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- December 27, 2016 at 12:04 pm#41182AnonymousInactive
I know this is long winded..but I just want to get this out there, I feel so alone I just want to know some one understands, even if they can’t relate…And for the record, Ben is my b/f of 2 years, and Tony is my pseudo-sibling.
Long week. I spent my prescription drug money on…other drugs. My slip started with pot, but I’m falling fast into worse and worse things. My body has gone through major methadone/fentanyl abuse this week, while in severe Effexor withdrawal. Today I got my meds for the first time, but I’m still extremely depressed. Combine that with a cocktail of pot, tabs, and adderall, and you’ve got one hell of a pensive mood.
I’m figuring things out, though.
I do feel awful, I lied to Ben. Outright made up a complete 100% lie to cover myself. Essentially, I knew there was no chance in hell I could pretend to not be high so I came up with a story that justified, even required, the use of a different drug.
I did talk to him a lot though, I sugar coated things a bit however because he can’t handle the truth. I told him times are hard. That times are getting harder, and I’m getting weaker. I’m falling, and fast. I made it sound like I’m on the fast track to the bottom, rather than own up to already being there. Eventually I will have to tell him, I can’t keep these secrets forever. But on a different time line. Right now I’m admitting to being where I actually was in the Fall. I imagine by Spring I will be able to tell him that I’ve hit where I am now…but where will I be then?
Other than the drugs, I did tell him pretty much everything. I rambled for hours; maybe it was the Adderall talking. But it felt great; still depressing, but I feel like we haven’t talked, like really talked, in months. In fact, I don’t think we actually have. I told him how I’m scared, and worried, and anxious. How I know what I need; how I don’t deserve to have it. How I’m frustrated. I showed him my grades on Adderall. I showed him my grades when it stopped. I told him about my panic attacks; and the inexplicable, completely imaginary, terrors that cause them. I told him how I’ve no sense of time. How I’ve checked out. I even talked about getting my Adderall back, illegally. And he listened..My Love listened. Didn’t tell me to stop, didn’t tell me he didn’t want to hear it anymore, he sat with me for hours and just listened. He only really cut it to make me breathe. I didn’t notice, but I was yelling, I was shaking. I’m still shaking. But I’m getting closer to having my answers.
I’m so lost right now, you guys. I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know why I feel what I do. I don’t know why I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this; I don’t understand my not knowing, I don’t know why I don’t understand. I’m stuck in a vicious circle of confusion. I’m so lost.
I know why I stopped coming over, now, though. I needed the time for self reflection. I can’t think with someone else in the room. I wasn’t just depressed, or pulling away from him. I just needed to think, to breathe. And I’m getting closer to my answers.
A big answer hit me tonight. It was because I talked with Tony. He got me high; we talked about nothing of meaning, but everything was important to me. When our rather pointless conversations end, and I head on my way, they keep going in my head. I continue it with myself, with the imaginaries. And from a small, seemingly insignificant line he spoke, I pulled out one of my most sought after answers throughout my whole history of substance abuse.
We were talking about heroin. He said to stay away from it, that I’d like it too much. He said he won’t do it; he had tried, it made him feel out of control. He likes his substance to the point where he still has himself. I told him that’s what I like, the opposite. I like losing myself. He said he knew, and that’s why I’d like heroin. And to stay away from it.
Doesn’t seem that special, right? Go back to “I like losing myself”. Since my first hit, since my first shot, I have done **** in excess to the point of blacking out, to the point of having no control, to where I don’t know where I’m waking up or why; or why I’m waking up at all. And I’ve loved every minute of it. But, my ultimate question here, is “why?”
Do I just like hurting myself? Am I secretly more suicidal that I thought? Am I just an attention *****? “Why?” Other people can party, smoke, sniff, eat, diet, drink, all while keeping control, moderation, and having fun. I’m the crazy bitch that ruins it. “Why?” What the hell is wrong with me?
Years later, I know.
For so long, I’ve had so many expectations and responsibilities heaped upon my shoulders. I’ve had to take care of myself since a very young age. No one was there for me, everything was on me. Or at least that’s how it’s always felt. Hell, I was kicked out living in my car at 17 trying to get it together and find sufficient work, find a roof over my head, find money, find food, get to school, get THROUGH school. Survive.
Even back to being a little kid; after my parents divorce, everything went to hell. It was basically just me. Well, me and my brother but in those days he wasn’t much good for anything but beating the **** out of me. My mom was working. My mom was out drinking. My dad… I don’t know where he was. Time and time again, I’d pack my things, wait on my porch, because he said. He said he was coming to get me. That little children shouldn’t be home alone in the middle of the night while there mother is off God knows where doing God knows what. But of course, and I think you know where this is going, he never came. To this day, I’m ashamed to wait for anyone. If a ride or a guest is even slightly late, I’m bent out of shape and hurt to hell.
And how does all this fit in? Well, and as counter productive this is to every other issue I have with anger and control, abusing substance to the point that I lose myself let’s me escape this heavy burden of excess responsibility I have beared through out my life time. I can forget; I get a break, from taking care of myself. No one has ever “taken care” of me. As a little girl, I was hurt. I wasn’t cared for. Well, by no one but myself at least. And after all this time, at least once in a damn while, I deserve relief. I need relief.
So to put it in it’s most simplest form (that I’m not sure quite does it justice) the answer is “Relief”.
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