For what was to come of me I did not know?

Jail, I forgot to mention I was not in the general population cell. I was on the medical side. I have Eplilesy. So I was stuck in a tiny cell, with no bars. A window(only by definition), and a solid door with a tiny opening for food, and if I was lucky a phone to pass through. I was not alone in this tiny box either. I shared it with a young girl who was pregnant, and sadly detoxing from something pretty hard core. She was very gaunt, and slept alot. A baby was inside her relying on her to provide nutrients, and she was killing herself and her unborn.

Like I was any better, at the time my 17 year old daughter, and in 4 days 15 old year old son, relied on me for emotional nutrients(yet they were severely lacking), and alcohol was most likely killing me. Just different substances of choice to abuse. This gal, I never got her name got the bunk. I got a mat on the concrete floor with so little space to move about. There was a toilet that was visable for use as it was right at my feet where I slept. The food was horrid, and I did not want to eat. I wanted to save face, and not use that cold metal bowl. 

All the while I sat there in shock of all that had taken place. My mom knew a little of what was going on from Washington State as she was one of my last calls. She figured out how to start a charge account so I could when allowed place calls to Her only.

I had no idea the process, and how long I would be in there. I was booked on a disorderly intox.

My anxieties were growing wild within. The box I lay in seemed to grow smaller in size with each passing minute. I needed out, and panic was definitely taking over.

Oddly enough I found myself praying. Praying for the girl who had her back to me, as she slept her sentence away. Praying for what would come of me when I was released with no money, phone, resources, and over 30 miles from home. Praying for what I knew was the end of my marriage. Praying for the Lord to have mercy on me, and in the same thought wishing for my magic serum. My serum that for sure would help me come to answer all these questions so much better. The antidote that would make the walls seem larger, and my fear subside. For I was not trusting in my God so much higher than I. Where was my solace, where was my comfort? All had gone on the way side, and I was forced to feel. Sober literally sucked!! I found myself crying quietly scared sober, and knew once I was released from my box of solidarity I had no idea where to begin. 

Where would I go? Would my family pick me up? Would my life ever be the same? Could I do sober, when my every thought even a prayer had the thought of a drink? What would become of my kids? How did it come to this? Claustrophobic, and sober! My two least favorite of things. Really what would come of me, my life as I had known it was coming to an end.

Clausterphopia and panic from corner to corner, and head to toe

For what was to come of me I did not know?

Riddled with confusion as I begun to have more clarity, sober and scared beginning to care

For what would become of me I did not know?

In the same breath praying, and then between words of save me was thoughts of alcohol. Like when you stare at that mole on someone’s face trying to focus on their words all the while the mole is really all you can think on, ie; “Lord I alcohol want to alcohol pray for grace alcohol and please God alcohol”

For what would become of me I did not know?

Sober was soberring to say the least, and I still wanted to feast from a bottle

For what was to come of me I did not know?

Ukempt, and desolate. Much like my heart. I cried out, “Oh Lord could any one hear me?” My color pallet was so dirty, and pastels did not reside. Jesus oh Jesus were you on my side? The weeds were ever spreading to my very core, and I my ear deaf to his knock at my hearts door.


Psalm 18:6 But in my distress I cried out to the Lord; yes I prayed to my God for help. He heard me from His sanctuary; my cry to Him reached His ears. 

It just had not reached mine, my ears could not hear…


Author: Lisa O'Day, Cries from an unkempt garden

I write to tell my story of how I overcame self affliction, and great despair in this life. For I write to share the death to self that took place. That I may Glorify God in all I do. May my writings be a refelction of freedom, for I am no longer in captivity of self. May they be warm, and inviting. For I write because God has given me words that drip from my mouth to be seen.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s