By Dina Saalisi

It’s a Friday afternoon in late September. I’m standing inside a dive bar in Elizabeth, New Jersey, waiting for my boyfriend to return from “the score.” He picked me up from school in his old Chevy Nova, his driver’s license revoked for a DUI the year prior, which made the adventure all the more exciting.

We pull up to “Hasty’s Bar,” and he double-parks, throws his blinkers on, and runs inside with me, telling Joey the bartender to keep an eye on me; he’ll be right back. He rushes out the door, and Joey doesn’t offer me a drink. He can tell I’m underage and doesn’t want to commit two offenses at once.

I’m standing there, huddled with my back against the bar so I can see the door, waiting for Eddie to return. It feels like hours as my eyes shoot from the door to the grimy floor, a nervous dance jumping back and forth until I decide to go outside for a cigarette to calm my nerves.

I know it’s probably not safe to stand on the corner in this part of town, but I have my street smarts and a lit cigarette, which could serve as a weapon if needed.

I Anxiously Awaited on Eddie to Return With The Score

My head swivels between both sides of the street, not sure which direction Eddie will come from. As I’m trying not to look like I don’t know where I am, I notice a community center across the street with women and children out front.

I stomp out my cigarette butt with my scuffed leather motorcycle boot heel, and I dash over to the group, stealthily making my way up the steps, trying to blend in with the other women. I stand beside a gaggle of mothers talking excitedly about the recent cut in their food stamps.

They don’t notice me, and if they do, they assume I’m here to pick up my little sister or brother. And as I’m standing there, a small girl runs out of the building, about 8-years old, curly ringletty hair, wearing an oversized tee-shirt with colorful paint splatters gracing the front.

She looks happy and goes over to her mother, one of the food stamp women, hugs her, and proudly shows her a painting of a garden with a cat lolling on the fence. She exclaims, “I’m gonna live here someday, Mama!” Her mother holds the artwork up, looks at it lovingly, kisses her daughter on the head, and says, “I sure hope so, baby.”

The Moment That Changed Everything

I’m surprised at how much this event touches me. My heart feels empathy for this girl, for her mother, and for all the women and kids there on those concrete steps on this blustery afternoon. I am changed.

Suddenly, I hear the familiar rattling muffler of the Nova, and I can see Eddie pulling up in front of the bar. I don’t want to yell to him and give myself away to the mothers, so I dash across the street and catch him just before he’s reaching for Hasty’s door.

“Here I am! I thought it was safer to go over there with those ladies and kids,” I say, breathless. He smiles and takes my hand as we get into the car. “Ready to get high?” he asks with an excited laugh.

For the first time after Eddie brings back the score, I think, “No, I’m not,” but I just smile and nod.

I Didn’t Want The Game or The Score, Anymore

We make it back to his apartment in 12 minutes. A record driven by “pre-high” fumes. We get inside, and before I can even go and pee, Eddie is chopping up lines on the kitchen table.

I go into the bathroom and catch myself in the mirror. My hair is matted. My body is frail. My glow is dimmed.

In that very moment, I’m filled with a higher power.

I know that I will never do a line of coke again. I’m at once exhilarated and scared shitless.

I walk out of the bathroom and over to the table. Eddie has already done a line, and he offers me the straw, as the other rail waits blatantly for me. I automatically raise my hand and find the words, “No thanks, I think I’m gonna pass.”

As all addicts do, he tries to convince me as he pushes the straw closer to my face and says, “C’mon! It’s a great batch!” I take a breath and utter out loud again, with even more conviction, “No, thanks!” And a rush of adrenaline washes over me, a newfound addiction greater than the jittery high of the white stuff.

I feel this as my power of divine will, and there is no turning away from it now.

Finding The True Score in a Life of Meaning

After a few months of sobriety, I feel certain of my newfound path to healing. As the stain of addiction fades, I leave Eddie, graduate from vocational school, and find fulfillment and community in my work.

This sense of selfhood and purpose leads me to discover the power in yoga and meditation and the support found in the natural world.

Years pass. I stay clean. I find the courage to uproot my life in New Jersey and find my garden and cat in California.

The rest is history.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dina Saalisi is a best-selling author, healer, and educator. She is a National Board-Certified Health and Wellness Coach with an advanced certificate in trauma-informed coaching. She has a hypnotherapy credential through the American Board of Hypnotherapy and is a master flower remedy practitioner through the International Bach Center. Dina offers compassionate wisdom and dynamic methods to transcend trauma through her books and decks, as well as through speaking engagements, retreats, and workshops. Her most recent book is Transcending Sexual Trauma: Self-Awareness Tools and Nature-Based Practices to Cultivate Inner Healing (Redfeather). She resides on unceded Indigenous territories in California.