- Drugs
- Friends & Family
submitted by: Susanne Johnson
I was born on Prince Edward Island, but I have lived most of my life in Ontario, Canada. The city of London, Ontario is where I have called home for the past 25 years.
At the age of three, my older sister and I were smuggled off the island and brought here to Ontario in what we would call the “Middle of the Night” move. My mother packed us up in a truck and left all family behind with a man who she got pregnant by, the same man who was my father’s employer. Enter pedophile number one into my life.
I survived 13 years of vicious and violent physical abuse and sexual assault. Today I still remember the sound of flesh hitting flesh. I recall the fear of wondering when he would finally kill me.
At the age of 11, my sister (who was four years older than I) married. She was only 15, but as I see it now it was her easiest way of leaving that house. Enter pedophile number two into my life.
From the age of 11, I was groomed by my brother-in-law and taught how to live within the code of ethics of organized crime. By the age of 13 I was well on my way. I already smoked pot and drank. By the age of 15 I learned to count money and how to check for the percentage of cut in the cocaine by just a taste and I saw my first 100 pounds of pot still wrapped in burlap from Colombia.
Just before my sixteenth birthday on one particular night, my step-father beat my legs so long with a 2×4 that I thought he broke them. Then the very next day someone aimed a shotgun at me from a distance and pulled the trigger. The bullet caught the inside of my leg and tore out a chunk. My body was black and blue for weeks.
I knew at this point if I did not leave, one of us was going to be killed. I was at my breaking point. My best friend had spoken with his attorney in private and told him what was going on. The attorney said he would take my case pro bono and get me off a murder charge should I decide to take this man’s life. I left home legally. I could do so at the age of sixteen. I quit school and moved to a small town and started working full time in a shoe factory.
I soon found all the parties and I was on a rampage. I was fortunate that a family of bikers adopted me as their little sister; they kept me under their wing and watched over what I was doing. What I was doing was sex, drugs, and rock and roll and the more the better. My best friend was murdered that year and sent my life into a downward spiral. Numerous times I was hospitalized as it was the only way the doctors could detox me.
I married at age twenty. I was young and thought that this was the answer to help my life. I brought a son and daughter into the world and raised them alone as the father was on the road 24/7. After eight years I left with the children. The relationship with the father of my kids ended with him firing two rounds from his semi-automatic hand gun into the wall right beside my head.
I moved to London in 1990 with two young children to live in a city I knew nothing about. I was a single mom who struggled to make ends meet. I struggled with substance abuse issues, trauma and severe depression which led me to places I never wanted to be.
I made poor choices in relationships and kept getting involved with violent men. I once was assaulted and the damage done to my cervical and lower spine took years to heal. I never once saw the connection with alcohol and violence, it was all I ever really knew.
I married in 1995 to an addict/alcoholic. The marriage was over the day I introduced his brother to my “drug family”. Rod watched his brother climb up the “corporate” latter; moving cocaine to the Rock Machine Bikers in Quebec, the same cocaine that was brought in by our pilots from Bogota, Colombia.
The marriage ended in June of 2000 after a yearlong run of a very heavy meth addiction that almost took my life numerous times. The last week we were together he had held me hostage in our apartment, drifting in and out of psychosis – threatening to kill me or convince me to take my life with him. Both children were gone from my life – my son had already left previously to live with my father and Children’s Protective Services had my daughter.
In 2000 I made some decisions which would turn my life around; I was admitted to a long term residential recovery home. After three months of not using I was still really sick, my skin was patches of green and yellow. I spent 10 months in that home, it is still my home today should I ever need it. I came into a twelve step program. I began to work the program and the 12 steps to the best of my ability.
I moved into my own home the day after my first sobriety birthday and soon got active in the community. After a year or more of volunteering with the Aids Committee of London, I was offered a position as Ambassador for the Hepatitis C Program. From there, I took on public speaking engagements with local graduating classes of public schools and at the same time I began doing street outreach with Counterpoint.
Friday nights were spent walking the streets exchanging dirty used needles from addicts in the down town core. My vision was that if we could keep our addicted clientele alive long enough than there was a chance they would live longer and also make that decision to stop using.
I married a third time just after my fifth sober birthday to someone in the program; the marriage was over 15 minutes after we walked out of the church. I was treated like a dog; every cent I earned he controlled, he refused to provide the basic necessities of life, and even forced me off the road while driving. After a year I left in that “middle of the night” move, waking 2 hours earlier to load boxes in the car to hide in the city every day for a week until I finally left. By this time I had been totally cut off from all support in recovery, the church and my friends. Six years sober and I found that I had made the same mistakes in recovery that I made using. Filled with shame, guilt and resentment I went back out.
Going back out was deadly, I prospered at first working for a lawyer in the immigration field, nice paycheck and the brand new SUV and credit cards.
Within a year I had two mini strokes, I lost my mother and two friends in a two week period, then I lost my sanity. I drank from the moment I was awake until I passed out. I lost my job, my SUV was repossessed. I was charged with impaired driving. My daughter was so sick of my drinking she called the Intervention Program. I spent four years on a steady slow suicide.
April 9, 2010 I made the decision to end the terror and trail of mess I left behind. The twelve steps saved my life again.
Jump ahead to present date and I have 13 years of professional experience related to the immigration field here in Canada and the United States, where I have specialized in family reunification packages. By bringing families together, I have been blessed richly for as I get to see new young families begin their lives here in the city, they have children and prosper, for which I rejoice. My eyes see no boundaries and my heart reaches out even in the most difficult situations to offer assistance to anyone in need. I was taught to love my neighbor but often most people only think of the family next door, they don’t see someone forced into a refugee camp by political terrorists as their neighbors, nor do they consider those who live on the streets as neighbors.
I followed a dream and have done such things as rappelling down 27 stories to raise money for disabled kids, put myself through military obstacles and ran rough terrains to raise money for other causes. I have also had to come to terms with post-traumatic stress, adult ADHD, and fibromyalgia.
My life has gone from “Rags to Riches” and not because of my bank account, but because of my “heart” account and the compassion for London’s most vulnerable.
I am the co-founder of Bless Their Socks which started at my dining room table over coffee with our other founder April W. We discussed how we could help those in need the most. From our own personal experience and knowledge Bless Their Socks was formed. Socks are the one most needed item by those who are homeless or at risk of being homeless. Many local churches and organizations offer meals; street level agencies offer personal care products, clothing, hot showers and laundry services but clean dry socks are always overlooked and always in demand by agencies.
Our mission, our passion and our drive is to educate the public and bring awareness for the need of donated socks; to ask people to open their hearts, the closets and drawers and donate to our cause.
Those who are homeless or at risk of being homeless have names, they are people who need love and care like any other person. By providing socks we say we do care.
September 2015 – I began classes at our local Fanshawe College to complete the Crisis Intervention Program and I married the most wonderful, loving, caring man.
Today is good, but only by the amazing grace of God.
Shelly