Love Made Me Do It (21 page)

              I wanted his mama to like me.  I wanted her to love me like I loved her son, since I was feeling so disconnected from my own mama. I needed that connection and nurturing that only mama’s could give.  It was hard but eventually me and his mama we got to a happy place.  There was no consistency to it, but I was content with the progress that had been made thus far. 

              Meanwhile the brother, the sister in law and the side chick all hated me.  They stole from me, they talked about me behind my back and sometimes when I was in the room.  I couldn’t win.  I had a job and money to support my habit, as far as I was concerned they could kiss my ass, twice.  I stayed silent and found constant solace and peace of mind in drugs.

              Although I was in an okay space with his mama, I was still being used.  I cooked, I cleaned, and I watched those bad ass foster kids.  Plus, I listened to her rant about her lazy ass son.  She always played devil’s advocate.  She would talk about him, yet never tell him shit. 

              I would get random calls from his crazy ass sister in law, with wild accusations and arguments over pieces of junk mail that landed in her mailbox.  When the brother would ride with us places, my lover made me sit in the back.  The side chick only attempted to befriend me to get information about the wife. 

              Everybody hated on me living there.  But what I found out down the line; is that the brother, the wife, nor the side chick had any clue that I was putting in more than my fair share of work.  Plus, I contributed an adequate amount of money towards household bills.

              They never cared about how my days went, or how hard I tried and didn’t care about the love that I had for each and every one of them.  I just wanted to be accepted and feel good about myself and life again.

              Although they talked shit, and gossiped like old retirees they never had a problem with us selling or giving them stolen property.  But they would gossip about how we were thieves.  The brother tried to convince his mama to take the car privileges from us.  I never seen such hate and dislike built up for a person they barely knew. 

              Yet I dealt with it.  At least I could escape Monday – Friday when I went to work.  I had a talent for sales and my pay checks proved it.  Even if I saw very little of my check, I knew that when I went to work…I worked.  Although, I excelled at work and was loved there. I couldn’t come home and start talking about my day. 

              His mama worked a grave yard shift at a gas station, and tried to sleep all day and still care for her foster kids.  While he either slept all day, stole all day, or got high all day.  So my bubbly personality had no place, in a house that had very little happiness.

              My lover would sometimes ask about my day, but when he did I was always suspicious.  I had become so insecure it was hard to determine what was real and what wasn't.  I was out of place in that house. I wanted it to feel like my home.  But how could it?  We slept in his mama’s computer room on an air mattress.  With constant reminders that we were two “over grown adults,” that needed to get their shit together. 

CHAPTER 31

CLARK COUNTY DETENTION CENTER

We never caught breaks, because we were not living right.  I feel like we were single handedly robbing Vegas blind, and we were bound to get caught up.  Things were okay with my lover.  We had taken a hiatus from the drugs.  But we hadn’t taken a hiatus from stealing.  I had become much more fearless than I was before.  I liked nice things that were free.  The rush that came along with breaking the law was unexplainable.  I’m telling you, I didn’t recognize myself.

I was in contact with my family, here and there.  Nothing too consistent.  That was a void that I wanted my fucked up relationship to fix.  Situations, where there was no accountability from the people involved could never be fixed.  Simply, because you want them too, everything in life requires work, effort, honesty and accountability.  At that time those characteristics were in my reach but I fell short, every time I relapsed. 

We had a routine.  He picked me up from work and we hit every store along the way home.  Sometimes we had specific orders to feel to customers that were somewhat special.  Otherwise you bought what we had or you just didn’t get shit. 

There was no method to our madness.  The goals were to get in, get out, and get paid.  When we managed to accomplish those goals, everybody was happy.  On good hustle days, we chilled, we gambled, we did regular couple stuff.  That felt good.  I was looking for love from him, and I had no idea how to give it to myself. Things were as they should be, because that is what I chose.  That is what I prayed for, to be by his side.  Instead of praying for guidance and will power, I was praying to be abused. 

He was definitely a part of the nose dive I was taking in life.  But I am well aware of the role I played in my own destruction.  I had never given myself a chance to heal from my fiancé.  I clung to the first sign of love.  I confused game with being genuine.  I confused sex with emotions.  If the sex was good and consistent, it must be love.  Or I used sex as a weapon to make men care.  Never giving myself credit for anything besides, what a man needed me for. 

I enjoyed the normalcy that we were experiencing together.  When we were happy together and others saw it, they couldn’t help but laugh and joke with us.  When we were laughing and joking that was a sign that we weren’t using.  When we were using, we never made eye contact when we spoke. Shit, we didn’t speak.  Life off of drugs was nice.  But we still had an addiction that we were battling, and that was the stealing.

              It had become hard not to pick up things and put them in your purse, or your pocket.  I never paid for anything.  There was no need.  I had built up a nice wardrobe, nice shoes, a few hand bags and I could eat out with my coworkers when I felt like it. I had hella money when we weren’t using. He never wanted my money when we were clean, because when he hustled all day, he kept that money in his pocket. Instead of, stuffing it in a pipe.

How long would this detox last though?  That was the million dollar question.  At that point I had seen it all.  So I was skeptical, that all of sudden the drugs didn’t matter.  They were no longer in control of our lives…But I was in total support of us getting clean.  I wanted to go to Heaven one day.  I definitely wanted my own mother to be able to brag about her first born…Her only daughter. 

A lot of unexpected stressful situations started happening to his family.  Which trickled down to us, stress and detoxing from drugs will have an adverse effect every time.  We weren’t strong enough to carry anyone else’s burdens, family or not.  Getting out of bed every day, took a thousand deep breaths and positive thoughts. 

The first unexpected freak occurrence involved a fatality.  There had been a robbery in the South West side of Vegas.  A group of teens had broken into a neighbor’s house.  An altercation between two of them became heated, and one was shot point blank rage with a shot gun.  There was suspect apprehended, and interrogated that denied any involvement.  The suspect insisted that there was a masked man, that was also trying to rob the same exact house and he had killed the teen. 

The apprehended suspect was my lover’s nephew by marriage.  We were awakened by his mama, telling us to turn on the Channel 2 news.  There was his nephew… Black as the night sitting in that box that sits next to the news anchor, as he tells the story.  It was breaking news.  I kind of cared. But his sister in law was faker than a three dollar bill.  I didn’t fuck with her or her shady ass kids.  The nephew was her son.

That was a serious situation.  It was a pending homicide investigation.  The stress and the talk about the case became overwhelming.  His brother was there more than usual talking about the case with my lover.  This cut into the time that we were learning to appreciate together doing simple shit.  Like cuddling, & kissing.  Now this crazy shit. 

So instead of being selfish with my lover, I supported him, supporting his brother in this dark time.  I could feel the stress starting to consume us too though.  It was like being in fog and as soon as the fog cleared.  You accidently stepped in quick sand.  Only one foot at first, so you still had action. 

This was a test.  How smart were we really?  We managed to stay clean through the first round of trauma.  I still had my job. I hadn’t had any marks on me in a long time.  Life was becoming manageable.  The brother was in a sticky situation with his wife and his side chick.  The side chick became pregnant and she was going to keep the baby.

She was a punk bitch too.  Ever since she watched me get hit with those beads and didn’t say shit I barely said anything to her.  I tried not to even look her way.  She was trouble. That had been proven.  As if there wasn’t enough on our plate, the foster kids all 4 of them decided to blow the whistle on a few things…

His mama was whoopin those kids when they were out of line.  By no means do I disagree with discipline.  However I disagree with disciplining kids that are not biologically yours.  Apparently those kids had enough of Nana, kickin their ass.  So they told the agency.  The agency came and took the kids from her custody.  I was at work when all this took place. 

The only solution and choice we had, was to move out of that house ASAP.  Before any law enforcement started lurking around, and asking questions.  So we picked up and moved.  It could have been easy, had we not been handed $500 cash to get all the necessary essentials to move.  Had either me or him, been the least bit honest.  We could have easily said that we are trying to remain clean, and with the revolving amount of recent stress….We cannot handle this money appropriately. 

It would be a cold day in hell before that type of honestly took place.  So when we were supposed to be packing and moving while his mama worked the graveyard shift.  We caved, and he blew the money.  He blew every drop and I was an accessory.  I helped him.  I told him not to spend everything.  We spent all night getting high and taking dozens of trips from the old house to the new house. 

Some of that money was supposed to be used for a moving company.  That never happened, but you would have never known.  We moved successfully without incident.  The new house was a lease to own, and my name was on the lease along with his mama.  I loved that house.  It had two master suites.  One upstairs and one downstairs it was spacious and gave all of us the needed privacy. 

Then a house of three, turned into the house of four.  The side chick had her baby about three months prior to our big move.  A pretty little baby girl, she died one day while I was at work.  Apparently her grandparents fed her food that she wasn’t old enough to eat.  That was a sad day.  That was a sad funeral and no matter how I felt about the side chick.  I gave her endless emotional support.

She lost her job soon after her baby passed, so in turn she lost her apartment.  She was severely depressed.  As I recall these times, I can still see her face and remember her difficulty and excruciating cries out at the baby’s funeral.  This was hard, I felt for her.  I wished that I could have carried some of her pain. 

She buried her baby and soon after that I buried my father.  It was a long time coming.  Still very shocking but expected none the less.  My heart was already broken, because of the rift my relationship caused with me and my parents.  I attended the services, but almost didn’t because they did not want my lover to accompany me.  I was defiant and defensive when it came to him.  I paid my last respects and went back to Las Vegas.

I was stressed the fuck out.  Drugs were once again prevalent in our lives.  So we used, to ease the pain we held inside, and we used a little extra to ease the pain that others transferred to us.

It was hard to use with the side chick there.  She needed comfort, she needed eye contact.  She needed humans to interact with.  Since she was the side chick, the brother came and seen her when he could get away from the wife.  Sometimes that was a long wait; I was expected to entertain her.  While my lover locked his self in the bedroom using drugs.  I was a horrible host.

Night after night we went out after I came home from work and hit licks.  There was a popular spot that generated a nice cash flow for us, that I was weary of going in.  But he was so insistent.  I followed behind him.  I had left my purse in the car on purpose.  I would not be taking shit out of there. 

It was All Star weekend and we had intended to make this quick money and go hang out.  An altercation started between him and the store employees in the parking lot.  I stood near the truck, being mindful of covering the plates.  My lover socked the store manager in the jaw, who thought he had a chance. 

Weeks went by and the side chick began to feel better and cry a little less.  Our routine hadn’t changed.  But I wish it had.  That night we were sold some fake dope.  My lover noticed right away and was going to go back to the spot and see if he could re-up for free.  I rode with him.  I rode with him two more times for a total of three times. 

On that third trip back home, we were racing against the clock.  We needed to give him mama the truck so she could go to work.  There was a high speed chase behind us.  So my lover pulled over to the side of the road to let them pass. Only they didn’t want to pass us, they wanted US.  Our names were announced on the megaphone.  We were directed to stop the car, get down on the ground and stay there.  We did as we were told.  The way they held us at gun point, I was sure that they had the wrong people.  They acted as if we killed someone.

They took us to jail.  We drove down the older end of the Las Vegas strip and booked into Clark County Detention Center.  When I was searched I had a little less than a gram of cocaine on me.  We sat in the booking room for hours.  That night I learned out to sleep sitting up, with cuffs on.  This shit was unbelievable. 

I and my lover were sitting a few rows away from one another and when we weren’t nodding off out of exhaustion.  We communicated with each other.  He told me that when it was time to use the phone…Call the side chick and asked her to clean up our room.  Anything and all items that looked suspicious, ask her to bag it up and throw it in the garbage outside.  She said she would.

Okay that was taken care of.  Now I need get my charges and figure out how to get out of jail.  I had to go to work on Monday.  It was a Friday night in a 24hour town.  A judge was not going to hear our cases until Monday, if we were lucky. 

              I spent more than 24 hours in a holding tank with more than 30 women.  There was a TV mounted to the wall, one toilet and one phone.  I found a spot on one of the benches.  Curled up, tucked my arms inside of my shirt and went to sleep.  I only woke up because it was chow time.

I stayed in jail for 11 days.  I was charged with a gross misdemeanor and possession of a controlled substance, and sentenced to a one year outpatient rehab program.  They let me out at 7 in the morning.  The first thing I did was call my job.  I was fired.  I inquired about my last check and they said it had been ready for days.  I called our house hoping that his mama would answer the phone, but the number was either disconnected or changed. 

I freshened up in the bathroom in the lobby of the police station trying to figure out a way to get to my job.  As my co-defendant he would be getting out within just a few hours.  So I waited for hours, and hours.  I checked in with the Deputy who insisted that they were just a little behind.  My lover never appeared because he had a warrant in the City Jail, which was another jurisdiction in Vegas.  They had transferred him hours ago and he would be spending at least two weeks there.

I felt weak.  I had a few dollars in my pocket and I had planned on eating with that money and making phone calls. Now I needed to figure out what I was going to do.  So I started walking and thinking.  Cell phones had everyone so spoiled.  There were few numbers that I actually knew by heart.  Calling my mom was out of the question or my sister, those bridges weren’t burned.  But they were definitely under construction.

              Tired and dusty I picked up the pay phone in front of the Greyhound station.  I dialed his brother’s number at first he didn’t answer.  When he finally picked up I told him the situation, and he said he would be on his way.  On his way turned out to be four hours later. 

              When I got in the car I didn’t say shit.  Options were non-existent at this point.  I did ask about his mama, if she moved or was the phone disconnected.  He basically told me that his mother wasn’t fuckin with us, the police had towed her truck and there was drug paraphernalia found in the car.  It wasn’t that I was speechless, but I knew there was nothing to be said.  I believed what he said, because it was the truth.  That night that we were arrested we had been on a mission all day, more than eight hours. 

              I stayed at his brother’s house for over two weeks.  He ended up with more than half of my last paycheck.  Those two weeks were miserable.  I was thankful but miserable.  Their family structure was not set up for me.  I wore his niece’s clothes because I could not get to mine His brother and his wife complained about that.  Damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

              Every time they went to the store I prayed they wouldn’t ask me for any money.  This situation was depleting my pockets.  His mama finally took a call from me after I asked the brother to contact her.  She was dry and unforgiving.  So I let it go.  My lover would be out in just a few days.  I could hang on until then, there was no other choice. 

              Living in a house where more than four people don’t like you is rough.  I felt like I better wake up the earliest, eat the least, and be as quiet as possible in order not to argue with anyone.  I am way too clumsy to be that careful.  So there were snide remarks made on both ends, but mostly with his nieces.  His nieces acted more like grown women than little kids.  Their parents allowed them to be that way.  So if they were smart mouthed with me, I let their asses have it.

              The wife was okay, but you couldn’t really trust her either.  She was a shit disturber.  She made up situations that never happened.  You never knew when she would strike either.  Her son’s wife was alright we wound up getting very close down the line.  Sometimes we would all hang-out.  While my lover was still locked up I was invited to go have a drink.  So I went.

We all of dreams of getting married to our lovers, we joked about who would get married first.  I always thought me and my lover would get married.  I ended up with a tattoo that night of my lover’s name.  Big and Bold.

              Finally, the day came that he would be getting out and I couldn’t wait to let him discover his name branded on me.  I couldn’t wait to tell him to take me home.  I couldn’t wait to be in our bed together.  There were millions of reasons why I was so happy.

              But when he came home he was already drunk, out of control and talking loud.  He wouldn’t listen to what I had to say.  He kept touching me and pinching me.  I was immediately turned off.  This caused a fight.  There were signs everywhere for me to leave him.  I ignored them.  I ignored all the possibilities of getting my life back.  That first night he was back was uncomfortable and very similar to a roasting session with me and the guest of honor.  They were a nasty bitter bunch of people. 

              After a few days the situation with his mama was resolved.  Upon my return to my house, I discovered that all of my clothes and shoes had been taken, by his bothers side chick.  My father’s obituary was gone along with all the pictures from the funeral.  My check stubs and other personal papers had been ransacked.  They were no good, but they couldn’t blame it on drugs.  They were just mean. 

              Worrying about his mama and my missing items were the least of my problems.  I was appointed to be in a rehab Mon – Friday for the next four weeks, starting the following week.  This rehab was almost 30 miles from our house and with no gas and no job.  I would be lucky if I made it to one meeting.

              Although we were fresh out of jail, the criminal in us wasn’t dead.  It was simply resting until a desperate situation present itself.  Drugs were a desperation situation they called our names like roosters waking up the world…when you heard the crow, it was loud and consistent, and it made you move. 

              Everybody was watching us and everybody kept popping up.  I tried to stay busy. I looked for a job.  When I was high I just stayed in my room.  There was no need to make conversation with people that came over.  They didn’t really like me anyway.  Being high was the ultimate escape, but I could never escape all the trouble I was in.  Now I had a criminal record in Vegas.  Life was going to be hard for me until I decided I was sick of what was going on. 

              My last hope was going to be rehab.  God please grant me the strength to get clean and stay clean.

CHAPTER 32

REHAB

(Actual, court documentation)

Usually I was the one to get the lighter sentence, but this time I was the only one sentenced to the rehab program.  I was the only one that was caught with drugs.  Living in a house with someone who wants to get high 24/7 is rough.  Sobriety was going to be impossible.  Maybe it could have been simpler if I really wanted to quit and he would stop with me.  But once again I covered for my lover.  I told the court that there was no one in my household who was using.

              Although I had justifiable reasons to why it may have been hard to shake my addiction, the judge would not care about any of those reasons.  I was expected to be at the rehab and giving clean U.A’s and participating in the program.  Fuck.  I had every intention to get thru this.  If I failed I would be sitting in Clark County Detention Center serving out my original sentence.

              Rehab consisted of four phases. It was a year-long program.  Every phase required giving urine samples.  In the first phase you gave five samples a week, in the second phase, it three as well as in the third phase. When you reached the final phase, you only did 1 urine sample a week.  The program was called Drug Court.  If you were sentenced there by Judge Donald Mosely…you better complete it or you would be going to prison.

              Rehab was very hard for me.  It was hard to open up to perfect strangers.  Especially, when you felt as if you had nothing in common with them.  Giving a urine sample was a very belittling experience.  There was a lady who sat in the stall with you.  You could not sit down, and you pulled your clothes all the way down to your ankles.  You collected your sample in the cup that they provided and handed it to her.  Most of the time I found it difficult to pee in front of someone.  But just like everything else in your life whether good or bad…you learn to deal with it. 

              As much as I wanted to stay clean I just couldn’t.  I started getting worse.  Although I was going to rehab, I had submitted seven consecutive dirty U.A’s.  The judge was going to have my ass. But I just couldn’t shake the urge to get high.  Without a support system and no will power it was impossible to stay on track, so I fell off.  I stopped going to rehab and my focus was elsewhere.  I was too busy trying to control a man who had shown me time and time again that there was no love between us. I submitted to him and everything that he wanted to do.  Whether it was getting high or committing crimes I was in 100%. 

              Not long after I stopped going to rehab, there was a warrant issued for my arrest and I caught yet another burglary case.  I was arrested and sent to jail.  When I showed up in court, I was speechless.  The judge ripped me a new asshole.  This time when I looked over and saw my lover in court as my codefendant, I felt hopeless and stupid.  He thought he had control of our situation.  No one did, especially not him.             

(Actual, court documentation)

              We stayed in jail the entire summer.  I was miserable.  I played cards, wrote letters and watched my surroundings.  The only thing that kept my hope alive, was knowing that once I finished my sentence I would be welcomed back into the rehab.  Although, I hadn’t showed much promise when I first started, sitting in jail an entire summer had changed my tune.