I sat on the closet floor, a carry-on bag laid open before me. I was not taking a flight. I just did not have anything else to put my clothes and hygiene products in. I never replaced the suitcase that he had taken when he left. It just never seemed important. Everything I figured I would need was all over the floor around me. I placed it all there so I could pack it. The walk-in closet, even with its cold tile floor against my bare legs, felt safe. I felt protected. I knew what was waiting for me out there, outside the closet, outside my bedroom, outside my apartment. A stranger was coming in the morning to pick me up. He was going to drive me. I could then start over.

I had been in my closet for over an hour with only a few pair of underwear packed. It was hard to focus. A small, dark blue, ceramic plate was on the floor next to me. I liked using my blue plates because the white, powdery substance was easier to see. On white plates, I might miss some, and I was not about to take that chance. I picked the straw up off the plate. I had cut it earlier with my kitchen scissors, so it was only half the size that it used to be. I wiped it off with my thumb and pointer finger, and I put my fingers in my mouth. The substance numbed my tongue and my lips. I never wasted a drop. That would be insane. I put the straw to my right nostril and leaned over the plate. I snorted the line in seconds and sat up. That familiar warm feeling filled my body and made my head tingle.

What was I doing? Ah yes, I was packing. Soon, I would not have the white powder. I would learn how to live life again without it. This was not going to be forever, but it was going to be for at least a month. My mind started to wander. Would he know I had gone? Would he care? He had left me—not the guy who stole my suitcase, that was a different one. I had not been good enough. I was never good enough. I had tried to be what I believed I should be, but I failed. That is what brought me to the white substance glowing off my plate. It made me enough. It showed me I could do everything, until one day out of nowhere, it did not allow me to do anything.

I did another line.

I was going to get help tomorrow. I needed to go away for a little while. I was not being forced. It was my choice. My mother was making it financially possible. She had made so many things in my life possible, which began when I was two months old when she adopted me. When I was born, I was placed in foster care. I did not know my biological mother. All I knew was that she was white. My adopted family was white too. I am not. I am biracial. My light brown skin and curly hair made people decide that I was mixed with black. I did not know my biological father either, so if people said that I was half black, then that must be what I was. This was once an issue, but not now, not anymore.

I placed a few t-shirts in my bag. I figured I would take some t-shirts and jeans, which is what I lived in anyway. Of course, I would bring a hoodie in case it was cold. I was cold a lot, especially being so thin. I did not have much body fat to keep me warm. I was finally skinny. That made me happy. Being 5’11 and Size 0-2 was what I had always wanted. I had mentally struggled with my weight my entire life. As a child, I did not know that I had an eating disorder, but I knew now. However, the white powder handled my weight. I did not have to purge my food anymore.

I took my driver’s license, which was also laying on the plate, and formed another line. I did not have a lot left, so I made the line a little smaller and snorted it. Once I was terrified of this substance. I would not touch it. I thought back to when it first had any impact in my life. It had to have been in high school. A guy I was dating when I graduated was on it, and it caused the murder of my friend. I witnessed the murder, and it had a huge impact on my life. But I did not want to think about that now. I needed to pack. I also needed to figure out how I was going to get more cocaine. What I had was not going to get me through the night. I spent a few hours in my closet packing and doing lines. I got up a few times to go have a cigarette, but then I would return right back to the closet.

I finally finished packing, threw on a pair of jeans and flip-flops, and said goodbye to the girl who was going to house-sit and watch my cats while I was gone. I repeated all the things that I had already told her a dozen times regarding their care, which I even wrote down. I was nervous about leaving them. This was the first time. I then walked a block to a friend’s house where I knew there would be enough cocaine to keep me going until the driver arrived in the morning to take me to treatment. I just needed one last night, and then I could stop—not forever. I never planned to stop forever. I just needed time. Time would fix everything.