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Thursday, December 25, 2014

Friday, December 12, 2014

Thirty One Days

It's been thirty one days since I touched a narcotic.

No heroin.

No morphine.

No fentanyl.

Not even any ambiene.

I'd pride myself on this accomplishment, but it's also been twenty days since I've eaten any solid food. I'm not starving, but I don't feel my best. This fasting is for my surgery on Monday. They didn't tell me to fast, but I want the anesthetic to really kick in, so I'm not eating until the day of the surgery (afterwards) and while I want to say that I am never going to touch narcotics again, I know that's just not true. I know that eventually I will fall from grace.

I've separated myself from my family. I miss them incredibly, but at the same time, I can't go home until Sunday. Just in time to miss Matt's birthday. But I am happy. I had a good run out here in old LA and I certainly feel closer to my friend Sid for this experience. I'm hoping to come back in the summer and really see all that Los Angeles has to offer. Good stuff that is.

So if you're in Recovery like I am, congratulations! If you've made it as far as I have, double congratulations! If you're further, you need a medal. At first I was weak. I stayed up all night with sweats, neuropathy, horrible pains. But I feel better now. I feel like I can conquer this and get on with my life. My doctor says there is no end. That I will soon be back mooching pops off of people and blowing my money on heroin. No, not likely.

Now I must head off to bed. It's only 8pm here, but I feel like it's 10pm. I just haven't adjusted to the new time zone. I guess since I'm leaving in a couple of days, there's no need to try, now.
It's been thirty one days since I touched a narcotic.

No heroin.

No morphine.

No fentanyl.

Not even any ambiene.

I'd pride myself on this accomplishment, but it's also been twenty days since I've eaten any solid food. I'm not starving, but I don't feel my best. This fasting is for my surgery on Monday. They didn't tell me to fast, but I want the anesthetic to really kick in, so I'm not eating until the day of the surgery (afterwards) and while I want to say that I am never going to touch narcotics again, I know that's just not true. I know that eventually I will fall from grace.

I've separated myself from my family. I miss them incredibly, but at the same time, I can't go home until Sunday. Just in time to miss Matt's birthday. But I am happy. I had a good run out here in old LA and I certainly feel closer to my friend Sid for this experience. I'm hoping to come back in the summer and really see all that Los Angeles has to offer. Good stuff that is.

So if you're in Recovery like I am, congratulations! If you've made it as far as I have, double congratulations! If you're further, you need a medal. At first I was weak. I stayed up all night with sweats, neuropathy, horrible pains. But I feel better now. I feel like I can conquer this and get on with my life. My doctor says there is no end. That I will soon be back mooching pops off of people and blowing my money on heroin. No, not likely.

Now I must head off to bed. It's only 8pm here, but I feel like it's 10pm. I just haven't adjusted to the new time zone. I guess since I'm leaving in a couple of days, there's no need to try, now.

Friday, November 7, 2014

Naloxone

I keep getting hits from http://www.chasingdragonsaway.com/ but I can't seem to find my link. Help? We should talk!

So I was taken to the hospital the other day. I was still tripping hard, and I made it to my doctor's appointment, but still high. My heart was racing, I was dehydrated slightly, and my doctor sent me to the emergency room.

Several days later, my doctor says that if I don't get "help" he's not going to be my doctor anymore. That's fine with me. I've lost more people in this world that mean a lot more than he does. But that's not the issue. The issue is why I shoot up these days. My back hurts. I've lost over 100 lbs of weight, I've tried fentanyl, morphine, and tizanadine. Nothing touches the pain like heroin. I never quite ended up writhing in pain like in the old propaganda films, from withdrawal, but I got pain relief, and I got it fast. I am able to drive home, function normally, and take a nap. I see no downside to use, other than "it's illegal". So is me driving 100 MPH trying to make my doctor appointments while not wearing a seatbelt in a car that I pulled the air bag out of months ago.

The point is, I do lots of illegal things. I steal music and movies from the internet, I rip vinyl. I drive excessively fast without a seat belt. I do many things that are "bad" for my health. I eat fatty foods, I take prescription drugs that haven't been fully tested, I have slept with men I don't know their last names, I drink large, sugary sodas and coffees, I smoke nicotine. After the 11th, I'll be adding "I attended a pot party" to that list. Shooting up is the only thing that I do that has its benefits for me, medically. And I have never had to resort to illegal activities to acquire it. I've never stolen, pawned, lied or murdered to get my hands on my hits. The money comes strictly from my own pay check.

Yes, I maintain a job too. Something I'm confident in saying I couldn't do if I were in the extreme pain of a broken spine all the time.

In the hospital, they gave me Naloxone. I hate that shit. Every time I go to the ED, they shoot me up with Naloxone, and then ask why I'm there. So while I'm puking my guts out from the Naloxone, I have to answer to staff members that just want something to put in the police report. After the Naloxone wears off, I'm up shit creek without a paddle. The high comes back, and I agree with whatever the staff says to get out of there before they give me another dose. Before they realise that I am comfortable again.

I know there are no legally benefits to using. But there are benefits for me and people like me. People whom normal narcotics don't work for, so I have to go to higher doses or turn to shooting up. It's not a glamourous choice, and if I had my way, I wouldn't be in any pain so harsh that I have to sneak at the pub to get it. I wouldn't  have to have Nick duck down in my car when I'm taking him the the supplier in exchange for a hit, when a police car goes by. Because we get pulled over when the cops see him in the car with me. I'm well known to the police here. They know I'm doing shit, they just don't have the evidence to book me because I've been careful. I shoot before I leave the pub. I dispose of my materials before I leave.

I don't recommend that people in pain turn to heroin. I don't recommend that anyone get a habit or become a hype. I don't believe that I have a habit. I don't think I am a hype. I use when I am in pain or serious withdrawal, and that is it. I don't use every day and I can go for months without using. I just wish that more people understood why using is something that I do for pain relief and the occasional withdrawal relief and not something habitual.
I keep getting hits from http://www.chasingdragonsaway.com/ but I can't seem to find my link. Help? We should talk!

So I was taken to the hospital the other day. I was still tripping hard, and I made it to my doctor's appointment, but still high. My heart was racing, I was dehydrated slightly, and my doctor sent me to the emergency room.

Several days later, my doctor says that if I don't get "help" he's not going to be my doctor anymore. That's fine with me. I've lost more people in this world that mean a lot more than he does. But that's not the issue. The issue is why I shoot up these days. My back hurts. I've lost over 100 lbs of weight, I've tried fentanyl, morphine, and tizanadine. Nothing touches the pain like heroin. I never quite ended up writhing in pain like in the old propaganda films, from withdrawal, but I got pain relief, and I got it fast. I am able to drive home, function normally, and take a nap. I see no downside to use, other than "it's illegal". So is me driving 100 MPH trying to make my doctor appointments while not wearing a seatbelt in a car that I pulled the air bag out of months ago.

The point is, I do lots of illegal things. I steal music and movies from the internet, I rip vinyl. I drive excessively fast without a seat belt. I do many things that are "bad" for my health. I eat fatty foods, I take prescription drugs that haven't been fully tested, I have slept with men I don't know their last names, I drink large, sugary sodas and coffees, I smoke nicotine. After the 11th, I'll be adding "I attended a pot party" to that list. Shooting up is the only thing that I do that has its benefits for me, medically. And I have never had to resort to illegal activities to acquire it. I've never stolen, pawned, lied or murdered to get my hands on my hits. The money comes strictly from my own pay check.

Yes, I maintain a job too. Something I'm confident in saying I couldn't do if I were in the extreme pain of a broken spine all the time.

In the hospital, they gave me Naloxone. I hate that shit. Every time I go to the ED, they shoot me up with Naloxone, and then ask why I'm there. So while I'm puking my guts out from the Naloxone, I have to answer to staff members that just want something to put in the police report. After the Naloxone wears off, I'm up shit creek without a paddle. The high comes back, and I agree with whatever the staff says to get out of there before they give me another dose. Before they realise that I am comfortable again.

I know there are no legally benefits to using. But there are benefits for me and people like me. People whom normal narcotics don't work for, so I have to go to higher doses or turn to shooting up. It's not a glamourous choice, and if I had my way, I wouldn't be in any pain so harsh that I have to sneak at the pub to get it. I wouldn't  have to have Nick duck down in my car when I'm taking him the the supplier in exchange for a hit, when a police car goes by. Because we get pulled over when the cops see him in the car with me. I'm well known to the police here. They know I'm doing shit, they just don't have the evidence to book me because I've been careful. I shoot before I leave the pub. I dispose of my materials before I leave.

I don't recommend that people in pain turn to heroin. I don't recommend that anyone get a habit or become a hype. I don't believe that I have a habit. I don't think I am a hype. I use when I am in pain or serious withdrawal, and that is it. I don't use every day and I can go for months without using. I just wish that more people understood why using is something that I do for pain relief and the occasional withdrawal relief and not something habitual.

Monday, June 23, 2014

Mandy's Link

Today we're going to take a little trip away from the usual and post a link to a needy family. I know charity is something people only think about twice a year, at most, but that doesn't mean that people are only needy twice a year. All year long, people need our help. It's especially hard when they're close to your heart and you can't help them because your check hasn't come in and your husband rules the bank account like a miser, probably because of his solo project and its prospective to fail, but either way, I can vouch for this family and  tell you that they really need help.

Send anything you can to the Webbs. Even if it's just a dollar. Everything can and will help.

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Friday, June 6, 2014

How I'm Able To Get Prescriptions

Some one asked in the comments how I'm still able to get prescriptions when clearly I abused (and still have abused narcotics this year) narcotics in the past, to the point of addiction? It's very simple. I was diagnosed with cancer, for the third time, in 2012. Cancer that has eaten away at parts of my spine and the discs in my back. That's very painful, even for someone who hadn't ruined their pain tolerance with the use of narcotics. My spine is actually broken from an accident I was involved in in 2003. I was hit by a car while taking the trash out. So never take the trash out. ha ha. In all seriousness, this is something that only surgery will cure and right now my doctor won't approve surgery because he says I'm "too heavy" at 122 lbs, and that he's uncertain how my cancer is going to pan out. I'll go into this more when it's not the middle of the night and I'm updating my birthday want/wish list.

I posted this on my blog last month. I hope I don't sound like a total bitch. I was just posting the facts, ma'am.

I updated my recovery blog this weekend. Someone asked how I still get prescriptions. I’m inrecovery. Being in recovery means that I have the trust of my doctor and pharmacist. I’m in chronic pain and I have x rays that show this. I’m not exaggerating my broken back or my herniated discs, or my arthritic knees. These ailments really haunt me. Because he doesn’t want to be responsible for my pain management, my doctor sends me to a pain specialist. I get Fentanyl and Percocet, even though they are essentially the same thing. I flush my pain meds because I tend to lose myself in them. I do the same with muscle relaxers and sleeping pills. It’s sad and tragic that my body has betrayed me, but the real reason I started abusing drugs in the first place was to attempt to relieve my back pain. I wasn’t always a junkie. I took opiates because I researched them. At the time I started my true addiction, I was hooked on opiates because I had no doctor and no way to get to one, so I turned to street drugs, buying Percocet and heroin, snorting cocaine here and there. Today I’m under a doctor’s care and strict drug testing. So even when I do street drugs, and I haven’t touched any sinceFebruary, I am usually caught and my pain medication taken away. At first it’s no big deal, but when you’re going three to six days without any form of relief, it really gets to you. Plus, when I test positive for street drugs, I’m under surveillance by the police, so I don’t dare buy narcotics.
I feel that going three months without buying narcotics on the street is a good thing. I passed out because I was on narcotics in front of the doctor, and I spent a couple of days in the hospital because of it. I never want to do that again, so I’m abstaining from buying illegal narcotics. That includes marijuana.
So that’s how and why I still get prescriptions. Plus the majority of my prescriptions are insulin, anti-diabetic medications, blood pressure pills, cholesterol pills and other medicines that are not opiates. I take one sleeping pill and two muscle relaxers at night to help me sleep. While I wish I had the control released sleeping pill, I have to make due with what I’ve got.
I never really went through withdrawal. If I did, I don’t remember it. I’m sure I went through some kind of withdrawal, because I was on an anti-withdrawal medication. Alas, I do not remember it.

Being in recovery excites me. It makes me feel that I'm not weak, that I can over come anything. If I can over come a drug addiction, I can over come anything.

If I'm in recovery, why do I keep this blog?

Why do you blog? Why did you start blogging? Do you still blog for that same reason?

This blog is about recovery, before, during and after drug addiction. Obviously I didn't wake up one day and say, "I think I'll be a drug addict from now on!" No one does that. Many of us in recovery are regretful of that first use. I, however, am not. It gave me something to touch base on with the man that I am now married to, who gave me four beautiful children. It made me who I am, fighting pain of a disease that is eating away at my body. It gave me so much more than it took away from me. For a while, though, that wasn't true. For seven years, someone I was close to would die. Usually terrible, and usually I witnessed it. The life of drugs is like that. You see death. You see painful deaths. You get raped. You get robbed. You get tricked and conned. I was a victim of all of that. The small amount of joy drugs brings you at first is not worth the path it leads you down, but you don't realise that in the beginning. No one does. And if they do, they don't care.

So be smart. Don't start.
Some one asked in the comments how I'm still able to get prescriptions when clearly I abused (and still have abused narcotics this year) narcotics in the past, to the point of addiction? It's very simple. I was diagnosed with cancer, for the third time, in 2012. Cancer that has eaten away at parts of my spine and the discs in my back. That's very painful, even for someone who hadn't ruined their pain tolerance with the use of narcotics. My spine is actually broken from an accident I was involved in in 2003. I was hit by a car while taking the trash out. So never take the trash out. ha ha. In all seriousness, this is something that only surgery will cure and right now my doctor won't approve surgery because he says I'm "too heavy" at 122 lbs, and that he's uncertain how my cancer is going to pan out. I'll go into this more when it's not the middle of the night and I'm updating my birthday want/wish list.

I posted this on my blog last month. I hope I don't sound like a total bitch. I was just posting the facts, ma'am.

I updated my recovery blog this weekend. Someone asked how I still get prescriptions. I’m inrecovery. Being in recovery means that I have the trust of my doctor and pharmacist. I’m in chronic pain and I have x rays that show this. I’m not exaggerating my broken back or my herniated discs, or my arthritic knees. These ailments really haunt me. Because he doesn’t want to be responsible for my pain management, my doctor sends me to a pain specialist. I get Fentanyl and Percocet, even though they are essentially the same thing. I flush my pain meds because I tend to lose myself in them. I do the same with muscle relaxers and sleeping pills. It’s sad and tragic that my body has betrayed me, but the real reason I started abusing drugs in the first place was to attempt to relieve my back pain. I wasn’t always a junkie. I took opiates because I researched them. At the time I started my true addiction, I was hooked on opiates because I had no doctor and no way to get to one, so I turned to street drugs, buying Percocet and heroin, snorting cocaine here and there. Today I’m under a doctor’s care and strict drug testing. So even when I do street drugs, and I haven’t touched any sinceFebruary, I am usually caught and my pain medication taken away. At first it’s no big deal, but when you’re going three to six days without any form of relief, it really gets to you. Plus, when I test positive for street drugs, I’m under surveillance by the police, so I don’t dare buy narcotics.
I feel that going three months without buying narcotics on the street is a good thing. I passed out because I was on narcotics in front of the doctor, and I spent a couple of days in the hospital because of it. I never want to do that again, so I’m abstaining from buying illegal narcotics. That includes marijuana.
So that’s how and why I still get prescriptions. Plus the majority of my prescriptions are insulin, anti-diabetic medications, blood pressure pills, cholesterol pills and other medicines that are not opiates. I take one sleeping pill and two muscle relaxers at night to help me sleep. While I wish I had the control released sleeping pill, I have to make due with what I’ve got.
I never really went through withdrawal. If I did, I don’t remember it. I’m sure I went through some kind of withdrawal, because I was on an anti-withdrawal medication. Alas, I do not remember it.

Being in recovery excites me. It makes me feel that I'm not weak, that I can over come anything. If I can over come a drug addiction, I can over come anything.

If I'm in recovery, why do I keep this blog?

Why do you blog? Why did you start blogging? Do you still blog for that same reason?

This blog is about recovery, before, during and after drug addiction. Obviously I didn't wake up one day and say, "I think I'll be a drug addict from now on!" No one does that. Many of us in recovery are regretful of that first use. I, however, am not. It gave me something to touch base on with the man that I am now married to, who gave me four beautiful children. It made me who I am, fighting pain of a disease that is eating away at my body. It gave me so much more than it took away from me. For a while, though, that wasn't true. For seven years, someone I was close to would die. Usually terrible, and usually I witnessed it. The life of drugs is like that. You see death. You see painful deaths. You get raped. You get robbed. You get tricked and conned. I was a victim of all of that. The small amount of joy drugs brings you at first is not worth the path it leads you down, but you don't realise that in the beginning. No one does. And if they do, they don't care.

So be smart. Don't start.

Friday, May 23, 2014

Supportive

I appreciate all the comments I've been getting these past couple of months. Being addicted to anything, whether it's cigarettes, alcohol or hard core drugs. Support is important, and I wish I had more of it. I wish that things were different in my life, and that I had never touched drugs. Sometimes I wish that I had never done a lot of the things in my life, even if they are positive. I have no regrets, but I have a lot of "what if"s. A lot of mistakes that I don't regret that many people feel I should regret them. Why? They are my mistakes to have been made.

Dennis was sick for the while that he was gone. I don't feel sorry for him. I could have nursed him back to health on my own, but he chose to be with one of his friends. We have a lot of growing to do in this relationship, and that scares me. Many things come to mind when I think about us growing as a couple. Some of my friends have expressed that one never quite stops growing when you're in a relationship. Dennis is my main support. My cheerleader. As I was his. We leaned on each other when there was no one else in our lives who cared it we lived or died. There were people who said we were wasted lives, and there were people who said we should just give up. But we never gave up on each other.

Yes, I get mad at Dennis for not always being there for me, when I think he should be. But he has proven time and time again that he really does care for me and that he has been there when it mattered the most.

Since my last post, there has been more accumulation of Fentanyl and hydrocodone in the house. I have kept it around for God knows what reason, and then flushed it. I can't have that shit around, because I know I will fall from grace. Being weak. It's all I know how to be sometimes. Other times I don't know how I feel.

I wish Dennis trusted me more. Or that I felt he did. I feel that he trusts his friends more than he does me, and that sucks because I'm supposed to be his best friend. I know he is my best friend and that I trust him with my life. Perhaps it's time that we went back to couples' therapy? I know I've benefitted from therapy in the past. Maybe it's time we went back to therapy to benefit our future.
I appreciate all the comments I've been getting these past couple of months. Being addicted to anything, whether it's cigarettes, alcohol or hard core drugs. Support is important, and I wish I had more of it. I wish that things were different in my life, and that I had never touched drugs. Sometimes I wish that I had never done a lot of the things in my life, even if they are positive. I have no regrets, but I have a lot of "what if"s. A lot of mistakes that I don't regret that many people feel I should regret them. Why? They are my mistakes to have been made.

Dennis was sick for the while that he was gone. I don't feel sorry for him. I could have nursed him back to health on my own, but he chose to be with one of his friends. We have a lot of growing to do in this relationship, and that scares me. Many things come to mind when I think about us growing as a couple. Some of my friends have expressed that one never quite stops growing when you're in a relationship. Dennis is my main support. My cheerleader. As I was his. We leaned on each other when there was no one else in our lives who cared it we lived or died. There were people who said we were wasted lives, and there were people who said we should just give up. But we never gave up on each other.

Yes, I get mad at Dennis for not always being there for me, when I think he should be. But he has proven time and time again that he really does care for me and that he has been there when it mattered the most.

Since my last post, there has been more accumulation of Fentanyl and hydrocodone in the house. I have kept it around for God knows what reason, and then flushed it. I can't have that shit around, because I know I will fall from grace. Being weak. It's all I know how to be sometimes. Other times I don't know how I feel.

I wish Dennis trusted me more. Or that I felt he did. I feel that he trusts his friends more than he does me, and that sucks because I'm supposed to be his best friend. I know he is my best friend and that I trust him with my life. Perhaps it's time that we went back to couples' therapy? I know I've benefitted from therapy in the past. Maybe it's time we went back to therapy to benefit our future.

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Flushed Fentanyl

I just flushed all the fentanyl in the house. I just got two boxes of it today, but I flushed it within a few hours of having it. There's no need of having something that is just going to be a temptation around.

Still no sign of that coward I married. If I know him, the last time he disappeared like this, he was stoned off his ass with "Ierrie". Stupid stage name, but that's what they call him.

Now I just have to flush the benzos, and I'll be doing fine.

How are you?

Thursday, April 3, 2014

I Don't Really Wanna Be The Queen

Relapse is a scary thing. You take drugs, you think that you are in control, but you are not. You go to the familiar places, see the same old faces, you shake, you shiver, you're cold, you're hot, your nose runs, your breath is short. You spend money that could be better spent on something else. Relapse does this to a person. Relapse does a lot of things to a person, least of all throws them off the straight and narrow path.

The sores come back a few days after you start using again. Sores that you had healed up. They start out as itchy blisters, but you pop them when you scratch them. They itch so badly. They don't bleed when they are popped, they ooze a clear pus-like liquid. Plasma. Your body is so desperately trying to fight off the infection, the injury. But it's a losing battle.

You keep at it. You hurt yourself. Not just physically. You are mentally hurting. That's why you tie off your arm, and the arm of your companion. That's why you share a needle. That's why you mix up the morphine and inject it without a second thought. That's why you're in the mess that you're in. Emotion sickness. You self medicate because you're too embarrassed to get help. You want it now, not in six to eight weeks when your anti-depressant kicks in. Alcohol and drugs give you that calming medicated feeling. They chase away your emotions. You feel nothing and nothing feels like nirvana compared to where you were before.

I relapsed. I did morphine earlier this afternoon with my husband's guitarist. I provided the morphine, I was the one who administered it. I am ashamed and saddened that I did this. I am tired from the morphine. I am sleepy. I want to just lay down and not wake up. I am forgetful. I took three insulin shots tonight because I couldn't remember which bottle of insulin I had just taken. I want to be clean.

I crave to be clean. I wanted to give that to Dennis for his birthday next week, but I failed. I have no one to blame but myself. I wanted to get high. I was hurting, emotionally. I felt like Dennis did not love me. I felt like I failed my children, as if they would be better off with another mother. After shooting up, I knew all of that was true. I know if I don't give up drugs, Dennis will leave me. I can't make it without him. I can't make it on my own. I cannot drive. I cannot find the courage to put down the needles, the pills.

To make a sad story sadder, I took three pills just a few minutes ago. I cannot help myself. My doctor wasn't kidding when he said that I needed help. I just can't do it. Is there a drug to cure drug addictions? If so, where can I buy it? I don't want to deal with doctors, cops, nurses. I want to help myself. I'm sure that if I can help myself, I will get better. But I need that push. That extra push to get clean.

Relapsing has made me feel worthless. I want to scream at myself. I want to punish myself. I did it because I am in a rut, and I paid dearly for it. I got sores on my hand, near where I shot up. They were blisters that itched and drove me crazy. I felt like I was jumping out of my skin. My arms felt like they were made out of rubber. Nothing felt right. I didn't get the wonderful high that I wanted. I felt like shit for an hour afterwards. My husband's guitarist didn't make a pass at me, but he let me lean against him as the morphine raced through our blood streams. Giving me access to clean needles was a mistake my doctor made. I feel that shooting up is something that I can do at leisure now. It's okay, it's safe now. There's no way I can get any blood-born pathogens if I use a clean needle every time.

It's not safe when I buy. There is always a chance that Byron will kick my ass again. He has beaten me up twice in our relationship of customer/dealer. There were times when  he demanded sex instead of money. He takes advantage of me. I let him. If I were a stronger person, I could walk away from this all. I could walk away from Byron when he's about to rape me, or demand that I suck his dick. I wouldn't need anything that he sells. I wouldn't come on to my husband's guitarist, his best friend, offer him sex while high. I wouldn't have pressured him into screwing me. I wouldn't have offered to suck his dick.

But these things happened.

I did them.

I did them all.

And because of that, I am an unfit mother. I am someone who doesn't deserve to have her children, her job, her husband. I want to associate with gutter trash? I should be in the gutter. It's just that simple.

I want to be a slut who will sleep with anyone who has a hit or two on them? I should become a prostitute and just screw men to get high and give me twenty bucks at a time for food and shelter. Live in motels. Never mind where I came from or who I am.

The reality of it all is that I am not this person. I do not deserve to live the life of an addict.

Yet here I sit with tears running down my cheeks, wondering what the hell happened to me. I was not like this when I was younger. I hate who I secretly have become. I have become the slut, the addict, in a rut with emotion sickness that is slowly killing me.

And I don't know what to do.
Relapse is a scary thing. You take drugs, you think that you are in control, but you are not. You go to the familiar places, see the same old faces, you shake, you shiver, you're cold, you're hot, your nose runs, your breath is short. You spend money that could be better spent on something else. Relapse does this to a person. Relapse does a lot of things to a person, least of all throws them off the straight and narrow path.

The sores come back a few days after you start using again. Sores that you had healed up. They start out as itchy blisters, but you pop them when you scratch them. They itch so badly. They don't bleed when they are popped, they ooze a clear pus-like liquid. Plasma. Your body is so desperately trying to fight off the infection, the injury. But it's a losing battle.

You keep at it. You hurt yourself. Not just physically. You are mentally hurting. That's why you tie off your arm, and the arm of your companion. That's why you share a needle. That's why you mix up the morphine and inject it without a second thought. That's why you're in the mess that you're in. Emotion sickness. You self medicate because you're too embarrassed to get help. You want it now, not in six to eight weeks when your anti-depressant kicks in. Alcohol and drugs give you that calming medicated feeling. They chase away your emotions. You feel nothing and nothing feels like nirvana compared to where you were before.

I relapsed. I did morphine earlier this afternoon with my husband's guitarist. I provided the morphine, I was the one who administered it. I am ashamed and saddened that I did this. I am tired from the morphine. I am sleepy. I want to just lay down and not wake up. I am forgetful. I took three insulin shots tonight because I couldn't remember which bottle of insulin I had just taken. I want to be clean.

I crave to be clean. I wanted to give that to Dennis for his birthday next week, but I failed. I have no one to blame but myself. I wanted to get high. I was hurting, emotionally. I felt like Dennis did not love me. I felt like I failed my children, as if they would be better off with another mother. After shooting up, I knew all of that was true. I know if I don't give up drugs, Dennis will leave me. I can't make it without him. I can't make it on my own. I cannot drive. I cannot find the courage to put down the needles, the pills.

To make a sad story sadder, I took three pills just a few minutes ago. I cannot help myself. My doctor wasn't kidding when he said that I needed help. I just can't do it. Is there a drug to cure drug addictions? If so, where can I buy it? I don't want to deal with doctors, cops, nurses. I want to help myself. I'm sure that if I can help myself, I will get better. But I need that push. That extra push to get clean.

Relapsing has made me feel worthless. I want to scream at myself. I want to punish myself. I did it because I am in a rut, and I paid dearly for it. I got sores on my hand, near where I shot up. They were blisters that itched and drove me crazy. I felt like I was jumping out of my skin. My arms felt like they were made out of rubber. Nothing felt right. I didn't get the wonderful high that I wanted. I felt like shit for an hour afterwards. My husband's guitarist didn't make a pass at me, but he let me lean against him as the morphine raced through our blood streams. Giving me access to clean needles was a mistake my doctor made. I feel that shooting up is something that I can do at leisure now. It's okay, it's safe now. There's no way I can get any blood-born pathogens if I use a clean needle every time.

It's not safe when I buy. There is always a chance that Byron will kick my ass again. He has beaten me up twice in our relationship of customer/dealer. There were times when  he demanded sex instead of money. He takes advantage of me. I let him. If I were a stronger person, I could walk away from this all. I could walk away from Byron when he's about to rape me, or demand that I suck his dick. I wouldn't need anything that he sells. I wouldn't come on to my husband's guitarist, his best friend, offer him sex while high. I wouldn't have pressured him into screwing me. I wouldn't have offered to suck his dick.

But these things happened.

I did them.

I did them all.

And because of that, I am an unfit mother. I am someone who doesn't deserve to have her children, her job, her husband. I want to associate with gutter trash? I should be in the gutter. It's just that simple.

I want to be a slut who will sleep with anyone who has a hit or two on them? I should become a prostitute and just screw men to get high and give me twenty bucks at a time for food and shelter. Live in motels. Never mind where I came from or who I am.

The reality of it all is that I am not this person. I do not deserve to live the life of an addict.

Yet here I sit with tears running down my cheeks, wondering what the hell happened to me. I was not like this when I was younger. I hate who I secretly have become. I have become the slut, the addict, in a rut with emotion sickness that is slowly killing me.

And I don't know what to do.

Saturday, March 22, 2014

Never Getting Well

I screwed up a couple of times. The last one being last night. I really didn't need a fix, I just wanted to sleep. Sleep doesn't come easy for me. I lay awake at night by the hour with the perfumed candle burning brightly. The candle doesn't bother me, nor does the light from it keep me awake. I usually wake up from bad dreams.

Using, to me, is my way of life. There is no way I can get through this without some form of help. Being on insulin now doesn't help because there are hypos all around.

I felt pretty good when I wasn't using. I was happy. True happiness was a rarity.

I'm happy to say that Dennis didn't fall from grace with me. It was just me. Just my own little problems. Just my own little issues that seem to never be fixed.

Pray for me. I want to kick this. I want to get well. I don't want to be an addict forever. I don't want to struggle with this forever. I want to feel happy all the time, not depressed and vulnerable. Not afraid and weak.

Drugs scare me. Coming off drugs scares me even more. Withdrawal scares me. Maybe some day I won't be so afraid.
I screwed up a couple of times. The last one being last night. I really didn't need a fix, I just wanted to sleep. Sleep doesn't come easy for me. I lay awake at night by the hour with the perfumed candle burning brightly. The candle doesn't bother me, nor does the light from it keep me awake. I usually wake up from bad dreams.

Using, to me, is my way of life. There is no way I can get through this without some form of help. Being on insulin now doesn't help because there are hypos all around.

I felt pretty good when I wasn't using. I was happy. True happiness was a rarity.

I'm happy to say that Dennis didn't fall from grace with me. It was just me. Just my own little problems. Just my own little issues that seem to never be fixed.

Pray for me. I want to kick this. I want to get well. I don't want to be an addict forever. I don't want to struggle with this forever. I want to feel happy all the time, not depressed and vulnerable. Not afraid and weak.

Drugs scare me. Coming off drugs scares me even more. Withdrawal scares me. Maybe some day I won't be so afraid.

Thursday, February 27, 2014

Drug Free Month

Husband and I are trying our hardest to not fall off the bandwagon this coming month. It's big news because we both have been hitting the bottle and the narcotics hard. Me especially. They threw me in the hospital twice this month and that's something that I wish I had not done. My doctor says I need help (no shit!) but I just don't know where to seek it. I want to get well, I really do. This blog is about recovery and I need to recover as best as I can.

Drugs have made me the person I am. I won't lie about it. Because I have done them I have the family I have, the education I have, the children I have, and the life that I have had. They have also contributed to my health in a severely negative way. I have shelves of journals that tell the same tale. I have notebooks that I have written the same thing over and over again in. They all say the tale of recovery then failure. They go back to 1992.

Drugs don't define me.

I worked up the nerve to talk about my problem with my doctor, and he said I needed help but did not offer it.

Heroin has become my world and earlier this month I drug an innocent person into that world. I watched their eyes glaze over as I injected the poison into their blood stream. I did that. I introduced them to a world that has taken me for rides that only others can imagine. Rides that have recently ended in hospital ED's and rooms. I don't like being in the hospital. They ask too many questions, there are too many coppers wandering around, and I just don't like being away from my home life.

So I want to try to get clean next month. March will be a drug-free month if I can help it. I am going to try hard. My last day I used: February 17, 2014. I want to make it to St. Patrick's day without using. Then I can call myself a success. Wish me luck!
Husband and I are trying our hardest to not fall off the bandwagon this coming month. It's big news because we both have been hitting the bottle and the narcotics hard. Me especially. They threw me in the hospital twice this month and that's something that I wish I had not done. My doctor says I need help (no shit!) but I just don't know where to seek it. I want to get well, I really do. This blog is about recovery and I need to recover as best as I can.

Drugs have made me the person I am. I won't lie about it. Because I have done them I have the family I have, the education I have, the children I have, and the life that I have had. They have also contributed to my health in a severely negative way. I have shelves of journals that tell the same tale. I have notebooks that I have written the same thing over and over again in. They all say the tale of recovery then failure. They go back to 1992.

Drugs don't define me.

I worked up the nerve to talk about my problem with my doctor, and he said I needed help but did not offer it.

Heroin has become my world and earlier this month I drug an innocent person into that world. I watched their eyes glaze over as I injected the poison into their blood stream. I did that. I introduced them to a world that has taken me for rides that only others can imagine. Rides that have recently ended in hospital ED's and rooms. I don't like being in the hospital. They ask too many questions, there are too many coppers wandering around, and I just don't like being away from my home life.

So I want to try to get clean next month. March will be a drug-free month if I can help it. I am going to try hard. My last day I used: February 17, 2014. I want to make it to St. Patrick's day without using. Then I can call myself a success. Wish me luck!

Monday, January 20, 2014

Sick Day

It's abnormal for me to talk to anyone and get a decent response. So many people are pissed off at me for no reason other than I try to be nice to them. So fuck it. I'm not going to be nice to people who are not nice to me. Two can play at their game.

I've had some hydrocodone here at work. Ooooh, doing drugs on the clock! Bad! I really don't care. They can't prove it and I won't admit to it.

Last night I dreamed that I was out with my friend Josh. That we went to homecoming together. Homecoming consisted of people sitting in a movie theater-like room watching bad videos on a screen. Once we got there, Josh dumped me. I was alone in Indiana somewhere, the flatlands, but people kept telling me it was Indy for some reason. Josh thinks my dreams are cute. I don't know what to say other than it's not cute, I woke up with a head ache, wanting to go back to sleep, but knowing that I had to go into work today.

Maybe after work I'll try to get unsick. I hate being sick.
It's abnormal for me to talk to anyone and get a decent response. So many people are pissed off at me for no reason other than I try to be nice to them. So fuck it. I'm not going to be nice to people who are not nice to me. Two can play at their game.

I've had some hydrocodone here at work. Ooooh, doing drugs on the clock! Bad! I really don't care. They can't prove it and I won't admit to it.

Last night I dreamed that I was out with my friend Josh. That we went to homecoming together. Homecoming consisted of people sitting in a movie theater-like room watching bad videos on a screen. Once we got there, Josh dumped me. I was alone in Indiana somewhere, the flatlands, but people kept telling me it was Indy for some reason. Josh thinks my dreams are cute. I don't know what to say other than it's not cute, I woke up with a head ache, wanting to go back to sleep, but knowing that I had to go into work today.

Maybe after work I'll try to get unsick. I hate being sick.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Addiction Rules Your Life

I want a new life. I want to be someone else. When I think of all of the things that I have done to myself over the years, I cry. Drugs, sex with random people, alcohol, fights, it all adds up, and it all subtracts from my lifespan. I've suddenly fallen in love with life, which I'm sure will be short lived, and I have stopped myself short of doing things that I know I'd regret.

I was hurting the other night and I went to see Byron, my drug dealer, for some morphine. He was really sympathetic. More so than a drug dealer should be. I took the morphine before I left the parking lot. Driving home semi-high was a mistake. Coming home in general, to a house with kids, was a mistake. Buying the morphine was a mistake. Taking the morphine was a mistake. I wanted pills to swallow, but all Byron had were injections. Cost me over one-twenty to get it.

Yesterday I had withdrawal all damned day. I needed a cigarette. I needed more morphine or heroin. Today I'm not so bad, but it's not going to last. I'm going to need a hit sooner rather than later.

Addiction rules your life. Once you get into it, being weak, you may never get out. I am one of those people who will never recover from this. I try and I try and I never seem to recover from drug addiction. I always will call Byron, until the police catch him, and then I will graduate onto another dealer. I never thought I would live like this. I never thought that I would live so long doing this. When I took that first hit, I thought I would just try it and then never touch it again. Or that I could do it whenever and I wouldn't need it. I never thought I would need it.

Days and weeks flew by and I was taking hits every day. I couldn't help myself and I couldn't get enough heroin. I took fentanyl legally, and then I overdosed on it once a month. I took pills. I took too many pills. When I had my daughter, I had access to oxy contin being in quarantine for MRSA the first time, I could have all the morphine and oxy I wanted.

I have friends. I have loved ones. Most of them don't know about my little habit, and the ones who do don't speak to me very often. I'm almost certain that they don't want to know me anymore, and I'm fine with that. I don't go out of my way to make friends with someone. They just naturally want to be friends with me, and I'm grateful for our time together, but if they want to break it off, that's ok too.

I'm going to bed now.
I want a new life. I want to be someone else. When I think of all of the things that I have done to myself over the years, I cry. Drugs, sex with random people, alcohol, fights, it all adds up, and it all subtracts from my lifespan. I've suddenly fallen in love with life, which I'm sure will be short lived, and I have stopped myself short of doing things that I know I'd regret.

I was hurting the other night and I went to see Byron, my drug dealer, for some morphine. He was really sympathetic. More so than a drug dealer should be. I took the morphine before I left the parking lot. Driving home semi-high was a mistake. Coming home in general, to a house with kids, was a mistake. Buying the morphine was a mistake. Taking the morphine was a mistake. I wanted pills to swallow, but all Byron had were injections. Cost me over one-twenty to get it.

Yesterday I had withdrawal all damned day. I needed a cigarette. I needed more morphine or heroin. Today I'm not so bad, but it's not going to last. I'm going to need a hit sooner rather than later.

Addiction rules your life. Once you get into it, being weak, you may never get out. I am one of those people who will never recover from this. I try and I try and I never seem to recover from drug addiction. I always will call Byron, until the police catch him, and then I will graduate onto another dealer. I never thought I would live like this. I never thought that I would live so long doing this. When I took that first hit, I thought I would just try it and then never touch it again. Or that I could do it whenever and I wouldn't need it. I never thought I would need it.

Days and weeks flew by and I was taking hits every day. I couldn't help myself and I couldn't get enough heroin. I took fentanyl legally, and then I overdosed on it once a month. I took pills. I took too many pills. When I had my daughter, I had access to oxy contin being in quarantine for MRSA the first time, I could have all the morphine and oxy I wanted.

I have friends. I have loved ones. Most of them don't know about my little habit, and the ones who do don't speak to me very often. I'm almost certain that they don't want to know me anymore, and I'm fine with that. I don't go out of my way to make friends with someone. They just naturally want to be friends with me, and I'm grateful for our time together, but if they want to break it off, that's ok too.

I'm going to bed now.
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