This Is About The Choices We Make And Why Crack and Other Drugs Might Kill You Or Ruin Your Life. And It's a Little About Whitney Houston. But Not Really.

I'm sorry that Whitney Houston died. I'm sorry when any person dies for a stupid reason. And regardless of what the publicist and coroner are going to put out there in the official statements, we all know that crack, cocaine, other drugs, and domestic violence were a big factor. Because you don't generally drop dead at 48 for no reason.

But I'm really here to at 7 on a Sunday morning to talk about the rest of that shit. I have experience with the rest of that shit. I have experience with a partner that succumbed to crack addiction and became violent and paranoid even when he wasn't smoking. I smoked with him but my drug of choice was heroin. It doesn't matter, though. I stayed. I had a baby girl and I still stayed. I got clean and had another baby girl and it continued and I still stayed. Why? Because I was sincerely afraid that he was going to kill me if I left, and because I thought love and loyalty required me to stay, and because honestly? I thought he was right. That I was ugly, and irritating, and that no one else would ever love me.

I know what y'all are thinking:"Wow, Mo. You're an asshole." And you're right. I was a total asshole. I let that fucker into my head. He infiltrated my friendships, my psyche, and my family relationships. My own sister believed what he said and called me a liar. I was working my ass off to maintain the illusion of suburban happiness. In a house I came to hate, and with the cars and the trips and the trappings. Which of course all eventually made their way out the door as they got sold for drugs. I won't say he was entirely to blame for that. Because after a while, I was spending just as much as him on my shit, just to dull the pain of reality and busted bones.

When I finally said, "Fuck you, you are not going to make it okay to my girls for a man to beat up a woman. They are not going to be okay with me getting my head bashed into a wall or my clavicle broken or thrown down the stairs. They are not going to accept as normal a really big guy kicking a tiny pregnant woman in the stomach with his boot," I walked away from everything I knew. I called my sister and said, "I need to get help. I need to get to a detox. There are guns and drugs all over my house. Please come and get the girls." They were 2 and 7 at the time. Watching them cry and plead for me to take them back was the hardest punch my heart ever took. Me and my girls were tight, see. I took them everywhere with me. I enjoy my kids, still. They are funny little bitchez. And they didn't want to go. But they had to. And so did I.

I walked away from the house and the job and the credit cards and the overdrawn checking account and the view of the harbor and I went to detox, then to rehab, then to a sober house. I had nothing. They told me I had to go to group every day, that I couldn't work, that I had to apply for Public Assistance, Medicaid and Food Stamps. I had to get humble. I thought I already was. My face was bashed in, I was facing months of dental surgery, I wasn't pretty anymore. But I wasn't humble. I was angry, and humiliated, and sad. But also arrogant. I thought that, now that I had left his manky ass, I should just be able to slide right back into my AA lifestyle. No. I had to crawl first. So I did.


Our family is not perfect. My sister and I have joint custody of my girls. And we aren't as close as we used to be, which is probably healthier. But they know all about the dangers of drugs and alcohol. They know that, as the children of addicts/alcoholics, they are at special risk and that if they choose to experiment, they may have far more dire consequences than their friends. They also know they can tell me anything and I will help them without judgment. ANYTHING. I don't ever judge my girls' choices. I may not like them, but my only wish for my children is that they love and be loved and be happy. 


Once you know something, you cannot unknow it. And that is why the Whitney Houston thing pisses me off. If I can walk away from a $600,000 house in one of the best neighborhoods on Long Island, leave my shit and my view and start over alone, I get pissed off when someone with all those resources publicly says it's all good. She knew. She said it several times. You cannot UNKNOW. And it's sad that she died. But I'm glad it wasn't me.

Have a wonderful Sunday, everyone. Be grateful for the sunshine, even in winter, and the gifts of love and life. Never to be taken for granted, the gift of another human being.