I'm just waking up fully now. When I first opened my eyes this afternoon, everything was hazy. I felt really confused. My head was pounding, my body shaking, and my eyes refused to focus. So I closed them and tried to drift off again.
It wasn't until I woke up again later that I felt the burning pain on my arm. It scared me, all the red inflamed gashes on my arm. I touched them, they were scalding hot and the touch sent pain shooting through my body. I almost passed out, needles and cuts bother me. When did I do this to myself?
Everything is still so hazy, almost like it was a distant childhood dream, that you can't remember if it's real or not. But it was, the whole thing was terrifyingly real. I don't remember much of it either. The last clear memory is from last week or so. I went to the doctors, he put my on another antidepressant to help with my anxiety and recommended a psychologist. Next couple of days I spent in bed, trying to accept the fact that my relationship is over. I thought everything was going to be okay, and then I felt it. This overwhelming urge to die. As depressed as I've ever been, I have never felt anything like this. It was horrifying and I tried to keep calm, but I couldn't. I couldn't feel like this. And then I started drinking and smoking pills. That's the last thing that's clear.
It was like my bulimic alter ego Jenna and my unnamed addiction joined forces and became this horrible monster in my mind that led me through days of hell. I was drowned out as they took over my mind. But eventually they couldn't even take it, and that's when I guess I finally crashed. I can still feel them, whispering in the back of my mind. It's almost exactly like Ellen Hopkin's book Crank. I can;t let their voices get louder than mine again. I need to go back to sleep, crashing's a bitch.
Guess I will be seeing that psychologist after all.
Monday, 30 July 2012
imagine trying to live without air, now imagine something worse.
it's funny, one moment your on your road to recovery, the next your staring death in the eyes, hoping he wins the stare-down.
have you ever watched blood trickle down your arm? the stinging pain is almost as good as snorting 10 pain killers. i never want to feel again. every time i let myself feel, i end up hurt. fuck, i miss oxys. i miss the mind and body numbing feeling. i miss the rush that lulls you into a sleep. hell, i even miss the pain of withdrawal, creeping up my spine, stealing every ounce of strength and happiness from my soul. i'd do anything for even just one.
it's been a week and a day since he left me. it only took a week for me to fall so low, i think this is what they mean by rock bottom. except, i want to dig six feet deeper. i haven't eaten in days, i don't even know how many. it feels amazing. too bad it's the slowest death i could choose.
but of course, i wanted to feel better. to feel nothing. why did Purdue have to do this to me? to decide that oxys are a problem now, and to replace them with garbage? you couldn't have given me a couple more months? an easy out?
looks like I'm settling for percs again. but snorting them isn't going to do the trick, neither will eating them. god forbid i binge and puke up a perfectly good high. tin foil, a straw, a lighter, and crushed pills. that'll do. it's weird, it's worse than any oxy addiction. once the first hit of chemical smoke hit my lungs, i couldn't stop. it was a constant cycle of crying, drinking, smoking and then snorting sleeping pills to knock me out. i used up 2 lighters, and have burns and blisters all over my thumbs. if i don't have smoke in my lungs, i can't function. i haven't stopped shaking in days. i tell myself it's because i haven't taken a hit in a while, so i do. the shaking doesn't stop.
the thing is, when you've been up high for days, completely out of your mind high, your mind starts to play tricks on you. first, it told me how good the burns feel. how that's all i could feel. then it told me if it was worse, i wouldn't feel a thing. i held them over an open flame. then it told me that wasn't enough. it made me so preoccupied with death for days. i listened to suicide music, fell in love with Kurt Cobain, thought about my empty eyes when i died, and how nobody would care. how i wouldn't hurt anymore.
but how? i didn't know how i could do it, how i could go through with it. so i grabbed the sharpest knife i could find. i just wanted to see how it'd feel. it's the weirdest thing, it hurts so badly that you can't feel it. now i have 8 perfect gashes on my arms.
if i wasn't so fucking high when i did it i would have done it somewhere nobody could see.
i need some help, i have to talk to someone.
have you ever watched blood trickle down your arm? the stinging pain is almost as good as snorting 10 pain killers. i never want to feel again. every time i let myself feel, i end up hurt. fuck, i miss oxys. i miss the mind and body numbing feeling. i miss the rush that lulls you into a sleep. hell, i even miss the pain of withdrawal, creeping up my spine, stealing every ounce of strength and happiness from my soul. i'd do anything for even just one.
it's been a week and a day since he left me. it only took a week for me to fall so low, i think this is what they mean by rock bottom. except, i want to dig six feet deeper. i haven't eaten in days, i don't even know how many. it feels amazing. too bad it's the slowest death i could choose.
but of course, i wanted to feel better. to feel nothing. why did Purdue have to do this to me? to decide that oxys are a problem now, and to replace them with garbage? you couldn't have given me a couple more months? an easy out?
looks like I'm settling for percs again. but snorting them isn't going to do the trick, neither will eating them. god forbid i binge and puke up a perfectly good high. tin foil, a straw, a lighter, and crushed pills. that'll do. it's weird, it's worse than any oxy addiction. once the first hit of chemical smoke hit my lungs, i couldn't stop. it was a constant cycle of crying, drinking, smoking and then snorting sleeping pills to knock me out. i used up 2 lighters, and have burns and blisters all over my thumbs. if i don't have smoke in my lungs, i can't function. i haven't stopped shaking in days. i tell myself it's because i haven't taken a hit in a while, so i do. the shaking doesn't stop.
the thing is, when you've been up high for days, completely out of your mind high, your mind starts to play tricks on you. first, it told me how good the burns feel. how that's all i could feel. then it told me if it was worse, i wouldn't feel a thing. i held them over an open flame. then it told me that wasn't enough. it made me so preoccupied with death for days. i listened to suicide music, fell in love with Kurt Cobain, thought about my empty eyes when i died, and how nobody would care. how i wouldn't hurt anymore.
but how? i didn't know how i could do it, how i could go through with it. so i grabbed the sharpest knife i could find. i just wanted to see how it'd feel. it's the weirdest thing, it hurts so badly that you can't feel it. now i have 8 perfect gashes on my arms.
if i wasn't so fucking high when i did it i would have done it somewhere nobody could see.
i need some help, i have to talk to someone.
Thursday, 19 July 2012
ah, to think how thin the veil that lies between the pain of hell and paradise.
For the last couple of weeks I've been up visiting my brother and sister-in law on the army base they lives on. I go up to see them once every summer, this was my third summer. When I say army base, nothing beautiful or serene comes to mind, but this place is absolutely amazing. There's hills, and tons of beaches/water, and so so many huge trees which makes the air seem so fresh. It's like you've never really taken a breath until you get there and fill your lungs. The houses are all owned by the Canadian Forces, but they're cute and cozy. Not too big and not too small. And the best thing of all is the quiet. I don't live in a big city, but it's big enough to be busy and loud. Up there, aside from the random plane here and there, it's refreshing silence.
Or so I thought.
The last two times I've been there I never wanted to leave. When the week was up I was so sad to be heading home. That's why I stayed longer this time. But alot of things have changed since last summer, including the way I felt being up there. Suddenly the silence I used to welcome, seemed too silent. It was like the silence was just so, loud? The clean, normal part of me enjoyed it, took the time to reflect on things, to write, and to just relax and get away from it all. But the addict part in me, the one still screaming for drugs couldn't stand the silence. Without noise and busy-ness, that part of me suddenly seemed louder and more present in my head. Back home I had people to talk to, things to do, and there was always music. It kept my addiction on the side lines to let me stay clean. But up here, I had to stay clean without the help of distraction. I actually had to listen to the addict's begging and pleading for drugs, I had to listen to the pain and anger. I had to listen to all of it, and face all of it. Which left me angry, depressed, and home sick. I couldn't sleep, and I found myself stealing booze the first couple of nights. And as embarrassing it is to addmitt it, I even stole drugs. He had knee surgery before I came up, and had a bunch of percs left over. Each one has 5mg of oxycodone in them, and seeing them all there in the bottle after not seeing anything for so long, after missing it for so long, I just couldn't resist. It wasn't exactly an 80, but it was closer than I'd get to it. I stole one on one of the first few nights, and even just the one made me so high. I couldn't believe it. So I stole another one. I couldn't beleive that I was reacting this way. I didn't know my tolerance could go down so much, so quickly. So thank god they weren't 80's. I read somewhere that most addicts OD when they relapse because they go back to their normal usage amount after losing tolerance. I didn't believe it, because what kind of idiot takes the same amount after going without? I just didn't know it was so drastic. I used to do at least three 80's a day! That's 240mg's, and I was suddenly getting high from less than five. So if they were 80's I would have broken it into 8 pieces (uneven because they're hard to break into more than 4 even pieces). That's still 10mg's per piece, and some would be bigger than others. And I would have pushed it, I probably would have just done a quarter of it, because I thought that's what they meant by my tolerance going down...from 240 to 20, and I'm an addict, I'd want to get as fucked up as possible. But I guess it went down almost completely and that thing I read was completely accurate. I'm just lucky for my health they were percs and nothing more. It's already bad enough morally and emotionally to be relapsing on stolen drugs. How stupid am I?
Anyways, I ended up stealing two more (at the same time). But something kept me from doing them. And I was going to put them back, I really was. But this part of me wouldn't do it, it's like I just needed to have them even if I wasn't doing them. Which backfired because I put them in my purse, and didn't realize until I got to the airport, that I'd have to smuggle narcotics through airport security. I honestly considered doing it, and I would have gotten away with it. But I chickened out, the rational, thinking clearly part of me decided it was fucking stupid to risk for two pills. But the other part of me wasn't going to let them go to waste. So I took them (ate them), both of them at the same time before going through security. Keep in mind I usually snort these things, so snorting one in one night means I'm doing less than the 5mgs at once, which since that takes longer, and I could still get high with such a low tolerance, it was more efficient. Horrible for my nose with all the acetaminophen, but whatever, it felt kind of nice. So anyways, I took two whole pills orally, getting 10mgs of it at once. It felt great I won't lie, but it was borderline that uncomfortable too high feeling. Especially when babies started crying, or annoying passengers beside me asked stupid questions. I just wanted to put my head back and enjoy it, since it won't be happening anytime soon. But obviously in some odd way it was like I was being punished for being such a weak, horrible person.
Don't get me wrong, I loved being up there. I loved seeing my brother and getting away from everything back home. And as hard as it was, I guess it was probably good to finally deal with some of it, rather than just keeping it aside where the cravings just grow stronger and stronger. And the stronger they grow, the harder it will be to say no if some thing's in front of me. Which is exactly what I let happen. I ignored it, pushed it down and as soon as drugs were within my reach and I was feeling low, I caved. I caught myself though, and that's why I didn't touch the other two while I was there. But I still stole them and I knew that having them would eventually result in taking them. And it ended up biting me in the ass anyways. And I felt like such a bitch for caving, relapsing, stealing from my brother, and not fully enjoying a trip that should have been paradise. I let me addiction turn it into hell instead.
But don't worry, it was only a minor relapse. I'm back on track. I messed up, but I learned from my mistake. And I'm once again sober. Hopefully for good this time.
And the other moral of the story is, don't do drugs before going on an airplane, hahaha.
Or so I thought.
The last two times I've been there I never wanted to leave. When the week was up I was so sad to be heading home. That's why I stayed longer this time. But alot of things have changed since last summer, including the way I felt being up there. Suddenly the silence I used to welcome, seemed too silent. It was like the silence was just so, loud? The clean, normal part of me enjoyed it, took the time to reflect on things, to write, and to just relax and get away from it all. But the addict part in me, the one still screaming for drugs couldn't stand the silence. Without noise and busy-ness, that part of me suddenly seemed louder and more present in my head. Back home I had people to talk to, things to do, and there was always music. It kept my addiction on the side lines to let me stay clean. But up here, I had to stay clean without the help of distraction. I actually had to listen to the addict's begging and pleading for drugs, I had to listen to the pain and anger. I had to listen to all of it, and face all of it. Which left me angry, depressed, and home sick. I couldn't sleep, and I found myself stealing booze the first couple of nights. And as embarrassing it is to addmitt it, I even stole drugs. He had knee surgery before I came up, and had a bunch of percs left over. Each one has 5mg of oxycodone in them, and seeing them all there in the bottle after not seeing anything for so long, after missing it for so long, I just couldn't resist. It wasn't exactly an 80, but it was closer than I'd get to it. I stole one on one of the first few nights, and even just the one made me so high. I couldn't believe it. So I stole another one. I couldn't beleive that I was reacting this way. I didn't know my tolerance could go down so much, so quickly. So thank god they weren't 80's. I read somewhere that most addicts OD when they relapse because they go back to their normal usage amount after losing tolerance. I didn't believe it, because what kind of idiot takes the same amount after going without? I just didn't know it was so drastic. I used to do at least three 80's a day! That's 240mg's, and I was suddenly getting high from less than five. So if they were 80's I would have broken it into 8 pieces (uneven because they're hard to break into more than 4 even pieces). That's still 10mg's per piece, and some would be bigger than others. And I would have pushed it, I probably would have just done a quarter of it, because I thought that's what they meant by my tolerance going down...from 240 to 20, and I'm an addict, I'd want to get as fucked up as possible. But I guess it went down almost completely and that thing I read was completely accurate. I'm just lucky for my health they were percs and nothing more. It's already bad enough morally and emotionally to be relapsing on stolen drugs. How stupid am I?
Anyways, I ended up stealing two more (at the same time). But something kept me from doing them. And I was going to put them back, I really was. But this part of me wouldn't do it, it's like I just needed to have them even if I wasn't doing them. Which backfired because I put them in my purse, and didn't realize until I got to the airport, that I'd have to smuggle narcotics through airport security. I honestly considered doing it, and I would have gotten away with it. But I chickened out, the rational, thinking clearly part of me decided it was fucking stupid to risk for two pills. But the other part of me wasn't going to let them go to waste. So I took them (ate them), both of them at the same time before going through security. Keep in mind I usually snort these things, so snorting one in one night means I'm doing less than the 5mgs at once, which since that takes longer, and I could still get high with such a low tolerance, it was more efficient. Horrible for my nose with all the acetaminophen, but whatever, it felt kind of nice. So anyways, I took two whole pills orally, getting 10mgs of it at once. It felt great I won't lie, but it was borderline that uncomfortable too high feeling. Especially when babies started crying, or annoying passengers beside me asked stupid questions. I just wanted to put my head back and enjoy it, since it won't be happening anytime soon. But obviously in some odd way it was like I was being punished for being such a weak, horrible person.
Don't get me wrong, I loved being up there. I loved seeing my brother and getting away from everything back home. And as hard as it was, I guess it was probably good to finally deal with some of it, rather than just keeping it aside where the cravings just grow stronger and stronger. And the stronger they grow, the harder it will be to say no if some thing's in front of me. Which is exactly what I let happen. I ignored it, pushed it down and as soon as drugs were within my reach and I was feeling low, I caved. I caught myself though, and that's why I didn't touch the other two while I was there. But I still stole them and I knew that having them would eventually result in taking them. And it ended up biting me in the ass anyways. And I felt like such a bitch for caving, relapsing, stealing from my brother, and not fully enjoying a trip that should have been paradise. I let me addiction turn it into hell instead.
But don't worry, it was only a minor relapse. I'm back on track. I messed up, but I learned from my mistake. And I'm once again sober. Hopefully for good this time.
And the other moral of the story is, don't do drugs before going on an airplane, hahaha.
Tuesday, 26 June 2012
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.
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.
Monday, 18 June 2012
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.
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.
Friday, 15 June 2012
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.
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.
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.
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