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.
