Free Sliding Into Home by Kendra Wilkinson Page B

the bedroom, where I recovered on my own. I still felt terrible, but the shaking and the bleeding stopped and my eyes were back where they were supposed to be. At one point, Mario walked in with a CD topped with a pile of coke.
    “Feeling better?” he asked.
    “Yeah, a little,” I replied in a sick little girl’s voice.
    “Want some?” he asked, shoving the CD in my face.
    I was so pissed that I slapped the CD out of his hand and sent the coke flying everywhere.
    “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled.
    I was thinking the same thing.
    After a day or two, when the drugs had completely worn off and I was able to think straight, I decided that I had had enough. All the rehabs and different schools never made a difference, but that night I’d almost had an out-of-body experience. I saw myself falling apart, nearing the end, and it wasn’t what I wanted. I wasn’t going to live like that anymore.
    Something hit me and I sat in bed and screamed at the top of my lungs, releasing all the negative energy inside of me. I was done—for real this time. I knew I had to change my life.
    Mario was already at work, so I put all of my stuff in a trash bag and on the way out I wrote on the little chalkboard that hung by the door, “Sorry I had to leave you. I will always love you.”
    That wasn’t true—I never loved him. He represented a terrible time in my life, and I always remember him as being a part of that. But writing that I loved him seemed like the nice thing to do. As itturned out, Mario ended up getting married, starting a family, and getting his life together in a way that made even my mom happy for him when she heard the news. I guess once he found
true
love, Mario was able to put a stop to some nasty habits.
    Even though I did a lot of drugs and stretched myself to the limit, I never felt like I couldn’t stop at any time. I never felt like I
needed
drugs; I just really, really liked how I felt when I was high. There’s a difference.
    I was able to make the decision to stop using and actually follow through, and almost instantly I was a new person.
    I felt so good about myself. The hard part would be convincing the rest of the world that I was turning things around.
    I left with my garbage bag of crap, nervous to face my mom again. I had lied to her and promised to change so many times, but I’d never come through. How could I ask her for forgiveness again?
    I decided to try a few other options first.
    I called my dad’s mother and asked to crash with her, but she shot me down. I think I even tried my dad, but that didn’t pan out. Finally, I called my grandmother and explained the situation.
    “Grandma, I took some bad drugs and I nearly died,” I said tearfully. “I’m done. I want to turn things around.”
    She started crying.
    “I want to come home,” I said. “But I can’t face Mom. I can’t look at her.”
    She said she would talk to my mom and explain the situation and try her hardest to get the two of us back together.
    “But even if I talk to her,” she said, “you’re going to have to be an adult and walk back here and apologize face-to-face.”
    I knew she was right, and that it was time to start playing by the rules.

CHAPTER 8
 

    All Work and No Play

    I was terrified to go back home. I had left that house a strong girl without a care in the world and I was returning a thin, rundown shadow of my former self. I got to the corner of my block and stopped.
    My mom and grandmother were having a garage sale that day, and they were outside greeting customers. I stood on the corner for a few minutes and watched them. It was symbolic in a way—them getting rid of old their old garbage on the same day I was planning to return home and prove that I wasn’t worthless.
    I took a deep breath and walked toward the house. There was an awkward silence for a second after my mom first saw me.
    “Hi,” she finally said in a tone that was a mixture of anger and relief.
    I fell to my knees.