I couldn't go to Thanksgiving because I was too junksick and couldn't get ahold of my friend/dealer/enabler, likely because he was also celebrating Thanksgiving. No one knew why I was sick, they all thought I had an eating disorder - at one point my mother was convinced I had AIDs because of all the sores on my face but I tested clean. They knew something was wrong but didn't know what and they were pretty used to me being "sick" so they didn't wait around very long for me and I didn't want them to. I wanted them to leave so my dealer could come over. They left, I got my fix and immediately felt better and then immediately realized I had hit rock bottom, for me. Rock bottom looks different for different people, for me it was when I realized that me getting my drugs had become more important than my ability to participate in Thanksgiving and my family functions. It was taking away my personhood by essentially making it impossible for me to engage with my own life outside the confines of the addiction.

I'm really lucky that the people who were enabling me were - in general - good people who genuinely cared about me as a friend as best they could. I never sold my ass for money, I only even paid for the shit half a dozen times may be. No one creeped on me, fo rthe most part it was just playing pool or darts or poker and hanging with the neighbor guys. They were happy to have a human looking girl around, most of them were married with kids - who they took surprisingly good care of. They were all gainfully employed, had stable living situations, and their wives all knew me as the neighbor girl, which I was. So, I was very lucky I didn't need to live out any real horror stories before reaching my own personal rock bottom.