Delicate Melody is designed to improve the lives of others through sharing the experience, strength, and hope of someone in recovery. Delicate Melody started out as a photoblog, but when I was released from a rehabilitation center, I decided to make blogging my new form of “cheap therapy,” as MereWisdom (dad) puts it. Ultimately, Delicate Melody contains my memories and whatever I’m going through in search for inspiration and help others through helping myself, because working with others (in whatever way we can) is what keeps us sober!

Delicate Melody is also designed to be about my music in recovery. My music has changed a lot as I change and like my tagline says: Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. Every day, we do things we don’t want to and trudge on through life. Work, school, etc. etc. Music, I believe, is the ultimate reliever. No matter what kind of day you’ve had, one can always sit back and relax to his or her favorite music. It’s the ultimate American past time. Creating music, however, is something all together different. When I play with a group whether it’s just a garage band or a full symphony, I feel a part of. Everything that happened that day melts away as I make music.

I’ve never known a musician who regretted being one. Whatever deceptions life may have in store for you, music itself is not going to let you down.
- Virgil Thompson

Feeling like we belong somewhere is the most important feeling we as humans can feel. God created us to love and to thrive. A lot of the books in the Bible were written as songs, as means of worship. I was writing an editorial for Journalism at school the other day and I wrote about music’s capability to brainwash. What we feed our subconscious thoughts can determine the outlook of a person. I’ll post that later, once it’s graded and I feel it’s good enough. The point is that for me music is how I keep myself sane in the insanity of the world.

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My story started when I was around seven. I started injuring myself. That went on unnoticed until I was about twelve, when my mom confronted me. After a big “fight” or whatever you want to call it, I told her straight up that, “I cut myself.” It was the first time I ever admitted out loud what I was doing. Also around twelve or eleven, I started doing drugs. It began pretty innocently, I guess. I was asking regularly for Adderoll from my boyfriend at the time to help me to study or to lose weight. Eventually, it ran my life. I wouldn’t eat for days, sometimes a week, at a time. I’d stay up all night either exercising or studying. That kept on until I was about thirteen, when I started smoking marijuana, drinking, and taking other kind of pills.

The drugs were doing for me what I couldn’t do myself. All I wanted was to feel better, and that was easily accomplished through getting plastered or stoned out of my mind. Oblivion was easy for me and extremely comfortable. My dad and mom then began taking me to regular ER visits for attempted suicide or stitches. I began to go to different psych wards around Houston and I started running away and getting locked up shortly after that.

By the time I was 16, I had tried AA more than once and accumulated thirteen months of being a dry drunk. I was most definitely not sober. I was still going to inpatient places even after I got sober off the drugs and alcohol for my self-injury. I had found out about AA through a rehabilitation center, where I stayed 2-3 months. I began to go to meetings, and Youth AA Groups, such as APGs (Alternative Peer Groups).

Two APGs and about two years later, at ten months sober (the most I had ever had since I started using), I went to inpatient in Denton for my self-injury. The epitome of a dry drunk: Once having removed the alcohol and drugs, I was left with feelings, emotions, thoughts, and actions, which would normally be taken out under the influence. Without any type of a spiritual experience, I couldn’t change my life. I was “white-knuckling” it, as the AAs said. I was miserable, discontent, angry, and so on. I was still acting out on my worst addiction: self-injury. When you’re in jail, it’s pretty damn hard to get some drugs or alcohol. But no matter where I went, self-injury was an easy accessible tool. So I went to Denton to seek help.

I was raped in Denton, and therefore had a lot of resentments towards the place I went to, God, the rapist, the hotel, etc. etc. Most of all, I was angry at God because in my eyes, I had gone to get help and stop self-injuring, and then that happened. For a very long time, I felt as if it was God trying to tell me I wasn’t ready to stop cutting. What a delusion that was! But they were my feelings, and therefore legit. I was very angry for a long time because I wanted God in my life and I wanted to stop hurting and to stop harming myself, and then someone else harms me. I didn’t think it was fair. Now I realize that God does throw curve balls, but I don’t need to justify it. I needed to take it as it came, accept it, realize that bad things happen to good people, learn, heal, talk about it, and move on.

After the rape, I stayed sober for about 4-5 more months until I put myself in a position to get high again. I wasn’t thinking about getting high, it just happened. Once again: I was without defense against the first drink/drug. I ran away that day for about three days and when I tried hitch hiking home, the woman that had picked me up flagged a policeman down. I was taken into custody, and my dad picked me up later that day from the juvenile detention center. After that, I went to another placement and decided to run away from there. I ran away with someone else and lived on the streets for about a month and a half.

Within that month and a half, I learned how to sell my body, and I began a life of drugs all over again. I had never done “hard drugs” before I ran away, and by the time I came back, I was hooked on crack and had done meth, ecstasy, cocaine, and several others as well. For a long time I only saw myself as a crackwhore. It was really hard for me to look myself in the mirror and accept who I was and what I had become. I had lost all knowledge that I didn’t have to be that way. So when I got back home, I chose to continue doing drugs, just not to that extreme. This was around March 2008. I continued to go to school high and I had no self-respect.

Eventually, my actions caught up to me and I was locked up for assault and domestic violence. I had hit my dad. The abuse I caused him went on for years before I finally “got caught,” but today I’m glad. My dad and I have an amazing relationship and when I talk to other people about him, I often refer to him as my “knight in shining armor.” He’s always been there for me through everything and has never left nor rejected me. He’s always loved me for exactly who I am. “I don’t love the things you do, but I love the person you are,” he often says. So when I sobered up in jail after the assault, I had a lot of guilt and shame riding on my back, to the point of where I couldn’t speak to him civilly in a window visitation while in JDC.

I got out on house arrest fifteen days later, and still thought I could play the system. I thought probation and house arrest were merely jokes. Two days later, I was back in jail, under the influence. After not coming home for two days straight, my dad caught me and turned me in. I was so mad at him at first. I remember telling him I hated him and I hoped he would die. I live with that every day, now. Yet, I know things don’t ever have to be that way anymore. From JDC, they sent me to a rehabilitation center in North Texas since I had been admitted under the influence for the second time.

I spent nine months in that rehab, and everyday I live today; I thank God for the events that caused me to go there. I don’t think I would have ever sobered up again on my own, no matter how much God I had. I think it really took a lot of time away from that kind of atmosphere to gain a clear head and decide not to use again. I cut for the first month I was in there, and then realized that cutting wasn’t getting me anywhere either.

As far as what it’s like now, I have to maintain a spiritual connection with my higher power, because I know that if I don’t then I’ll end up right back where I started from. Today I’m so grateful that I don’t EVER have to be that person that I used to be, and I believe that is the greatest miracle God or recovery could have ever given me. I’ve been through a lot, and today I consider myself a survivor. I don’t act anything like I used to and ultimately I’m just not the same girl that I used to be. I can’t really express my gratitude anymore than that. I’m happy, joyous and free today and for that, I thank God. I value my freedom more than anything today, and right now I don’t wish to put anything in it’s way. I’ve spent about an accumulated two years behind gates and fences and maximum security places. Today, I don’t want to live that way anymore. I want to live my life the way I’ve always dreamed of and be successful. I know I can accomplish all things through Christ, and that’s my plan.

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The boy I was so anxious, nervous, and scared to see did end up coming back to school yesterday. I had a LOT of feelings, and it’s amazing how feelings can change from bad to good. When I first saw him, I walked right past him. He was in an administrator’s office and didn’t see me. I saw him again around lunch and I called him over, which was exactly what I said I would not do. I talked to him and asked him how he was doing and he gave me a HUGE hug. Afterwards, I felt like I had quite literally relapsed. I was confused as to why I felt that way – I felt a sense of loss.

What we had can never be again merely because I don’t want to be that same person again, and that’s my choice. Now I face the consequence like there are to every choice that every person makes. We’ve had a lot of memories and that will never change. But what can change is how I handle myself and how handle being around him. I hung out with him a little today and discovered he was still smoking marijuana. I realized that some things change, and some things don’t. After that realization, I thought, “Well, maybe this relationship isn’t meant to end if he’s back in my life.” And today, I mean relationship as friendship, not a physical, sexual relationship. Then I had the master idea to invite him to an AA meeting. We connected on a level today where we both really related to coming back to school after being gone for a while and no one really wants to be around him or me because of our past. That kind of hit me hard.

Then I wondered about how I’ve been doing as far as friends. I still have some old friends I still talk to and hang around even though they’ve seen me use. Even though they never used with me, they can still see a change in me. That’s comforting. Then I wondered how on Earth can I have all these awesome friends — Where did I meet all of these people that are with me today?!?! The answer was recovery. Not necessarily all my friends are from recovery, but most of the ones that still stick around are. That’s when I thought, “He was in the EXACT same position as me a week ago. What can I do to help him?” And that was when I realized I could share my recovery and knowledge with him. In AA, we talk about sharing our experience, strength and hope. Because I’ve been through so much and am now on the other side of it, I can work with others and help other people.

I have yet to actually invite him to a meeting, but after school, I told the boy that I had to talk to him and to give me a call after school. He hasn’t yet, and I don’t know if he will, but if he does, I’ll be here. All I can do is try, for you can lead the “horse” to the water, but there’s no way you can make him drink (my latest aphorism for the day).

I spent a lot of the day reminiscing about all the things he and I have been through. I remember the night he called me around 2 or 3 am, telling me he had just told his mom he was addicted to meth He was crying and I still remember his exact words, “Victoria, I need you.” Granted he might not still feel the same way about me (or I do about him), I still want to be there for him like I was before… Just without the drugs and other risky choices. Whether that’s my compassion for the human race, or me still wanting to hold onto the last little strand of our friendship, I have no idea. I do, however, think it’s for the greater good. Not just for me, but also for him. I realize today, that I can be there for people without getting extremely involved. I want to help and if he declines, I know that through God I WILL get through this, even if I do have to make it clear that we can’t speak to each other anymore.

I went to a meeting last night and got everything off my chest about him and how I felt like i had relapsed maybe not in drugs, but in old behaviours.. Now I realize that God can pull us through anything and bring us to the other side. I journalled a lot about the situation yesterday and even talked to my sponsor about it. I’ve decided to only keep our friendship at school, unless he wishes to attend an AA meeting with me. All in all, I’m here for him if he wants recovery and sobriety. The Victoria that he knew is no longer a part of me and I refuse to let that girl back in my life. I know that everything works out for the best according to God’s will and granted MY will says that I should be happy in ALL situations, I have to learn that some things don’t go the way we wish they would.

Today, that’s okay with me.

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I remember before I was sent away by the state, I never wanted to be at the house, where I live with my dad and brother. It was really a place to eat, sleep and shower. All other priorities took place away from the house at all possibilities, And then I remember complaining when I got locked up: “I want to go home.”

I believe there’s a difference between a house and a home. Within a home, there is family, love, respect, courtesy and so on and so forth – basically mushy feelings. In contrast, I believe a house to be known as physical attributes of our living. Both can be one, but for others it’s one or the other. Before I was locked up, got back into recovery and accumulated some Clean Time, this house was simply a house. That was all. Nothing less and nothing more… My father and brother lived there,m but I was in and out as I pleased, trampling all over both hospitality and fear.

My dad never really knew where I was. I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night and not come back until the next day or two. I can only imagine what my brother went through. He was pretty much clueless, I think. That’s not my point, however. My point is that today at this exact moment in time, I can say this house is a home. Herein lies unconditional love, mutual respect and family. That makes me happy.

I came back from a road trip yesterday after I was released from lock down and the entire time, I thought: “I just want to go home and lay in my own bed!!” Yet, I took for granted what was around me. I was on top of a mountain, in the middle of bluebonnet fields and I was in the midst of peace, serenity and God’s Creation. The only thing going through my mind until yesterday was, “When do I get to come back home? I can’t wait to get out of here!” Granted, I did do a little photography, a little drawing and a considerable amount of writing, I believe I handled these situations all wrong. Until yesterday.

The only thing on my mind up until yesterday was ‘rush rush, busy busy.’ It was Spring Break – vacation! Not only vacation, but my first week finally free and with my family. On top of all that, we went to some pretty neat places that I completely took advantage of. Yesterday, I was in the bluebonnet fields and trying to make conversation. My dad stopped both my brother and I and asked us to just listen. I bargained with God to please let this moment be over with. The faster that ‘listening’ moment passed, the faster we’d be on our way through the trail and the faster we’d be on our way home.

Except for the fact that something spoke to me during that “moment of silence.” I told myself (or maybe it was God), “Maybe you should just listen. Isn’t this peaceful? It’s serenity.” And then it hit me. I was so busy caught up in my own wants and needs that I was oblivious to what God wanted to show me. After that moment, I said a quick prayer: “Thanks, God. Please let me enjoy the rest of this day.” Later on, my dad shot pictures of my brother, Ryan, and I in the bluebonnet fields and I had a blast. Except when dad lost his cell phone in the field, but that’s a typical occurrence in our family. We’re just clumsy like that, I suppose.

While dad shot Ryan and I in the field, I want at peace with myself. I knew where I’d come from, I knew where I’d been and I knew who I wanted to be. And I was totally okay with that. It was an amazing feeling of utter contentment.

Later on, I decided it’d be a great idea to make a 10-item gratitude list. So I wrote it in my journal. Here it is:

Family
Shelter
God
Recovery
Rehabilitation Centers
My past
My present
My future
My freedom
The ability to sense

I want to challenge anyone who reads this to think of five or more things they’re grateful for and write them down. It’s something that’s always helped when I was having a down day. I guess it’s part of re-writing those old tapes in our heads we’ve told ourselves for years I always thought incredibly negatively and now when I have a negative thought, I’m able to stop, pause, rewind and rewrite it the way it God meant for it to be.

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