Crawled Out Of Rock Bottom.

A little girl always wanted her mommy. I remember the day my father and grandparents took me away from my mother and we moved to a small street called Bruce Street. It was me, my sister, and two brothers. My mother, from what I heard, was a real “humdinger” among the drug guys. They said she knew how to cut dope and was a tough fighter despite her being so little. But I grew up with my father, spoiled rotten as the only child and grandchild. My dad was in the life, and I had bougie aunts who boosted for a living, which was big back then. I was wearing gold and fur coats in elementary school. My Christmases were beautiful, filled with everything I could want. I still wish I had those bags and coats.

I had a lovely childhood, but my siblings had a different experience. I’d visit them on the weekends; my grandmother never kept me away. Despite everything, I always wanted my mother but she didn’t want me back. My grandmother used to say I’d snap if anyone talked bad about her. No matter how she treated me, I loved my mother… but I hated her men. They knew better than to mess with me though because they were afraid of my dad. When I visited my siblings, I’d show up in the hottest new clothes and shoes, but they didn’t have much since my mother was too busy getting high to buy them anything. I hated it and wished I could take care of them. One time, my mother left us in the house and it caught fire. My granny said I was smart enough to get my siblings out and across the street while my mom was nowhere to be found. My dad kept going to jail because he wasn’t a snitch; he’d do time for others. I remember talking to him through the glass on visits.

In high school, I wasn’t dumb. I went to Roland Park, then Walbrook High. But when I got to high school I started acting grown. That’s when I met my kids’ father and my then future husband, who was a drug dealer. May he rest in peace. He was my world and my life and he spoiled me with cars, a house, and everything I could imagine. I went to all kinds of places. That was when “morphine body bags” were around, and I was curious. I had bricks of it and got everyone high. You’d think my husband and I were Santa Claus with the way we lived. My kids were dressed in OshKosh, Gators, and we even had designer strollers. My mother and sister were jealous of how I was raised, and my mother would insult me, calling me all kinds of names, but I still loved her. My best friend from high school and I are still close to this day. Back then we’d go to Gio’s and Pascal’s every week. Those were good times. I didn’t realize I was getting a habit though. I started sneaking some of my husband’s stash, and eventually I went from morphine to scramble to crack and then to fentanyl… man I was off to the races. 

I had my first child in 1986. I’ve had kids in all kinds of places, from the prison to in bed. I have seven children. I’ve been through it all—raped, beaten—and I’ve been in and out of recovery since 1986. My first program was at Francis Scott Key, my first psych ward at Providence Hospital—places that are gone now. I had clean time but kept relapsing. When my kids went into the system, I wanted to kill myself. My family turned their backs on me. I kept going to prison, and when my husband was killed, I really went off. Losing my kids then my husband felt like everyone was gone, and drugs were my only escape. At my lowest, I was barely 80 pounds. Fentanyl nearly killed me. I could see my ribs and bones. I stopped washing, lost my home, and was tricking and stealing to survive. The crack had me doing things I never thought I’d do. I crawled to Penn North for help. I feel like I’ve been to every treatment center and psych ward in Baltimore, more than I can count. But thank God for places like Penn North and Baltimore Crisis Center. I reached my breaking point when fentanyl stopped affecting me, even when I snorted it. I realized I couldn’t go further when they wouldn’t let me shoot up in the gallery because they knew I had only been snorting.

Now, I’m clean. March 29, 2024, marked seven years clean for me. I still hold a lot in and sometimes I feel like a failure. But, today I’m grateful because I’ve been through hell and now I’m free. I went from selling drugs to using them, to rock bottom, and now I’ve climbed back up. I’m free, I’m free, I’m free! So grateful.

-TUTU