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.

to just get high and let the blissful obliteration wash over my mind and body.

Seriously? Go fuck yourself. Like I have bad days too, I don't need people bitching at me because I have a simple fucking request. It's so annoying. I have more bad days than good lately and I don't take it out on other people. Maybe it's because I take it out on myself, but still, that's better than being a passive aggressive little fuck.

Ugh, now my day's turned shitty. I think I'm going to go smoke about 15 cigarettes then have a nap. Why does addiction and bulimia have to have such a strong grip on my life? It just makes me miserable. Do you know how much easier it would be to just give into it? To just get high and let the blissful obliteration wash over my mind and body?

Fuck....I just miss it so much. I feel like I lost a best friend or something. Or an husband. My addiction was my love and my life and being separated from it sometimes is just unbearable. I'm not going to relapse but I want to. I want to so so bad.

her forever exhaustion written clearly on her once flawless face.

Back When She Was Beautiful: Part One

She was beautiful once. It was a long time ago. Before she sold her soul to the monster. The devil. It was back when her eyes sparkled with life and love. Before the light burnt out and the life was stolen from her. Stolen and given away to the pills. To the needle. To the tin foil and the pipes. To the street. She once strove for thinness, cursed with curves. But now she's too skinny. All ribs, gaunt, hollow face. Her porcelain skin once glowing, now pale and marked. The scars she sliced into her arm now match the scars on her heart and soul. Cuts that sliced deeply inside and out. The needle she's become a slave to punctures her skin, piercing her veins, leaving track marks down her neck. Down her mind. A complexion once clear is marked with blemishes, imperfections. Dark circles rim her dead eyes. Her forever exhaustion written clearly on her once flawless face. She thought dope would make her more stunning, perfect. She was wrong when she thought it would give her everything, back when she was beautiful.

i looked death in the face and made it out alive.

http://substanceforyou.com/from-struggle-to-success/

Here's a link to another article of mine. Please read and like/share it with anyone you know.

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.

sometimes you will never know the true value of a moment, until it becomes a memory.

So I've been looking through old Facebook pictures and I'm so shocked at many of them. I see them and instantly remember the exact time period in my life. I recall what I was doing, who I was with, and most importantly, how I felt. In so many of them I was almost too scared to post them because I honestly believed that I was so fat and gross.

Looking at them now it just makes me so sad for myself. I can see now how thin I really was. I was even borderline skinny. In one, you can especially see my collarbones sticking out like crazy.

See?!

It's so bizarre to me that in those moments I really, truly thought I was huge! It just shows how much bulimia really distorts your self-perception. I always knew it did, but to this degree is just shocking. It leaves me feeling a mixture of sadness and jealousy.

Sadness because I wish that I could have recognized how beautiful I was back then. Maybe things would have gone a little better. Maybe I wouldn't have turned to dope. Maybe I'd become eating disorder free. Maybe I'd be happy. Who knows. The possibilities are endless.

But at the same time, I look at these photos with such a strong sense of jealousy and anger. I think to myself, 'What an idiot! Didn't you see how good you had it?' and 'Wow, I'd die to be this weight again.'  I know this is extremely disordered thinking, but I can't help it. It just sort of causes this hatred for the weight I am now. It just makes me feel so giant. I don't even know how to deal with it. I don't want to delete the pictures, but I also can't let them get to me like this. It's unrealistic to ever think I can be my high school weight again.

I wish I could use it as a learning experience, but I'm not sure how. I know it shows how distorted my view is, so it should tell me that I'm not as fat as I think I am now. But you know how it is, eating disorders lie. Mirrors lie too. And Jenna's in my head telling me to starve myself until I'm that girl in the pictures again.

I just wish this was all over with. I wish I could just be normal and happy. In fact, I wish none of this ever happened, because I don't know how to overcome it.

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.

dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever.

Today is Father's Day.

Ever since my dad passed away in 2011, I have spent these days alone. My dad was never a big gift guy, but I know he appreciated knowing we loved him. I never told my dad that I loved him nearly enough. I regret that I didn't tell him every single day.  Because now I don't have the option of hugging his big belly and holding on forever.

I miss my dad so much it hurts. This is my first sober Father's Day, so maybe I'm feeling overly emotional because I don't have anything to numb the pain. I had the option of going to my cousins to have dinner with my aunt (his sister) and uncle, cousins and their kids. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Some of it was eating disorder related. I had such panic about eating in front of them now that they know I have bulimia. But I think a bigger part of it was I couldn't bear to watch them celebrate this day with smiles. My cousin is double my age and still has his father. I know that shouldn't bother me. But it does. It makes me so incredibly angry and jealous. Why should he get his dad when me and my younger brother lost ours so young? It's not fair. And I don't think I could have hidden my resentment today. So I didn't go.

Instead I'm sitting here alone wishing I could get high. It doesn't help that the only person I really have to talk to is drunk. It's not easy to be around people who are intoxicated when all you want is to obliterate your feelings and sink into that  magical place between reality and dreamland. I would spend all day hanging in the middle, suspended on a cozy web of bliss, peace, and safety. Stuck in the place where nothing matters but the drugs pumping through your veins with each beat of your slowed, relaxed heart. So I'm angry and not speaking to her now.

I wish I could say that I want to get over it and be happy. I wish I could say I think my dad would be proud of how far I've come. But I feel like those would be lies. Today I don't feel like changing my negative thoughts or trying to be positive person in recovery. Today I just feel like sitting alone wishing my dad was here. And there's nothing in the world that can change that.

I love you dad. I miss you like crazy. Happy Father's Day. You will always be my king, my heart, my dad.

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.

progress is impossible without change; and those who cannot change their minds, cannot change anything.

So I've recently been pretty active on Blogger. I've gained two new follows, which is exciting. I'd be excited if even only one person read this mess of words about the craziness of my addiction and bulimia. I was reading a post on my blog when I realized that the layout I had for years didn't include an option for people to follow me, which is shitty because perhaps more people would have, had they had the option too. So I spent sometime changing it up so that it won't happen in the past. I appreciate and adore anyone who takes the time to read this, so I want to make it easy for them to do so regularly.

So in that process, I decided my whole blog format needs an update. It got me thinking about change. At first I was so reluctant to change it at all. I didn't want to lose the appearance it has had since day one. I didn't want to lose my trademark "Am I thin enough?" picture with the girl in handcuffs symbolizing how chained I am to my addiction and bulimia. I didn't want to change any of it.

But then I realized, how can I improve and work towards recovery, when I'm keeping everything the same. On the blog and in real life. It's not productive to view the same format that I had made in the depth of my addiction and bulimia. It needed a change, a refreshed look that inspires change and progress in my writing and in my life.

It got me thinking about change in general. I always thought I did well with change, until I was face to face with it and couldn't handle it. For anyone new I'll give a bit of a recap of my life leading to my addiction in 2011.

• My grandma passed away early in the year.
• My 8 year old dog who I adored as family passed away soon after.
• In October of that year, I got the worst news of my life. My dad had died. 
• I resisted change, threw myself into school (my dad valued education) and tried to forget.
• When I couldn't forget, I started planning. Let's just say oxys were always around as, uhm, 'gifts' to people who had money. They sat in my drawer and called to me for weeks. So I slowly started collecting some, ranging from Percs to 80's. 
• One night in December, I snorted my first line of oxy. It was daily from then on.
• I then lost my great aunt, two bulldogs (one of whom was my baby, my son, and my life) When I lost him, something in me snapped.
• I kept it mostly together to care for my little boy bulldog Bam. I got out of bed for him, So when he was gone, I was again overwhelmed with sadness and obliterated the feelings with drugs.

So it's clear to me now that instead of changing, I numbed everything out until reality came down and knocked me off my feet last year. Then again, instead of changing and getting my life together, I ran. I got kicked out and ran to my addict friends. I lived in my car, on addicts and dealer's couches. I hopped from place to place with my bag of cleans and pills. I preferred this life over change.

It wasn't until I could absolutely no longer deal with it that I realized that something had to give. I needed to change or I would die alone homeless in my car as my junkie 'friends' robbed me blind and left my dead body. (They did do something like that, minus the body. Well, not minus one a different time. Great people, eh?). And so I did. I got on methadone, got sober and went to treatment. And now almost ten months later, here I am still sober and alive. And completely changed.

So although I still sometimes resist change, I now better understand the importance of it and catch myself when I'm becoming to stuck. I feel like once and a while my recovery needs small changes and refreshers to keep me going. Especially because recovery itself is all about change. I change who I am everyday on my search to learning who I truly am. So I have to update the small things to match the big change that goes on within me.

So now my blog is refreshed and ready to inspire my words, thoughts, and growth. So enjoy!

Much love, xx.

i'm standing on a line between giving up and seeing how much more she can take.

I know I'm supposed to be recording all my food/liquid intake. But I just can't bring myself to do it.

I can't bring myself to eat either. I ate too much this week already. I'll be happy if I stay below 500 calories to make up for the last few days.

I know this isn't productive and that I'm supposed to be making changes. I just am so afraid. I don't want to get fat.

I guess I'll go start on my homework for next group. Maybe it'll jog me back into optimism and reality. I hope so, I can't do this much longer.


P.S. I could really go for some dope. Any kind of dope. Meth, crack, pills, junk. Just something to make me forget that I'm so fucked up and too afraid to do anything about it.