my insides are screaming at me to just get high.

So good news! I'm feeling much better. 

The other day sort of got way out of hand when I had to speak to my brother about his drinking and talking to me while drunk. He's down visiting from out of town but has come home wasted almost every night this week.  It's just so frustrating and triggering when he talks to me like that. And for some reason the conversation always comes back to my recovery. So I'm talking to a person who's just waxed about not being waxed...it's awkward. Especially because my insides are screaming at me to just go get high so I can be in the same state. It sucks. So when I asked him not to, things got out of control and we fought. So I was in a bad mood and then sort of got into it with the guy who runs the site I've been writing for. It was mostly my fault and I escalated it pretty quick because of the two things happening around the exact same time. I feel bad about it, but everything is back to normal so that's good.

Anyways, not only do I get to write for Substance for You, I've also been asked to write for Sisters of Serenity and Sobriety, which is another huge website. It feels really good that my writing is being so well perceived. I feel really proud.

I've been missing you all, being so busy with everything I've sort of been neglecting my own blog, so my goal is to catch up with all three.

Hope all is well with everyone!

Much love, xx.

defeat your enemies with your success.

So in recent posts I've mentioned those key players in my life last year. You know, the ones who took me in when I was homeless. The ones that taught me how to shoot up, the ones who stuck needles in my neck. The ones I considered my using family.

I haven't been able to keep them in my life, no matter how much I may miss them. As I've said before, we were bonded in our addictions, but not bonded in recovery. So in order to protect myself, I had to let them go. The best thing they did for me was kick my ass and leave me broken on the side of the road. Had they not  hurt me in that way, I'd still be out there using. Or more likely, dead in a ditch somewhere in this grim border city.

I was at the methadone clinic to see my addictions doctor. I ended up running into not just one, but three people I knew. One of them was my ex's mom. I had been told by him that she hated me. I was accused of stealing stuff from her car (which I swear on my dad's grave I didn't). So when she called me over and started talking to me I was so incredibly relieved. She even hugged me and invited me to come over at anytime to see her. I agreed. When she left, I sat down and almost had a complete breakdown. It just brought so many emotions to the surface. She used to consider me her daughter in law, that's how serious this relationship had been. We weren't married and didn't really want to be, but it was this love that you only get one time. So I just didn't know how to feel. I missed him, I missed her. I was happy to see her, but sad that she was in the same position as before. I was happy she was getting sober, but saddened that she had to work a minimum wage job now that his dad has passed away. I managed to keep it together, but just barely.

Just as I was calming down, Trelaine, that slut-faced bitch that slammed my head into the ground walks in. I was just overwhelmed with anger and fear. I didn't know what she would do to me if she recognized me. Lucky for me, I don't think she really did. But just as I thought she had left, Dan, the guy I had been sort of seeing strolls in too. He walked passed me so many times and didn't even look at me! I know there's absolutely no way he wouldn't recognize me unless he was so rocked out of his mind that he didn't recognize anyone. But then it got worse. Trelaine came back and started talking to him. Last summer they barely knew each other, but that had clearly changed.

Finally, as I was  waiting for my meds, Dan stood directly beside me. I didn't say a word. As much as I wanted to ream him out, I also didn't need the drama. He's such a scumbag to me that I couldn't even be bothered. I'd have defended myself if I needed to, but I wasn't going to start anything. It's just not me, But then I felt her behind me and suddenly she was laughing. He turned as asked what was so funny, and then finally his eyes fell onto me slightly. That's when I knew...they were laughing at me.

I left as soon as I had my script in my hands and just got the hell out of there. I was such an emotional wreck. Angered at them, pitying them, missing them, hating them, etc. I was so upset that they laughed at me. I did nothing to them. In fact, I drove them around for months and shared dope with them! I even slept with that douche bag. Which is the only regret I have sexually. I don't regret anything like that, except him. It was the biggest mistake of my life.

But then I got home and was telling my mom about it. Suddenly. as I was telling her I had this huge realization. Why should I care if they were laughing at me?! In all reality, if I was a bad person, it would be me laughing at them. They're the ones still out there using, hustling, lying, hurting and struggling every single day. And although my life isn't close to perfect, I have way more than they do. So since I'm not the horrible person they may think I am, I can't laugh at them. It's just not my nature. I no longer care that they laughed or if they like me or not. And I wouldn't ever wish ill on them.

This has just been such a lesson in gratitude. It took them being hurtful towards me for me to realize that in terms of things to be happy and grateful for, I have an abundance when they have none. So I will continue on with my own life, wishing well for them, but not caring so much about the things they may or may not do to me.

you cannot hang out with negative people and expect a positive life.

I've been thinking about my last year using. Like really thinking about it. I think it has a lot to do with my continued depression and down days. Usually they only last a day or two and then I snap back into a positive mood. But for some reason, I've been stuck in this low for a long time now. Longer than normal. I don't know if thinking about it brought it on, or if thinking about it is what is keeping it on or what. All I know is I'm feeling down, sad, and like giving up and I can't stop thinking about the 'good old days'.

These memories come on when I'm talking, especially when talking about something drug related or back from that time period. They start when I'm craving, which ends up increasing the time and intensity of the craving, making it ten times worse. But mostly, I get vivid, powerful memories when I listen to music. Anything I listened to daily during last summer instantly brings me right back there. Some songs bring me back to bad things and I have to change it immediately. Others bring me back to the times when I had a blast. Although that overall time was a nightmare, there were also many times where me and my friends had an absolute riot. 

This brings me to my friends, just as my memories do every time. I met most of them through this idiot, Dan, I was seeing/was friends with. But he turned out to be a pathological liar and would often get arrested or show up places only to have his mother pick him up a few minutes later for 'sneaking out.' He was 28 years old, just to clarify why this was so pathetic and annoying. She would also call the police, which as you know, is never something you want when you're a needle using junkie. Anyways, there were about 6 or 7 key players at this time of my life. Let me introduce them.

1. Angus, 39: Dan's friend from rehab. He was an ex-con from a federal prison. He robbed a bank with a shot gun, among-st other things. He was the first guy to fix me up (which I think creates a strange bond between people because you trust them and then experience that first exquisite high together; it's almost intimate in a way). He became a good friend and often let me sleep there when I had no place to go. We stole together, got high together, were sick together, but never ever slept together. I didn't want to cross that line. He was cool shit, but would go into psychosis whenever using any ups. 
2. Krystle, 34: Angus's wife (sort-of?). I met her when she reappeared in his life out of nowhere. I was getting sick of him, as he was me since I had been there too long. She needed a ride home, so in return, she got me crystal (meth)/Xanax and let me sleep over. We somehow really bonded that night. She was tiny, tough, and very ill.
3. John A ?: Friend of Angus's from a different town. I met him when he got out of jail and stopped by looking to pick-up. He introduced us to his connect, who had a good supply of pills and meth. He also stopped by randomly high as a kite and was annoying as hell when he did meth. He was a nice guy though and meant well. He'd help me get drugs and money when I couldn't. The second person I let fix me up. He was also a kleptomaniac. So he'd often help us steal, but wasn't trustworthy otherwise. 
4. Rodney, 50: Rodney was John's connect. The second time I met him, I drove him 45 minutes away and back to pick up his supply of ice. He hooked us all up nicely for that. I did it again the next day, but alone. I told him I wanted pills, not crystal, since, it was my thing. This is how I met his girlfriend.
5. Kat, 32: Rodney's girl (which I didn't know until later). She was known as the 'pill girl'. She liked me instantly and gave me her number so I could call her directly. I did, often. She also sold ice. When her and Rodney set up shop together, I got really lucky. I'd drive them at least once per day to go get their 2 ounce supply and get a taste of it plus free pills, a place to stay, and often food. She was the only one I knew who actually had money. She reminded me of me back when I was dealing with my ex before I got caught up in the dope. She hustled hard and I respected her for it. They respected me. I was the only one who would find dope on the floor and give it back instead of stealing it. Plus, I had a car. And I knew how to inject other people. So she'd call me late at night, asking me to come fix her up. 'I'll pay you', she'd say.  I don't know why she took me in, but I'll be forever grateful to her for it. I think I reminded her of her too. Which is a scary though, her being exactly ten years older than me. It was like I was looking ahead into my dark future. 
6. Chris, 29: Lived below Angus. Was into me for a time, but hated me after I refused to sleep with him and chose to stay with Angus instead. I feel bad now. I was a bitch to him.
7. Trelaine, ?: Girl I met in detox before I met anyone else. She was a bit stuck up. But bought me Chinese food in there. Turned out, she knew Angus and started coming by near the end. She was a two-faced, lying, skank-bitch and I hate her.
8. Mike, Cutie, Romeo: Various dealers. 

So now that I've briefly introduced them (Which was extremely hard, since that time was chaotic and crazy and sort of interlaps each other. Plus, it's a bit fuzzy anyways),I'll get more to the point. Around that time these people were my life. They substituted my lost boyfriend, family, and friends. They knew who I was at that time and didn't mind. In fact they liked me. They were the first people to look right into the depths of my rotted soul and still want me around. It was the first time I felt accepted. We took care of each other, almost like a family, or gang. If we all couldn't get something, we'd all go without. We each had our skills and used them together in order to get money, drugs, smokes, gas, food, whatever (in that order). We laughed often, got sick often, and played often. We did horrible illegal things together and blamed the system for it. There was always so much drama and chaos and crazy, dangerous shit happening that I grew to thrive within all of it. I even trusted them with my life, having them shoot me up in my neck when I had no other veins. So now that it's gone and my life is simple and boring and sober, it's no wonder I often miss it. And them. They were friends, bonded together in our addictions.

 But the sad thing is, in active addiction, friend is such a loose term. When it comes down to it, we were all using each other to benefit ourselves. And when someone became a burden or was no longer useful, we threw them away like we threw away our old needles. Like we threw away our lives. We didn't care about our own lives, so why would we value others? So I guess in the end, we weren't useful to each other anymore. We had all exhausted our energy and resources. We had burnt out.

So at the very end, I was living with Angus and Krystle. It was a crazy mix because she often never took her medication for her bipolar disorder. It was exacerbated by the drugs and she would swing in and out of moods like it was nothing. One minute she'd love him, the next she hated us all. Then back again. It usually depended on what we had at that point. She also was an unpredictable thief. She'd often go in my purse and take my car keys. Or money. She even robbed Dan blind as he laid overdosing on the floor in her apartment. Then did all his drugs while I sat there sick and he was in the hospital. She wouldn't admit she'd done it. When I accused her, she told me to leave. I didn't and just backed down. She knew she had me and she knew I knew it too. 

Anyway, in early August she went to detox. She had to be rushed to the hospital because of withdrawal induced seizures. They told her that she'd have to get on Suboxone or methadone in order to get sober. So on August 11th, I drove her. She convinced me to get on the program too, at least so I wouldn't always be sick if we didn't have dope. I agreed. Angus got on it too. We all started talking about our happy, sober futures. We started to get hope, and hope can be a dangerous thing. The methadone helped me right away. I ended up sleeping for 95% of the day. I called my mom who I hadn't spoken to since May. I told her, I'm getting on the program and asked her to come to the appointments with me. She did. So on August 14th she gave me $20 for food and methadone. This was huge because I knew it meant she had hope to and was trusting that I would get sober. That day, we got into another stupid, pointless fight. But this time, Krystle declared to Angus that she'd had enough. It was his house, but his life was only happy when hers was. So he sort of agreed. She grabbed my keys and her Trelaine and Angus went to grab 'her stuff. When she came back in, I was in the bathroom. I came out and checked my purse. The money was gone. They told me to get out. I refused to. All I had was that money! I wasn't leaving until I got it back. So the two girls physically threw me out, smashed my head against the ground and left me there. I went to my car, hoping there was enough gas to get home. And hoping my mom would see my state and believe they had robbed me so that I could come back home. I knew they spent it on dope too. So much for our pact to get clean.

Thankfully my mom did let me in and I never used again after that point. I went to rehab, I forgave them. I moved on. I even went as far as apologizing for my part in it. I ended up seeing Krystle at the methadone clinic a month ago. She was in rough, rough shape. I was terrified when I saw her (having not apologized yet). I thought she'd steal my carries (bring home methadone for those who test clean) or kick my ass. Or both. Fear  and panic pumped through my body until she finally got up and said hi. She hugged me. I was stunned but I went along with it. I told her I had nine months clean and asked how she'd been. 'Starting over..' she said. 

Seeing her there and like that brought such a mix of emotions to me. I thought I had moved on but it was clear that moment that I hadn't. I felt sad for her. I pitied her. I missed her. I hated her. I wanted to help her. I wanted her to relapse. I didn't know how I felt. But I knew one thing, I was so, so grateful that she had literally thrown me out like that. If she hadn't I'd probably be in the exact same spot. Or worse. 

I have mixed feelings about all of them. They range from missing them, to hoping they get clean, to wanting them dead. But on days when I'm not happy in my recovery, I think about them the most. I often could cry thinking about them. Worrying about them. Wondering if they'd take me back. I miss the fun. The craziness. The danger. I miss our bonds.

But then I realize, we may have been bonded in addiction, but we obviously are not bonded in recovery. So I have to let it go and move on. All I can do now is wish them the best and take care of myself. Because as much as I miss them, I don't miss the sickness, the worry, the fear, the betrayals, the stealing (which I was always only the driver for), the pain, the fights, or the sleepless nights I sat up afraid to close my eyes. 

They will always be apart of me and my story in some way, but they can't be in the future chapters. 

Much love, xx.

i may not be where i want to be, but atleast i'm not where i used to be.

Wow.

 I haven't read this blog in ages. It's really bizarre to see what I was feeling and thinking at the depth of my addiction. My pain was so real, so apart. How did nobody see it throbbing off of me with every pained heartbeat?

My thoughts were warped by drugs. I can't even begin to understand the things I said or did, let alone understand why. Reading this made me sad for the girl I became. It brought up a lot of shame and regret from the past.

But it's sad to say that my using got worse, much worse. Eventually the oxys became generic, so the Neos didn't dictate use as much. As soon as I had access to the new generic crushable ones again, I started right back up with a vengeance. I was smoking them uncontrollably, getting up to 8 or 9 80mg pills per day. That would kill most people.  My lungs would burn without them. I'd wake up coughing, the only thing to calm the cough was the toxic, sweet smelling oxy smoke.

Eventually I ran out of money. The cost had skyrocketed. I started stealing, lying, manipulating. And when everyone finally figured it out, I had nothing left. No money, no dignity, no hope.

My mom kicked me out to the streets. My biggest fear came true, Ryan left the broken, shattered addict I had become. I don't blame him, I wasn't the girl he fell in love with 4 years before. Losing him and my mom took me over the edge, I didn't care about anything anymore, especially me.

I went from couch to couch, trying to get dope. I slept in my car most nights too. I used needles. I did meth. I did crack. I did so  many things I promised myself I would never do. I even let my "friends" stick needles in my neck when they couldn't find a vein. I wore my track marks like hickies on my neck proudly. I wanted everyone to see me for who I was. A lost, broken addict. The one thing I didn't do was sell myself. For  that I'm thankful.

I fell apart completely out there. But I also became a survivor. You have to gain a different type of strength to make it out on the streets. I think it's that strength that finally got me sober.

And I still am today. On May 14th I'll be 9 months clean. I feat I have never dreamed I'd actually reach. But I did it. I picked myself back up and tried to live again. I'm still not perfect, I want to use every single day.  But I don't, and that's what counts.

Ryan is still not mine. But we're talking, and that's more than I can ask for. And my bulimia is still bad too, but that's a story for another day.

a father should be his son's first hero, and his daughter's first love.

Today was Father's Day. Well technically yesterday, but until I fall asleep (if I do at all), it's still today.

My younger brother and I went to brunch with my dad's side of the family. My mom was still out of town visiting one of my older brothers. Everyone around kept saying happy father's day to us in general and to the dads there specifically. I found it hurtful and insulting that they kept throwing this around so lightly with no regard to me and my brother.

Because "'Happy' Father's Day" is only happy when you still have your dad.

It's our first Father's Day without him, and I miss him more than anything in the world. It just makes me sad to think about how disappointed he'd be in me if he could see how my life has gone downhill since he passed away. And I'm in no way blaming my problems on him dying. It was my personal decision and weakness at a time of vulnerability that led me down this path. At least he would be somewhat glad that I'm off them, but he'd still be ashamed of me for starting in the first place.

Anyway, so along with people not seeming to know me and my brother might be a bit sad, I was also having major anxiety. Obviously because of the fact that any food setting is automatically a trigger for me (especially when there's no vegetarian options, except for waffles with sugary fruit and whipped cream), and my social anxiety seemed to be extremely high (probably because I wasn't high in a social setting for the first time since my dad died). My heart felt like it would explode, my breathing was rapid and shallow, and I couldn't stop shaking. Nobody even seemed to notice. I finally couldn't take it anymore, so I did the only thing I could do-grabbed my ipod and blasted some Mariana's Trench (Josh Ramsay is the love of my life), which is super close to my heart because of the drug/ED based songs. Funny though, how as soon as I had one of their songs on, my aunt decides to scold me like I was a five year old, telling me to "Take those out of your ears and get over here." Lovely.

Moving on, as soon as we got home later, there was a voicemail on our phone. Someone letting us know they are thinking about us today and hoping we're okay. My heart rate spiked, along with my anger and sadness. Music wasn't going to be enough this time, my belly felt too full, I felt like I was 600lbs, and I couldn't deal with it anymore. After I purged my soul away, I sat down and cried, wishing I had oxy, or Xanax, or something . Anything to numb what I was feeling- depressed, lonely, angry, disgusted, to name a few.

Now I know it seems like I've contradicted myself, saying I was mad nobody said anything about my dad at brunch, and then being mad when someone did. The thing is, there is no right way to handle this. Anything said or done will bring back the sadness and memories and it will hurt either way. Plus I've been on edge the last week and a bit. I managed to get a bit of sleep, but only after my boyfriend and I got into an argument. I was overtired and bitchy, he was drunk, and Jenna (my ED/addict alter ego) was jealous that he was under some form of intoxication and I had nothing. I felt emotionally drained and finally crashed for a few hours, only to wake up and have to deal with all this bullshit.

The only real upside to all of this is that my body finally stopped totally hating me. I finally felt little to no pain today. Even using I still felt pains (if I crashed or went without oxy for more than a few hours I'd wake/end up dope sick). I'm hoping that since I can finally sit still without pain and if I can stay relaxed and calm I'll be able to get some sleep tonight. And more that four hours.

Well, I've rambled on about nothing for long enough. Time to shut my eyes and hope for escape.

Oh, and Dad, I miss you and love you. Happy Father's Day.