i think the most common cause of insomnia is simple, it's loneliness.

So the last week it has seemed almost impossible to fall asleep. And when I finally do, I end up waking up around six in the morning and then cannot fall back to sleep. It drives me crazy because by the end of the day I am absolutely exhausted, yet I can't seem to convince my mind to shut off and let me fall into that blissful state that is sleep. Sleep has always worsened my depression which is why I was prescribed sleeping pills and Xanax at such a young age.

But now since I'm sober, I don't have the option to take pills to just go into that wonderful land of dreams and nothingness. Well, I do have the option, but I have chosen not to take it because I know for a fact that it would completely ruin my sobriety and send me right back into the arms of my beloved Oxycontin. So every night it has been a struggle to get to that place where everything is perfect and calm and just is.

I don't know what to do. Not sleeping worsens every bad feeling I have. Every trigger, depressed though, craving, anxious thought, everything is exacerbated by my insomnia.

If I don't sleep soon, I think I'm going to lose my mind.

living is easy with closed eyes.

And then she recovered.......: So you think you want an eating disorder?



So I've fallen in love with this blog since it was recommended to me in treatment. I think the author is beautifully honest, inside and out.



I especially love this post because so many ignorant people or people who want to diet think it's funny to jokingly want an eating disorder. Sorry, but it's not a fucking joke. It's serious. It's painful.  It's deadly.



Sometimes when people say something as outrageous as that I just laugh at their stupidity and ignorance on the subject of eating disorders. But most days I want to scream in their faces and curse them out until they wished they hadn't said a fucking word about it. But I hold myself back, because I know that it isn't the way to get my point across. It isn't the way to educate.



So that's why I think this post is so vital, so important and so starkly and stunningly written. It tells every bit of truth about the horrors we face with eating disorders.



Check it out. Pass it on. It's a must read.

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.

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.

when it becomes really impossible to get away and sleep, then the will to live evaporates of its own accord.

Ugh. I'm dying.

I can't sleep no matter how hard I try (or don't try in case I'm just thinking too much). I'm so exhausted. There's literally nothing left in my body. Nothing good anyways. Whether it's the fact that my nights and days were fueled by drugs and sleep crashing was the result (and now without them I've got no energy and nothing to knock me out), or because I can't keep my anxiety in check, or because I'm still pretty sore and restless from coming off these things, I don't know. But it's horrible and I just want to curl up in bed and sleep for the rest of my life.

If I don't get some sleep soon, I think I'll snap.

And whether it's drug fueled rage or just simply anger fueled rage, me snapping is never a good thing.

For anyone.

a lack of clarity could put the brakes on any journey to success.

Apparently so.

I haven't been on here in who knows how long (nothing new there), and to be honest I've been kind of scared to come and check on everything. I was afraid that there would be tons of views and everyone would see how much of a failure I really am. I was afraid I'd discourage someone from trying.

Anyways, I logged on here and found a few new great blogs to read. I was avoiding seeing mine. And holy fuck was I right to be afraid. I read my last post and was absolutely disgusted with myself. I don't know if it's because there's no oxy clouding my mind or if I had just temporarily lost my fucking mind all together. Probably both. But anyways, I apologize to anyone if my swearing offended them (but I do have a filthy mouth, so it won't stop all together, sorry) and I apologize for my absurd crudeness, it was a bit out of line. I considered deleting it, but it's apart of my journey and life story, so it should stay. I was feeling like that at the time and just because I'm not now doesn't make it disappear from my life. I don't want to hide anything.

It's funny though, here I was thinking the drugs were making my brain think more clearly. They definitely helped me get through my classes during school. And now I come on here without them clouding my judgement, and I find that I was definitely out of my mind unclear. Whatever, that's what drugs do to you I guess. Make everything all blurry, so blurry in fact, that you think you have absolute clarity.

Now, finally I can get to the goodish news. I am off oxy (kind of?) I never thought I'd be saying this in a million years. I'm not taking credit though, because it wasn't my own will, I just literally had none left and couldn't get more. And trust me, I tried. When I got down to my last two, I woke up and realized I better start weaning off them or I'll be fucked. I spent the next few days after that hurting. It's weird, I've never had any pain in my life, other than very minor things, but the withdrawal symptoms made me feel like I was dying. It hurt so badly I wanted to kill myself, but it hurt to much to get up and do it. And worst of all was the RLS. It's just so irritating because I couldn't stay still and it's frustrating. Plus having to move to cope with it hurt pretty bad. And sleep? Wasn't going to happen, even though I was exhausted in every possible way. Anyways, I started to panic though, because I was still on the oxy's, just cutting back, but I was going through it way faster than I thought and I was still hurting badly even cutting down slightly each day. I was doing three 80's a day at least and cut back to about 3/4-1/2 of that. I was still doing too much and I didn't have enough to last. That's when I got the best news, and I suddenly had a large amount of percocet (which has 5mgs of oxycodone in it). This made it much easier because I wasn't afraid of running out, and the small amounts helped me cut back more easily than with a 80mg oxy (have you ever tried to split one into 8 pieces or more?). I just took enough to keep the withdrawal symptoms at bay. This was about a week ago, and I'm down to my last half of one, which I will save for tomorrow in case I need it (the pain's still there slightly because I technically haven't got the shit totally out of my system). But I'd rather take this slow and do it so I'm not wishing to die every second of my life. I might have prolonged this shitty stage, but I don't know if that's good or bad? Part of me wishes I were over it and able to go without hurting for a day, but part of me is glad I didn't because it would have been shorter, but much more excruciating. So, as of tomorrow, I will be completely oxy free. I'm kind of happy, but I'm also kind of sad, and even more sad that I'm not more happy about getting sober.

It's just that I didn't expect to miss it this much. I thought that once my body stopped needing it, everything would be fine. But once the need is gone, there's still the want. I just never expected I'd want it so badly. I never expected to feel this insatiable urge to feel the slight burning in my nose, to taste the medicinal taste dripping down my throat. I don't understand what's wrong with me. I should be happy, thankful that I had to do this for myself. But all I am is sad. My anxiety is threw the roof, depression's in full swing. And every fiber in my body is telling me that the answer is snorting more oxy. But I can't do that, so I turn to Jenna, my bulimic alter ego for answers. And yeah the binge purge cycle feels good at first, like my emptiness has been filled and the calories are gone, but then it's all guilt and shame and bullshit. But for some reason if I can't have drugs then stuffing myself and puking it out must be the answer. Cute. Thanks a lot Jenna.

And who am I kidding, if one fell into my hands tomorrow, it'd be crushed up and threw a straw into my nose in seconds. The only reason I "beat" this thing is because I had to.

My life is a fucking train wreck and I have nobody to turn to. How am I supposed to get threw all of this? It's not just one problem, it's tons of problems and they're all feeding into each other making all of them even stronger and worse than before.

I don't know what to do. Which is why I'm having a few drinks and writing this. At least it takes the edge off and makes me feel less alone.

Haaah. And I can't even think of something witty and clever to end with. Pathetic.

when you can stop, you don't want to, and when you want to stop, you can't.

It's funny how that works. I don't know about most people, but for me, it was a conscious decision to start using. I never really thought I would ever touch any type of drug. I mean, my whole life (twenty years) I hadn't even taken a sip of alcohol. When I went on my meds for depression and anxiety, I guess that's when I really started, but that wasn't the start of addiction. I was so used to feeling so high strung, so up, with my mind racing all night long, with days and days of insomnia. And the less I slept, the more depressed and anxious I became. So when I was prescribed anti-anxiety meds and pills to help me sleep, I guess that's the first time I realized how fucking awesome it is to be fucked up. Because for once, my mind just shut down. My whole body was down, and I felt nothing. It was like all my tension, all my worries, all my anxiety was just gone, pressed down so deep in my body that I didn't even remember it had ever been there. I was so naturally up, that I wanted to go down. My boyfriend would talk about coke, how if he were to use, that would be his drug of choice. I asked him why, and he told me that you feel so awake and clear, and amazing. I didn't understand, it sounded horrible to me. Why would I want to be amped up when I'm like that all the time, and it only drives me nuts? I guess when you don't sleep and lie in your bed for hours with your mind running for days, you don't really have the desire to use something that will just make it worse. My mind moving so quick was the problem, I just wanted to be gone. To feel calm and sleepy and numb. My normally tight body was suddenly loose. I'd take a couple pills, and put on some music and just fucking dance. All I could feel was the beat of the music, and the sway of my hips. And then, when the music finally lulled me to sleep, I would surrender to it willingly. Oh yeah, and did I mention that when you feel this good, the only thing that could feel better, is sex? So that's all I wanted, to fuck, get fucked up, and to dance. But I was single at the time and not a slut, so you do the math. The funny thing is, that sleeping pills and Xanax would still be my drug of choice. That is, if I had a choice anymore.

You see, even though I don't like my current selection as much, it's what I'm hooked to. Something that at first was a choice I made. It's what was there when I didn't have another option. It was there when I needed something to numb the pain. But now, without it, it's my biggest source of pain. And not just psychologically, but physically. Sleeping pills and Xanax, although a better high in my opinion, never had me hooked. I never needed them, and still don't. If they were in front of me, I wouldn't turn them down, but if they aren't then it's still no big deal. I mean, I think about them from time to time, wishing I had some. But not desperately wishing I had some.

So after my dad died, and I was lost and hurt and aching and rotting from the inside out, I would lie in bed, wondering what I could do to kill the pain. And then it came to me, pain killers. Plain and simple. By association, I knew tons of people totally addicted to them, and they weren't hard to find for nothing. You'd think after seeing these people's lives torn apart by it, I would have thought twice. But I didn't. Yep, I actually planned for a couple of weeks, to start using until I couldn't feel anything. And that's what I did.

At first it was small, even just a little and I was fucked up. There were times where I thought to myself, "Nah, there's no point in doing any today." I could have stopped easily, but the other voice in my mind, Jenna, always said she didn't want to stop. And to be honest, I didn't either. I could have easily walked away, but I wanted to stay. And so I did.

But now, when I need more and more to keep me leveled, when I wake up with pain shooting through my entire body, mind dull, I wish more than anything I could stop. But how do I stop, when the whole reason my body hurts so bad, is because I've gone without for more than a few hours? It's like in exchange for killing the pain in my mind, I've had to taken on the physical pain of withdrawal. I want more than anything in the world to stop. Even more than recovering from bulimia. And believe me, I've tried. I've spent the last couple of weeks waking up and trying. But it's so hard to quit when you can barely move, and know that you probably won't be 'functioning' for another week without using. When people around you expect you to be up and about doing things, keeping up your responsibilities, and you can't even stand up, how do you quit? If they knew, it wouldn't be so bad. But not only do I have to keep my using a secret, but if I'm withdrawing, I have to keep that a secret too.

So it's become this vicious cycle. I want to stop, so I don't have to hide anymore. But stopping means hiding something even more obvious, so to hide that, I have to use. And so it goes.

I should have walked away when I had the choice.

No.

I should have never fucking started.