your grandmother, or the first time you ever put on an Easter dress; or just the first time you recited your ABCs. If you can go back that far; the first time you ever kicked a soccer ball; dragging out a mattress in the backyard and doing front flips off of your roof in the backyard. Memory surf your childhood memories because that got me through my darkness.
Learning: I did not have a father. I had a mother who had a full-time job with four bad kids, and she was an alcoholic. I was a mother to my brothers, especially my youngest. If I did not cook, my brother did not eat. I taught him his ABCs. I got him ready for school. I got him ready for bed. I taught him how to brush his teeth. So, at a very young age, I matured quickly. I love my brothers so much that I always return to my memories in my darkness because I know some people love and need me here, no matter what. Even in my addiction, when I was stripping, when I was prostituting, my overdoses, and all my arrests, I would always make sure my youngest brother had money. My youngest brother tried to commit suicide twice. I found him. I was nine months pregnant, and he called the phone and hung up. I went to his house and found him hanging. I saved his life. Knowing I counted for something kept me going in my worst moments. I learned early on to be a provider—seeing the light in somebody else brings my light back.
Story: With my last overdose, I had three months left of drug court from a five-year sentence. I was working full-time to pay off the debt I incurred from running from the police and destroying a door on a building. I paid $7,000 for a door and wanted to give up. I could not come up with the money that I still owed. My judge was hard on me, and I fired my attorney. One day, it was my judge’s last day on the bench, and she specifically reserved a spot to see me. Mind you, I was a drug court spokesperson, and I worked to find funding for sober living houses, but I failed the judge over and over again. I was in the courtroom, and it was the judge, me, the prosecutor, and an attorney. Here I am, hating this woman, thinking she is going to take everything from me again. But she said, “Every time I saw you in this courtroom, you’ve always held your hand up; you’ve always been very informative for other people. I’m not angry; I’m punishing you for what you did five years ago. I’m angry with you because you keep selling yourself short.” Then she said, “I don’t know what we can do to get you to love yourself again.” She did not max me out, and I’m out six months later instead of three years because she believed in me enough to give me another chance to make it right. Then she said, “When you are done with this, come back because I have work I would like you to help me with.” And that is what I have been holding on to, that possibility. No matter how many times drugs have taken everything, I always get back so much more. The light that I find in the darkness is always so much brighter.