music plays the moments, pauses the memories, stops the pain and rewinds happiness.

I've always been a music lover. Music has always been a way for me to cope. I listen to songs that express my mood or that inspire me. I've always loved songs that are eating disorder related, as seen by older posts about Marianas Trench. The lead singer is bulimic but also  had a heroin addiction. So after my own addiction developed, their songs took on a whole new meaning for me. I could related to them in both ways and I felt like they were written for me, about me, or by me. Something about his lyrics really touched my soul.

I could so easily feel his pain, his struggles, his triumphs, his set backs, etc. Every single word was etched into my own heart and mind.

Now that I am sober (almost 11 months!!!!!), some music is hard for me to listen to. I've always loved rap about dope dealing as well as songs about being an addict or using drugs. So it's sort of hard to listen to the ones that almost promote using. But I can't seem to stop myself. I love the songs too much to change the channel when they come on. They get stuck in my head.

I think I like them because they also give me this false boost in my confidence. I listen to them and remember my past when I was a somewhat big shot in the drug world. At least, behind scenes anyways. It takes me back to driving around selling or, more recently, buying. I just go right back to every single high moment where we'd drive around bumping music about drugs and just have a blast. It's like we glorified and intensified our use buy listening to songs about selling dope. So listening to them now it brings me back to those days when I thought I was so cool. It was like I had a secret that nobody else got to know. I felt special. It felt amazing to sort of know exactly what the songs where saying when most other people wouldn't make the connection. I felt like I was privy to top secret, cool kid information. And it almost gave me a bigger high than just being ripped did.

So I listen to them, I think, to try and acheive that same high again. I can't have the dope, but I can still have the songs about dope. And sometimes it does give me that same satisfaction. That same natural high.

But other times it's nothing more than a bad trigger. The music doesn't seem good enough and I want more. I think, this music would be better if I had some pills, coke, ice, whatever. And so starts a craving cycle.

I don't know if I should stop. Should I avoid any songs that make using seem like a dope thing to do (excuse the pun)? Or should I keep doing it. Sometimes I justify it by thinking that it's better to listen to the music than to actually go out and get high. I don't know. I'm so torn about this. I don't want to give it up. I feel like it's one of the last pieces I have of my addiction and I'm clinging on to them like they're my life.

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.

it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.

*I am in no way endorsing dog fights with this title, they're horrible. Just a good quote.

 A week ago, since I posted last. Things just got increasingly worse. Before I get into that, I think there's a background story that needs to be interluded here:
 Me and my boyfriend have been together and madly in love for two years. We live together, we're always together and we're happy. But we fight a lot. We 'break-up' a lot and then everything is fine by the net day. We make up and are back to normal. We love hard, and fight hard. But this time I really screwed up. He just left me and that was that. I don't think we can bounce back from this. Maybe this is the time he never comes back. He really hurt me and broke my heart.  So this is where my week of drug binge and drinking drinking started. That's also the week I cut myself. And the week my Cymbalta or situation made me want to die.

Continuing on, my last post, I was crashing. I slept forever, and woke up feeling horrible. Depressed. Hopeless. Anxious. Shaking. Ryan still didn't want me, my other friend has a new girlfriend, and my best friend doesn't know I'm a drug addict wreck. I have nobody. So I rush to the LCBO, buy this HUGE bottle of vodka, get some more sleeping pills, and whatever else I can get my hands on. And so, my drug and alcohol binge continues, my non eating continues. And despite how heartbroken and sad I am, when I'm fucked up, I don't care. My drugs and whatnot is all I need.

Ryan ended up messaging me, and we talked for a long time. We decided we were going to work on things. Take it slow, do the whole best friend thing until everything's okay. Yet for some reason, as completely happy I am that we have the chance to fix something that should have never been broke, I couldn't stop myself from thinking what about the things that are already broken and always have been broken. Like me, I'm broken, always have been. And my idea of fixing myself, is a fix...of drugs, purging, starving, whatever. So I keep breaking myself more. Will I ever be fixed? Do I even deserve to be fixed? I'm afraid he's going to come back expecting the girl he loved, the one he met, the one who was sober before all this. And what if we try, and he changes his mind, and I have to go through all this heartbreak again. I cannot handle that.

So I spent my nights talking till him until he went to bed, then I'd begin my nighttime drug routine. I kept getting worse, and it wasn't until I drank and drugged myself do death that I realized I'm becoming an alcoholic too. My mom found me, puking my guts up, incoherent, eyes rolling back in my head. When I did finally wake up, I was still drunk. I couldn't remember anything, my whole night was a black hole. I decided I couldn't drink anymore. My mom was furious, pointing out what I never even knew, you aren't supposed to drink while on antidepressants...I'm on two. I felt like shit for a few days recovering from that night.

Things with Ryan are getting much better, I think we're going to be okay. We've been hanging out, getting intimate and I'm so glad. He also helped me realize I've been misjudging weed the whole time. I personally think it's therapeutic. It gets rid of my anxiety, I can relax, it helps me sleep, and I don't even need all the other drugs. I still will have all the other drugs for now, I'm not ready to give them up, but maybe it'll help me slowly get off them. It's a lot better than drinking, sleeping pills, xanax, percs, coke, you name it that I'd do.

I'm not giving up. It seems like I've relapsed again and want to stay an addict. I don't I just need to get my life a bit more in order, build up the strength deep down in me. It's me against a monster, I need to build the fight in me before I can fight something that size. But I will do it. I've gotten clean before on a lot worse, I can do it again. Just give me time.

deposit happiness into your day, instead of withdrawing sadness.

I don't know what happened, but sometime between my last post and today, I realized I wasn't a total wreck anymore. Maybe it's because I've been busy, or because things with me and Ryan have been  going really well. I don't know. Either way, I feel...okay. which may seem bad in comparison to happy, but for me, okay is good. It's a first step at least.

I'm still sober in terms of pills. Although not entirely sober if you count weed. Okay and maybe coke one time. But it was only one time, and I have absolutely no urge to do either again. I know it sounds like a cop out, but if that will keep me oxy free, then I'll take it. Also, I've been in such a good mood that my weight hasn't yo-yo'd and I haven't been binging or purging nearly as much as I was.
It's funny, one day you're basically a depressed, anxious, crack whore (not exactly, just making a point), bulimic going through withdrawal and getting clean all while feeling so bad you want to give up on life all together, and then without even realizing it, you somehow transition into just okay. I don't know when or where it happened, but I'm glad it did.

I still miss drugs, it's hard not to. It's like everything was enhanced and now I'm back to normal life, which will obviously seem boring in comparison. But in comparison to directly after they were out of my life, and in comparison with before, I'm doing much better. And if I stay clean, it's only up from here. Right?

Maybe all this time I was just to busy focusing on the sad parts of my life to really realize the happy parts.