the-addicts-truth

[the-addicts-truth]

The Journey to Rock Bottom

Its 3 am and like always, around this time of year, I find my self struggling to do much of anything. Even writing this is a struggle, I'm not sure I can win.

I'm sorry to my loved ones reading this. I'm sorry for the pain and hurt this post might cause. Just know that nothing, NOTHING, you did caused me to be the way I was, and that everything you did, helped me become the person I am today.

You see this is the anniversary of the rock bottom.

I'm talking real, scary, not sure if I would make it out alive. rock bottom.

I'm talking passing out on the bathroom floor, virtually unresponsive, of a funeral home, rock bottom. True, honest to god, I didnt care if I lived or died rock bottom.

5 years ago this week I had the worst thing happen to me. The thing that pushed me over the edge.

At this point the Ex and I had been in active addiction for quite some time. Neither of us were working, and it was getting harder and harder to support our addiction. Our dealer had his claws in us, as did the Dope, so we did whatever we could. I went sick, while he got the hookup. The Ex always was more willing to do things for drugs than I was. Dont get me wrong, one of our friends felt bad for me and would help me out when he could. It was living hell and alot of times J was the only reason I wasn't sick.

5 years ago to the day, as I type this, we were sitting at J's house, all three of us dope sick as fuck, waiting on his dealer to get back from Kensington. We left him borrow our car in exchange for drugs. I mean gotta do what we gotta do right. Dude was gone for like 6 hours. The Ex was so sick from withdrawl, he couldn't even stand. He was so sick he was on the verge of calling his mom. We had been going on days of just barely getting enough to keep us from being sick. It was taking its toll.

Finally.... Finally J broke out the last bag he had, and a suboxone. "Just to take the edge off." He offered to share everything he had, to hold us over until The Dealer got back. He split the bag, a line for each of us, and a shot for him, and cut the Suboxone in to three parts.

The Ex and I were still snorting.

Snorting is all I ever did. At least I had that going for me. ANYWAYS.

I did my line, wrapped the little orange strip in some plastic wrap and prayed to feel even just a little bit better. The Ex, well he was a true junkie, an all or nothing kind of guy. We all knew the dangers of mixing dope and suboxone, we knew precipitated withdrawals were a thing. He even said " I'm gonna be sick as fuck later" But he didn't care, he had the means to feel better and he took it. All at once. All or nothing.

The Dealer finally got back, with no drugs, no money, and a lot of pissed of people. Claimed he got ripped off, and well in the drug game anything is possible. The Ex and I took the car and went back home. We had a few people in town that we could score from and we needed to do something. But first thing was first. This was the first time in a few days either of us felt normal, and sleep was much needed.

I woke up to hell. For those of you who don't know what a precipitated withdrawal is, it is a severe reaction to taking a opioid blocker (such as suboxone) too soon in to the withdrawal process. Since The Ex took them within such a short time span, he woke up sicker than he had been in days. I found him laying in the tub, shaking uncontrollably, vomit, cold sweats, chest pains. We tried to ride it out. He took he last piece of Sub I had, and a few Xanax, I as able to get from another addict. To this day I don't know if he passed out from the withdrawal, the combination of drugs, or was just down enough to sleep. But sleep he did. I occasionally checked on him, and he seemed fine. Thursday passed in a blur and Friday came. Friday was worse, if it could get worse. He actually begged me to call his Mom. His Mom who hated me, blamed me for his addiction, blamed me for enabling him. I simply had no choice. She had me rush him to the hospital, and met us there.

The next few hours were a blur of yelling, screaming, tears, doctors, phone calls, social workers. I was starting to withdrawal myself a this point and just wanted to go home. I was scared, and alone. I got myself into this mess and decided then and there I was going to get myself out of it.

The social worker was able to get him into an inpatiet rehab facility but he had to go right away. While his Mom dealt with the paperwork, I was giving a very specific list of things to go home and pack for him.

On the way home I called J. I was alone for the first time in my active addiction and I was terrified. We talked for the whole car ride back to my apartment. I decided then that If the Ex was getting clean so was I. J was out of Suboxone, but he had a few Percocets he was willing to give me if I swung by. Sure why the hell not. I mean I had some time to kill before I could even meet them at the rehab and  its better than the Dope. Plus I was ready to try but I wasn't ready to deal with The Mom, and checking The Ex in to rehab sober. I went to sign the Ex into rehab, on a Friday night, with an handful of Percs in my pocket.

What a shit show. What a train wreck. And it only got worse. I remember thinking that this had to be it, rock bottom. Ha. Rock bottom was not where I thought it was.

My mom knew The Ex was using, and she may have had an idea I was but I'm not entirely sure. I called her and checked in, told her what was going on with him, and his Mom. I don't even really remember it. I just remember telling her how scared  I was, about him going to rehab, about being alone in my apartment.  She was in the hospital herself but told me to call my brother and they would figure out a way to get him down to me.

I was broke, with no gas in the car, no money to do anything and I was exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. Between the lack of sleep, all the driving, the stress, and emotional toll, I was running on fumes.  I put on some music, broke out a Perk, and went to sleep. Tomorrow was another day.

A day that I'm not ready to write about.

[the-addicts-truth]

How It All Started.

I wasn't always like this. I mean I didn't always struggle with drugs. I was a somewhat normal kid, somewhat normal family. I got good grades, participated in extra curricular activities, was in band, chorus, orchestra, school show. I was always doing something. I started working when I was 14. I had friends. I had goals.

I'm not saying I don't have those things anymore. 

I certainly do, but its different now.

Drugs were never something  I wanted to do. I was never into experimenting with things. Hell I didn't even smoke weed for the first time until i was 19. I lived in a world where they were all around me, I could get whatever I wanted, I just didn't want to. That was until I realized that the same drugs I was given for various pain issues, could help me cope with all the things I had been struggling with for my entire life. 

I know you're probably wondering what on earth could be so hard for a teenager to cope with? 

Well I will tell you.

I  grew up being held to ridiculous standards. I wasn't allowed to fail, I wasn't allowed to get bad grades. 

My dad had vanished from my life for quite a few years, then came back like nothing happened. I should add he also brought along a completely new family. 

At the age of 16 I was held at knife point by my boyfriend and raped. He told me that if I didn't say yes he was going to slit my throat. He told me that he would go after my family. That he would get what he wanted one way or another. I said yes, left immediately afterwards. For weeks he would sneak in to my house put his hand over my mouth, or pin me to hte bed face first and take what he wanted. He raped me over and over because I was too afraid. I tired telling people, and nobody believed me. So i just stopped. I stopped talking about it  because I was just made out to be a slut. Everyone told me it was my fault for dating an older guy. I was told I should of been prepared to have sex with him. He stalked me for moths after and  I was still told it was my fault. I lived in constant fear that he would find me, that he would do worse the next time. When my parents finally caught him leaving my house one night they flipped. My mom didn't give me a chance to tell her what happened and just shipped me off to my dad's. My dad wasn't around enough for me to trust, my stepmom while helpful, I hated at the time because she took my dad away from me. Or at least in the eyes of 16 year old me. My friends all stopped talking to me except for one or two, I was alone. I was struggling and had no where to turn. 

Worst of all I blamed my self. I mean after all I watched my mom get the living shit kicked out of her for years, at the hands of my step dad. And could do next to nothing about it. He struggled with his own addiction issues, and was verbally and physically abusive not only to her but to my brother and I. I quickly stepped up and tried to become the defender of my family. It didn't always go well for me. There were quite a few broken bones, because, well I wasn't afraid of him. I shattered my hand punching him, broke my foot by kicking him in the knees repeatedly, the list goes on. turns out broken bones equal stronger pain meds, and soon I learned that I could take the edge off of my shitty home life by popping a little percocet or vicoden or whatever I had. I didn't use them every day, just when I couldn't cope. (read that again folks, I used when I couldn't cope) I never really thought I had an issue. I mean i didn't use every day, I didn't even use for fun. I just used when I couldn't deal with real life.  I was mentally abused, I was told I wasn't worth the breath I used to live.  I was told that I was better off dead. I attempted to kill myself three times in the course of a few years.

My parents tried to help at one point, getting me in to see a therapist. Her constant solution was that I was worrying about things a teenager didn't need to worry about and that I just needed to relax and be a kid. I needed to not worry about what was going on with my dad, or my mom, or my step parents. Those were grown up concerns and I needed to let them go. We didn't work on coping strategies, or breathing exercises. I was just told to let it go. When I wasn't showing any progress it was suggested that I consider medication which I promptly said no to. I knew that I needed help, not medication to cover the issues. 

I was already self-medicating. 

I didn't need more drugs. 

The drugs I had were working just fine.

[the-addicts-truth]

Welcome to My World.

Hello. I am a recovering Heroin addict and this is my world.

I've learned along the way that the way addicts are treated is horrible. We are looked down upon, talked about, put down, and made out to be the scum of the earth.

Well we are not.

We are mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, lovers.

We are people.

We have lives, we live every day.

We have struggles, we have ups and downs.

We have goals and dreams and hope.

I am an addict, and I am in recovery. This is my story. This is my life.