My theme is optimism. But let’s be thorough. Life isn’t always rosy. Sometimes it’s thorny. Sometimes when alternatives are less appealing, narcotics are the remedy. Hard drugs are just that too. Hard. They’re hard to quit once people have gained momentum with their abuse. With that in mind, this report doesn’t guarantee a happy ending. Still, that doesn’t mean it ends on a sad note either. We'll have to wait and see. When I know more, I’ll bring you up to date. Still, there is reason for optimism in this particular case.

I’ll be as brief as a two-minute lover. This is a glance of a young lady strung out. She’s probably in her mid to late twenties. I see her around my neighborhood ever so often. She’s usually out of her mind, dancing alone in the middle of the street as traffic races by. Sometimes she’s sitting in the grass outside a local church with others, all of them high and likely hallucinating. I don’t know what particular drug her poison is, but she’s been on it for several years.

At first, I thought it was crack, base, woolies, or some derivative of cocaine. Then when meth became the thing, I wondered if that was what it was. Now that Fentanyl is popular, maybe that’s it. Who knows? It could even be dust or something as romantic as LSD. Whatever it is, she’s on it!

I’ve seen her speed walking up the block cursing wildly at the sky. I’ve seen her floating by the park, gazing in longingly for the sight of a dealer. Sometimes she’s with others. Usually, she’s by herself. You can see her in the summer months wearing ragged denim shorts and short sleeveless shirts that are more like bras. Her tossed about hair rests on her head in a way that suggests it died there and can’t be resurrected. The look on her face is always one of intense anxiety, wild intoxication, and a healthy dose of anger. I always thought her eyes were brown. But I had never gotten close enough to confirm that. I wasn’t sure if she would bite or not.

Of all the addicts I saw on a regular basis, she had the lengthiest track record. And the shortest temper. She was the most far gone of them all. And one of the youngest. For a while I avoided eye contact with her. I could never tell what weird thoughts were on her mind. But after a year or so, I tried to smile a little at her. She never noticed it though. So, after another year or so, I just got used to not looking at her too hard. Once I got through the usual routine of thinking, “that’s a shame. That’s too bad,” I settled on “she’s lost,” and didn’t give her anymore thought.

Nobody else did either. People got accustomed to seeing this fiendish girl. She always appeared from nowhere, crossing intersections at wild angles without looking. She always looked like she was in a hurry but wasn’t eager to get to wherever she was going. I used to wonder whether she cared about living and not dying. I wondered where she came from. Did she have any normal ideas? Any family? Anything she cared about other than getting spaced out all the time?

Finally, my imagination rested. I made peace with the facts. I would never know anything about this addicted person. But I wished her well. Time went on. For a couple of seasons, she was nowhere to be found. Then one summer afternoon I was standing by the park. Out of the blue, she came strolling up the block. When she passed by me, she seemed to recognize me. She even seemed to think something positive about me. For the first time, I saw that her eyes were in fact brown. Her face looked clear. She wasn’t stressed and she wasn’t high. She kept walking by the park without gazing inside. Soon she was gone. She actually looked like she had somewhere worthy to go.

I spotted her again at the end of the summer. She was walking down the sidewalk in a pretty dress. It was white and decorated with roses. Again, she was clean and sober. Her hair was arranged nicely. She looked good. She kept walking along as a few guys standing around took notice. She carried herself gracefully and even smuggled a coquettish smile. It was a triumphant grin as well. She was drug-free. She was something to see that day. I haven’t seen her in the streets since. I hope she’s well. I’ll let you know if I see her again. But if I’m right and she’s sober, she personifies the idea that anything is possible.

If you need someone to talk to or to simply listen to you, call the Mental Health Hotline at 866-903-3787. Or call 988.