A Family of Strangers

I felt lost and abandoned until one night in a parking lot 

- Lindsay Day-Walker

It had been a long day at work, and all I wanted was to relax, maybe wind down with a movie and wait for my boyfriend to come home. That afternoon we’d had a silly text exchange that turned into an argument. No big deal, but I wanted to clear it up. As I was going through some DVDs, a foil packet covered in black ashy markings tumbled out of one of the cases. My heart practically stopped. I unfolded the foil. Familiar white pills spilled into my trembling hand. OxyContin. They were his. Who else could they belong to?

I loved him. We had our whole lives to look ahead to, together. I’d met him two years earlier, when I was 17. I came from a really messed-up home. He came from a good one. I had dropped out of school, run away and started using drugs. He was my lifeline, my savior. I’d quit drugs, gone back to school and was working in a law office. We moved in together. I trusted him as much as I had ever been able to trust anyone in my life. Except that maybe, somewhere deep inside me, I’d suspected that something was wrong all along. Now I knew.

I called him immediately, desperate for an explanation—something, anything to make it all right again. Instead he broke down and admitted that he had been using drugs for our whole relationship and lied about it. I asked him if he was ready to quit. He hesitated. There was a long pause.

“Don’t come home,” I said. “Don’t even think about it.” Then I hung up.

I’d never felt so alone. Why did everyone in my life betray me? My mother was an alcoholic. She’d hide out in her bedroom and drink, claiming she had a headache. She was always on that other side of the door, literally and figuratively. Still, I never needed her more than I needed her now. I picked up the phone and called her, barely able to get the words out.