Being an addict is something the mind never puts at ease...

At a young age, I had already experienced some of life’s toughest challenges. By age twenty, I was struggling to raise three children, go to college, work a steady job, and I had been shot in the chin by the father of one of my children. I noticed that I was living a different lifestyle than most people my age, and I soon developed a dependence on drugs. While everyones’ lives around me seemed to be moving forward, I was stuck. 

I grew up a few miles down the road in Cameron, West Virginia, and when I was in seventh grade, I went to a religious church camp in Beckley, West Virginia. After a few days at camp, I noticed one of my counselors was always carrying around a heavy looking, worn out notebook covered in stickers and scribbles. Every time I saw her, she seemed to be writing. When she wrote, she seemed so relaxed and at peace with herself, and I craved that feeling more than anything. I wanted to be a happy teenager.

One night at camp, I finally worked up the courage to ask my beautiful leader what she had been writing about all this time. To my surprise, she stuck her nose in the air and told me that I would soon find out. What did this mean? I felt even more confused and intrigued now. I wanted a journal of my own, but little did I know, it would be coming soon enough.

The next day, the same girl got onto the stage in front of everyone at camp and announced that she had a surprise for someone in the crowd. She declared that a certain young camper had inquired about the large journal she always carried around. With a sly smile, she called me up on stage, and I stood there shaking. As she looked to her own book for solace, she told the crowd that she was a recovering addict, and she kept this journal to keep her buzzing mind clear. She used it as a space to release her thoughts, fears, prayers, and simply to occupy unfilled time. Then, out of nowhere, from behind her back, she pulled out a leather bound book just like her own and handed it to me. By the end of camp, my book was full. I had filled every page with my own words that I was finally able to release into the world in a healthy way. Years later when I graduated, I had accumulated several more filled journals, so I decided to call my old counselor back to ask what I should do with all of these prized possessions. Before I could say a word, she told me to burn them because once they’re burned, the thoughts and secrets are gone forever and a new chapter can begin. I loved her comment so much that I still start every one of my journals with “In this chapter, you will…”

Since that special day, I have completed and burned over 50 journals. All of my burdensome thoughts, fears, prayers, and more all go up in smoke the minute the match strikes the pages. Being an addict took parts of my life, but it is never too late to start living your life the positive way. Making that change is like waking up and finally being able to see. 

I have now begun to put the pieces of my life back together. With the help of Street MOMs, I have now started my very own company called “The Burning Gem.” With my church camp counselor in mind, I started making and decorating my own versions of burn books with each containing a positive personal note for each recipient written by me. I also add a small gem to keep all negative vibes away and add three matches for burning. It truly shocked me when people started purchasing them. I am a 42-year-old addict that once had nothing to hold onto but myself and my book, but the success of this project has given me a newfound purpose in life.

My burn books, like humans, come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Even when you think you are not strong enough to keep going through the pain that life throws, be yourself always and never be afraid to reach out to others.

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Betsy’s Tidbit:

Hi! I am Betsy Brossman, and I was lucky enough to help transcribe Jessica’s story about her one of a kind burn books. As I was helping piece together this story, something happened to me that I will remember for the rest of my life.

My grandma Mary passed away when I was 16 from a long battle with alcoholism. Seeing someone so close to me go through this arduous struggle was something I will never forget. I was always told from a young age that she and I were very similar beings; we both loved to write and saw the world through an almost innocently positive lens, so it has always been heartbreaking to me that I never truly got to bond with her. I graduated from college this year, and as a very unexpected surprise, my aunt gifted me a small blanket she stitched out of all of my Grandma Mary’s old linens.

When it came time to read through Jess’s letters she gave me for her story, I sat on my new blanket for the first time and cried as I perused the details of Jessica’s life. I chose a Spotify playlist at random to listen to as I worked, and as the first song played on shuffle, I felt as if I was receiving a strong sign that this was the type of work I was put on this earth to pursue. It felt like someone from above was telling me that it is my mission to help tell the stories of those who may not always be able to tell them themselves.

As I checked my phone to see what song was producing this inspiration, more tears poured from my eyes as I read the song title: “Mary.” I immediately looked it up only to discover the singer wrote it about her own grandmother, Mary. It was truly a moment of divine intervention, and I have Jessica’s story to thank for it. 

I am eternally grateful to be a writer for this paper, and as my life continues on, it will be my mission to continue protecting and standing for houseless and poverty-stricken individuals through my writing.

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