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.

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.

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.

Birthday

Happy birthday to me!

Happy birthday to me!

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.

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.

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?

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?

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

Out of Control

My drug use has caught up with me.

My doctor knows, and he was being all discreet about it until I needed him at my hearing today, and then he made his views public. He saw the needle marks, he knew that I had been visiting Byron, he knew that I had done meth. It's becoming out of control again. I never had infected needle marks on my arms, though. That part that he told was a lie.

Anyone know why Blogger is double posting my posts? It's really annoying.

My drug use has caught up with me.

My doctor knows, and he was being all discreet about it until I needed him at my hearing today, and then he made his views public. He saw the needle marks, he knew that I had been visiting Byron, he knew that I had done meth. It's becoming out of control again. I never had infected needle marks on my arms, though. That part that he told was a lie.

Anyone know why Blogger is double posting my posts? It's really annoying.

Fallen Angel

An excerpt from comatised:

On Thursday I fell from grace. I'd like to say that there was too much pressure and that I just couldn't control myself, but that would be a lie. I consciously went out and did what I did and I hate myself for doing it. I hate that I took our money that was supposed to be for other things and bought that poison. I hate that I left my phone at home so that I couldn't be reached to be talked out of what I was doing. I worried Dennis and he nearly called the police. I knew if I heard his voice asking where I had gone, I would turn around and come home. I didn't want to come home. I didn't want to hear his voice. I just wanted the release of heroin and that's what I went after.

The new guy selling as a much more potent batch than Byron. Byron sold a cheaper, sleezier batch, but this guy sells a batch so strong that one sees fuzzy tan blankets over their eyes. It was hard to stumble to my car, but I was able to do so. The new guy also is far more afraid to sell to those who don't use. Use in front of him, or you can't buy from him. I'm secretly glad that I chose to use in front of him, rather than bring it home and have to hide it for a few hours until Dennis fell asleep and Zinnia stopped crying for the night.

The drive home was interesting. The tan blanket was gone by the time I reached the car. I was seeing sparks, waves in front of my eyes. Lights, puddles, the moon, they all reflected that light in front of my eyes. I wasn't light headed, but I was dizzy. The world was moving at a normal speed, so I felt I was safe to drive. I've driven home waaaay more tipsy than that before. In a way, I wasn't really high. I felt good, but I felt better than when I was high the last time.

The morning after, I hated myself. I made excuses for myself and then immediately hated myself some more. The morning after, there was no excuse for what I had done. Worried my family, lied, "borrowed" the car without anyone knowing. I want to say that I had fun, but I can't even convince myself that I did that. I am just weak. I cannot beat this, and I'm beginning to think that I never will. That I will always be like this, sneaky, sick and generally a weirdo, after one thing. Jimmy was right about me. I'll never change, and at the rate I am going, I will never have anyone close to me because of it.

An excerpt from comatised:

On Thursday I fell from grace. I'd like to say that there was too much pressure and that I just couldn't control myself, but that would be a lie. I consciously went out and did what I did and I hate myself for doing it. I hate that I took our money that was supposed to be for other things and bought that poison. I hate that I left my phone at home so that I couldn't be reached to be talked out of what I was doing. I worried Dennis and he nearly called the police. I knew if I heard his voice asking where I had gone, I would turn around and come home. I didn't want to come home. I didn't want to hear his voice. I just wanted the release of heroin and that's what I went after.

The new guy selling as a much more potent batch than Byron. Byron sold a cheaper, sleezier batch, but this guy sells a batch so strong that one sees fuzzy tan blankets over their eyes. It was hard to stumble to my car, but I was able to do so. The new guy also is far more afraid to sell to those who don't use. Use in front of him, or you can't buy from him. I'm secretly glad that I chose to use in front of him, rather than bring it home and have to hide it for a few hours until Dennis fell asleep and Zinnia stopped crying for the night.

The drive home was interesting. The tan blanket was gone by the time I reached the car. I was seeing sparks, waves in front of my eyes. Lights, puddles, the moon, they all reflected that light in front of my eyes. I wasn't light headed, but I was dizzy. The world was moving at a normal speed, so I felt I was safe to drive. I've driven home waaaay more tipsy than that before. In a way, I wasn't really high. I felt good, but I felt better than when I was high the last time.

The morning after, I hated myself. I made excuses for myself and then immediately hated myself some more. The morning after, there was no excuse for what I had done. Worried my family, lied, "borrowed" the car without anyone knowing. I want to say that I had fun, but I can't even convince myself that I did that. I am just weak. I cannot beat this, and I'm beginning to think that I never will. That I will always be like this, sneaky, sick and generally a weirdo, after one thing. Jimmy was right about me. I'll never change, and at the rate I am going, I will never have anyone close to me because of it.

Fentanyl No More

On August 4, 2013 (I think) I stopped using Fentanyl. It made my arms feel all weird at first, but I really believe that I made the right choice on stopping all narcotics. Even if my back is killing me, even if I have long term withdrawals.

I got a phone call tonight from a friend who had his gall bladder out, and he took the entire bottle of pain killers. No worrying; he's opioid intolerant like me, and the pills were low dose. After throwing up, because of the Acetaminophen in them, and after the hallucinations, he felt high. For a few moments, I wanted to feel that high as well, but I can't do that anymore. I have a life that drugs have no place in anymore. Dennis is completely supportive of me stopping all drug use, even if it means I have to physically suffer for a short period of time.

I also unwillingly gave up coffee. I haven't had a cup since June. I think it was harder to give up than the narcotics. I don't feel any better, I just feel. If that makes sense.

Friday I am going through another cancer treatment. My cancer is in my kidney and it's inoperable. I worry that it has spread and that's why I cannot have it operated on, and why I was given chemotherapy instead of other treatments. I don't like to think about my treatments. They leave me foggy and sleepy. I am offered all sorts of pain killers while I am in treatment, but I refuse them all the time.

I've about had it with Blogger. The paragraphs don't work, the posts repeat themselves in the same frame, I always get some ridiculous captcha that Blogger never recognises when I type it in. Normally, if I get the captcha wrong, Blogger eats my comment. I wish I could keep the same URL and just use WordPress on here. But it doesn't work that way. If I want to keep my URL (and I do!!) I have to use Blogger.

I'm breaking out in a cold sweat now, so I'm going to attempt to go to bed. How are you? Do you have any advice for me about the Blogger problem? Want to wish me well in treatment? Don't be afraid to comment. I love getting comments, and I love interacting with people!

On August 4, 2013 (I think) I stopped using Fentanyl. It made my arms feel all weird at first, but I really believe that I made the right choice on stopping all narcotics. Even if my back is killing me, even if I have long term withdrawals.

I got a phone call tonight from a friend who had his gall bladder out, and he took the entire bottle of pain killers. No worrying; he's opioid intolerant like me, and the pills were low dose. After throwing up, because of the Acetaminophen in them, and after the hallucinations, he felt high. For a few moments, I wanted to feel that high as well, but I can't do that anymore. I have a life that drugs have no place in anymore. Dennis is completely supportive of me stopping all drug use, even if it means I have to physically suffer for a short period of time.

I also unwillingly gave up coffee. I haven't had a cup since June. I think it was harder to give up than the narcotics. I don't feel any better, I just feel. If that makes sense.

Friday I am going through another cancer treatment. My cancer is in my kidney and it's inoperable. I worry that it has spread and that's why I cannot have it operated on, and why I was given chemotherapy instead of other treatments. I don't like to think about my treatments. They leave me foggy and sleepy. I am offered all sorts of pain killers while I am in treatment, but I refuse them all the time.

I've about had it with Blogger. The paragraphs don't work, the posts repeat themselves in the same frame, I always get some ridiculous captcha that Blogger never recognises when I type it in. Normally, if I get the captcha wrong, Blogger eats my comment. I wish I could keep the same URL and just use WordPress on here. But it doesn't work that way. If I want to keep my URL (and I do!!) I have to use Blogger.

I'm breaking out in a cold sweat now, so I'm going to attempt to go to bed. How are you? Do you have any advice for me about the Blogger problem? Want to wish me well in treatment? Don't be afraid to comment. I love getting comments, and I love interacting with people!

Outage

We lost power three hours ago. It could be another three hours before we get out power back on. It's hot and muggy outside, but there wasn't much choice when it comes to opening the windows or roast with them closed. Thank God we have screens; Mosquitos are trying their damnedest to get in for a meal.

I tried to stay awake through my entire sleepiness episode, but I accomplished nothing. I couldn't take notes, but at least I didn't lose my memory in trying to stay awake. One thing that was interesting is that I had random numbness and weakness from the neck down. Strange, and at the time scary as hell! I wish my (asshole!) doctor would see me. He temporarily banned me because I owed him $20 and I didn't have the cash on me Tuesday. The University has offered to give me a $600 per-paid Visa to help on my bill, from what i owed before i got insurance, if only my doctor will accept it. There's no reason why he should not accept it, other than being an asshole.

Going to sleep some more. I just can't get enough.

We lost power three hours ago. It could be another three hours before we get out power back on. It's hot and muggy outside, but there wasn't much choice when it comes to opening the windows or roast with them closed. Thank God we have screens; Mosquitos are trying their damnedest to get in for a meal.

I tried to stay awake through my entire sleepiness episode, but I accomplished nothing. I couldn't take notes, but at least I didn't lose my memory in trying to stay awake. One thing that was interesting is that I had random numbness and weakness from the neck down. Strange, and at the time scary as hell! I wish my (asshole!) doctor would see me. He temporarily banned me because I owed him $20 and I didn't have the cash on me Tuesday. The University has offered to give me a $600 per-paid Visa to help on my bill, from what i owed before i got insurance, if only my doctor will accept it. There's no reason why he should not accept it, other than being an asshole.

Going to sleep some more. I just can't get enough.

Severely Sleepless

I'm severely tired again. Back to where I can't get enough sleep. I don't understand why I am so tired that I just want to sleep for days and days. Any ideas?

No stars for me tonight. We're getting rain and cloudiness for the entire week, and as long as it keeps the heat down, I'm all for it! I can't stand the super heat.

To I am going to give Dennis a little early Father's Day present from me. ;) The kids want to make the cake tonight, so if I can stay awake for longer than fifteen minutes at a time, I would love to bake a cake. Maybe that will get my mind off of things, get my mind on other things. Later on tonight, Dennis and I are going to another Couples' Club party. I really like these parties.

For the first time in years, I got to go to the water park! I never thought I would be able to go just for me, you know? No kids, no other family members, just Dennis and I, gliding over the calm, sparkling water of the Lazy River circle pool, to riding the wild waves of the Ocean Motion wave pool. I even down a huge slide! We had a blast, just the both of us, for my birthday. That may be why I'm so tired today. I know it's why all my muscles are sore. So sore that I had to pop a tizanidine when I first woke up this morning. By some miracle, AKA sun screen and sun block, I didn't get burned out there in the warm sun. I sure hated to leave, after spending three hours having so much fun. Coming home, I took a bath and collapsed into the bed. No cake and ice cream, didn't even open my presents or upload the water park pictures to Flickr, I was just so tired.

So today I get to open my presents, have some cake and ice cream, and have Happy Birthday sung to me. It's like my birthday is such a big event, it lasts two days!

I think the best present I got was Billy had officially left me alone for six months now. Six whole months of me not having to turn down his advancements. Ahh, peace is wonderful!

Have a fun and safe weekend! Smile! I insist!

I'm severely tired again. Back to where I can't get enough sleep. I don't understand why I am so tired that I just want to sleep for days and days. Any ideas?

No stars for me tonight. We're getting rain and cloudiness for the entire week, and as long as it keeps the heat down, I'm all for it! I can't stand the super heat.

To I am going to give Dennis a little early Father's Day present from me. ;) The kids want to make the cake tonight, so if I can stay awake for longer than fifteen minutes at a time, I would love to bake a cake. Maybe that will get my mind off of things, get my mind on other things. Later on tonight, Dennis and I are going to another Couples' Club party. I really like these parties.

For the first time in years, I got to go to the water park! I never thought I would be able to go just for me, you know? No kids, no other family members, just Dennis and I, gliding over the calm, sparkling water of the Lazy River circle pool, to riding the wild waves of the Ocean Motion wave pool. I even down a huge slide! We had a blast, just the both of us, for my birthday. That may be why I'm so tired today. I know it's why all my muscles are sore. So sore that I had to pop a tizanidine when I first woke up this morning. By some miracle, AKA sun screen and sun block, I didn't get burned out there in the warm sun. I sure hated to leave, after spending three hours having so much fun. Coming home, I took a bath and collapsed into the bed. No cake and ice cream, didn't even open my presents or upload the water park pictures to Flickr, I was just so tired.

So today I get to open my presents, have some cake and ice cream, and have Happy Birthday sung to me. It's like my birthday is such a big event, it lasts two days!

I think the best present I got was Billy had officially left me alone for six months now. Six whole months of me not having to turn down his advancements. Ahh, peace is wonderful!

Have a fun and safe weekend! Smile! I insist!

Thirty Three

Happy birthday to me.

Happy birthday to me.

That Went Over Well

*Groans*

The domain that I purchased for this site is expiring in a week. A fucking week. I never used it. Ever. What a resourceful person I have become. My internet existence is next to nothing, all I do is constantly pump life into comatised, which I am certain that I probably won't even have a year from now, because it is expiring next month.

Why do I do this? Why do I start things and never follow through with them? Do you know how many commercial fonts I have on my computer that I have never used because I have started graphics and never finished them? Or just never followed through with them to begin with.

If anyone has any resources or encouragement for me, feel free to leave it. Lord knows, I need it.

*Groans*

The domain that I purchased for this site is expiring in a week. A fucking week. I never used it. Ever. What a resourceful person I have become. My internet existence is next to nothing, all I do is constantly pump life into comatised, which I am certain that I probably won't even have a year from now, because it is expiring next month.

Why do I do this? Why do I start things and never follow through with them? Do you know how many commercial fonts I have on my computer that I have never used because I have started graphics and never finished them? Or just never followed through with them to begin with.

If anyone has any resources or encouragement for me, feel free to leave it. Lord knows, I need it.

Addiction and Motherhood

I'm working on my 21st mini novel, and the subject throughout it is motherhood and addictions. Addiction from prescription pain pills, heroine, cocaine, and alcohol.

Just a few days before Zinnia was born, I bought a bottle of red wine and had finished the bottle before I had gotten home. I went back and bought three more bottles. Only 1/2 a bottle survived to make it to my house.

I hate myself so much these days.

I'm working on my 21st mini novel, and the subject throughout it is motherhood and addictions. Addiction from prescription pain pills, heroine, cocaine, and alcohol.

Just a few days before Zinnia was born, I bought a bottle of red wine and had finished the bottle before I had gotten home. I went back and bought three more bottles. Only 1/2 a bottle survived to make it to my house.

I hate myself so much these days.

Fourteen Years

Today is my oldest daughter's Fourteenth Birthday.

Or it would be, if she were alive.

Poetry Rose died of a barbiturate overdose, just a dose and a half of what was prescribed for her, in the wee hours of the morning on May 20, 2009. She was ten years old.

Suffering from multiple tumors that were causing her severe pain, PoRo's doctor had told her father and I that chemotherapy would just prolong her suffering, and wrote us a prescription for her of high dose barbiturates, a dose so high that I once tried it and found myself sobbing and "out of body" for hours. The doctor informed us that if we tried to pursuit chemotherapy from another physician or cancer treatment center, he would personally report us to child services for child abuse. Our parents also threatened us with a report to child services if we did nothing and just let our daughter die.

It was a horrible time for me, for Dennis, for our family.

PoRo mimicked my medication taking. She had watched me take pain medication for a long, long time (since July of 2003), and she was certain if I did it, it had to be right. I was her hero, another mistake she made. In mimicking what I do many times with my invalid pain medications, she took just a half a dose higher than was recommended, and it killed her.

Her death was ruled an accident.

Dennis and I both turned ourselves in to the police after the paramedics took PoRo's body away. We blamed ourselves, and each other, at the same time. No charges were brought because PoRo had written in her journal hours before taking the fatal dose, that she had saw not only myself take multiple pain medicine pills, but her father usually over medicated, and so did her cousin Jess. We were all fine. She was never aware that medicine could be lethal, and if you died in this world, there's no reset button, and you don't get to come back. She thought she had super powers, as she thought the same about me, because she had beaten cancer three years before she died. I still cry for her because she died like an unwanted animal. With the same overdose they get. Except she wasn't an animal, and she wasn't unwanted. She was dearly loved and much wanted.

Not a day goes by that I don't think of her and the situation, and how tragic it turned out. There are many days that I wonder if there was something I could have done differently, that would make her alive to this day. When she was seven, she had several tumors removed from her breast, and was given a clean bill of health after six months. But the cancer came back. It has a nasty, bad habit of doing that. I was happy when Chloe's tumors were declared benign. I don't think I could live through another innocent life being sick, weakened by a disease that is almost always fatal.

Because they were the best of friends on this Earth, in this Life, PoRo and Jess were interred next to one another, so their spirits need not wander too far to be together again.

Every February 25th since her death, I make a birthday cake for dessert at dinner time. I made one this year. As a tributing tradition, we, as a family, all blow out the candles on the cake at the same time. My hope is that she will be remembered because of this tradition.

I'd also like to point out, even though it is irrelevant in this whole thing, that a freak from the far ends of the web harassed me to tears over me taking extra pain medication for my severe pain. They mocked me, telling me that my kids were going to get into my medicine and die from drug overdoses. That person was not right. In both telling me that I was this apathetic bitch who partied down on prescription pain killer, and in accusing me of not caring for my kids. I care for my family. Just because I don't update my blog every day with how much I love and cherish them doesn't mean that I do not feel it, that I do not care for them. I don't know where that person (or her other two personalities are, the ones that pretended to be my friend(s) to get info out of me) is now, but if she does want to come mock me for her being "right" I really don't care. I don't have to let her comments through. And I can ban her second set of IPs as well.

Oh, and if he were alive, George Harrison would be 70 today.

Today is my oldest daughter's Fourteenth Birthday.

Or it would be, if she were alive.

Poetry Rose died of a barbiturate overdose, just a dose and a half of what was prescribed for her, in the wee hours of the morning on May 20, 2009. She was ten years old.

Suffering from multiple tumors that were causing her severe pain, PoRo's doctor had told her father and I that chemotherapy would just prolong her suffering, and wrote us a prescription for her of high dose barbiturates, a dose so high that I once tried it and found myself sobbing and "out of body" for hours. The doctor informed us that if we tried to pursuit chemotherapy from another physician or cancer treatment center, he would personally report us to child services for child abuse. Our parents also threatened us with a report to child services if we did nothing and just let our daughter die.

It was a horrible time for me, for Dennis, for our family.

PoRo mimicked my medication taking. She had watched me take pain medication for a long, long time (since July of 2003), and she was certain if I did it, it had to be right. I was her hero, another mistake she made. In mimicking what I do many times with my invalid pain medications, she took just a half a dose higher than was recommended, and it killed her.

Her death was ruled an accident.

Dennis and I both turned ourselves in to the police after the paramedics took PoRo's body away. We blamed ourselves, and each other, at the same time. No charges were brought because PoRo had written in her journal hours before taking the fatal dose, that she had saw not only myself take multiple pain medicine pills, but her father usually over medicated, and so did her cousin Jess. We were all fine. She was never aware that medicine could be lethal, and if you died in this world, there's no reset button, and you don't get to come back. She thought she had super powers, as she thought the same about me, because she had beaten cancer three years before she died. I still cry for her because she died like an unwanted animal. With the same overdose they get. Except she wasn't an animal, and she wasn't unwanted. She was dearly loved and much wanted.

Not a day goes by that I don't think of her and the situation, and how tragic it turned out. There are many days that I wonder if there was something I could have done differently, that would make her alive to this day. When she was seven, she had several tumors removed from her breast, and was given a clean bill of health after six months. But the cancer came back. It has a nasty, bad habit of doing that. I was happy when Chloe's tumors were declared benign. I don't think I could live through another innocent life being sick, weakened by a disease that is almost always fatal.

Because they were the best of friends on this Earth, in this Life, PoRo and Jess were interred next to one another, so their spirits need not wander too far to be together again.

Every February 25th since her death, I make a birthday cake for dessert at dinner time. I made one this year. As a tributing tradition, we, as a family, all blow out the candles on the cake at the same time. My hope is that she will be remembered because of this tradition.

I'd also like to point out, even though it is irrelevant in this whole thing, that a freak from the far ends of the web harassed me to tears over me taking extra pain medication for my severe pain. They mocked me, telling me that my kids were going to get into my medicine and die from drug overdoses. That person was not right. In both telling me that I was this apathetic bitch who partied down on prescription pain killer, and in accusing me of not caring for my kids. I care for my family. Just because I don't update my blog every day with how much I love and cherish them doesn't mean that I do not feel it, that I do not care for them. I don't know where that person (or her other two personalities are, the ones that pretended to be my friend(s) to get info out of me) is now, but if she does want to come mock me for her being "right" I really don't care. I don't have to let her comments through. And I can ban her second set of IPs as well.

Oh, and if he were alive, George Harrison would be 70 today.