When Joe dropped me off it was the same look of hurt, fear, and disappointment, followed by one of the rare hugs I got. I walked in scared, I also had my cell phone hidden on me and what I called my kit. My kit was a case with a spoon, needle and cotton. See one of my using buddies owed me and I figured if the withdraws got too intense I would find a way. Us addicts always find a way.
So, right away I came up with the excuse that I needed to meet with my lawyer and the DA for a court case I had pending. So the retired priest that worked at Koinonia gave me a ride to the courthouse, and I spent the better part of the day getting and using. I actually did use at the treatment facility once that evening. Not even because I really wanted to, but because I was so scared of the withdraws.
I became paranoid that staff would find my kit, so I got rid of it, away from the facility. I felt extremely guilty for putting the other clients at risk. So the weekend came and so did the withdraws. I couldn't sit, stand, lay, eat, or drink anything. I was sick, my muscles and bones hurt, and I was in a constant panic attack. Saturday I was feeling so bad that I decided to take one of the bikes for a ride. I took my ATM card and a pair of expensive earrings to pawn. I needed something to ease this misery!
I rode about a mile down the road and came to a four-way stop. While at that stop a voice inside said, "Just go back." And I did. I wasn't sleeping, eating, or drinking anything, but I kept telling myself it would get easier with each passing minute, if I could just hang on one more minute it would get better. It didn't seem like it was, and I hated myself for creating this.
The following day I actually managed to sleep a little and house staff left me alone. It was Sunday. I was still feeling horrible, so I told staff I got stung by a bee, and they took me to the ER. I am really allergic, but I didn't get stung, I was simply hoping they would put something in my body to ease this crap. They pumped me full of epinephrine and Benadryl. The epinephrine made my heart feel like it was going to explode, and the benadryl didn't even touch me after all of my using. Goody. I'm not dumb by any stretch of the imagination, but sometimes my actions said otherwise.
After that I went back to Koinonia, and while sitting outside having a smoke I looked up and saw a cloud that appeared to be an outstretched hand, as if it were inviting me to hold it. And I decided to. At that moment I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. Whether it was my mind playing tricks on me, or what, but it really a cool moment.
At that point I settled down and became serious about my treatment. My counselor was awesome. She had me dealing with issues I never had. I had to write a letter to my mom about my use, and clidhood abuse and read it to her face to face. I had never been so scared in all of my life, but when all was said and done it was a great experience. I finally felt like I was really getting something out of treatment. There were still many challenges ahead......
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Can't Get Much Worse
So the occasional using didn't last long. No matter how hard I was trying to "control" it, it was beginning to consume me again. I had no idea what my addiction had in mind for me. It wasn't long before I was buying morphine again. My boyfriends neighbor and the people that hung out in that crowd were into needles. Something I always said I would never touch.
The pills I was buying were strange. They were capsules you could pull apart with all of the little beads inside. They were tough to crush up and snort. I did that for a little while. One night my boyfriend and I went over to buy some morphine, and I just said "fuck it" and asked for a needle. With a look of shock they handed me a clean needle and I shot up for the first time.
I was so high, I blacked out for a while. I was hoping to drive home, but I could barely move. My boyfriend gave me some coffee to wake me up a little, but I proceded to drop my iPod in it. (It survived.)
You hear needle users talk about how they fall in love with the needle. I always thought they were nuts. But they're not. The whole process becomes a drug in itself. Getting the spoon ready, drawing the drugs up into the needle, finding a vein, watching it register , and the high hits as soon as the plunger goes down.
It wasn't long before I was back to my lying, thieving, cheating ways. I ripped off anyone I could to get more of my fix. My use was out of control yet again. I was shooting up at least ten times a day. I used at work. I finally managed to land a full time job as a nurses assistant on NOC shift, so it was a little easier to get away with for a little while anyways.
I used when I came home. I started squeezing the gel out of fentanyl patches and using that. If you know anything about fentanyl it's 10 times more potent than morphine, and I would use three days worth at once. Sometimes I was slapping myself to breath, I would hit my head on the sink nodding out. I always had the hiccups. Opiates depress the respiratory system.
I would come home when my parents were getting up, go into the tub and shoot up once more before bed. I would always have a needle loaded and ready to go for when I woke up in the morning. If I couldn't find a vein in my arm, I used one in my kneecap.
If I ever had marks from my using I always said I had a violent patient, or the cat scratched me. I was getting close to the breaking point. Work suspected me of using and stealing narcotics, but couldn't prove anything. My disease always had a strangle hold on me, but this time it was breathing down the back of my neck. It was only a matter of time before I dropped dead.
I was sick of lying to everyone, I certainly wasnt fooling myself. I was so broken, and empty. Traci was gone, but I knew she was in there somewhere. I was sitting on my parents front porch having a cigarette. My phone was in my hand. My higher power had to be watching over me, because I called a friend of mine who worked with Koinonia. He answered and I poured my heart out to him. He asked if I was ok, and if I could survive a few more days. He said he would call the next day with my bed date for respite.
He called on a Monday and said I would go in Wednesday. I typed up a letter for work and said I needed to take a leave of absence for personal reasons. I told my parents I thought I was losing my mind and decided to go in to be safe. I figured I would drop the bomb on them later on. I kept using right up until the morning I went in. And it was lime deja vu, my brother Joe picked me up to take me and almost a year to the day later I was back in treatment again.....
The pills I was buying were strange. They were capsules you could pull apart with all of the little beads inside. They were tough to crush up and snort. I did that for a little while. One night my boyfriend and I went over to buy some morphine, and I just said "fuck it" and asked for a needle. With a look of shock they handed me a clean needle and I shot up for the first time.
I was so high, I blacked out for a while. I was hoping to drive home, but I could barely move. My boyfriend gave me some coffee to wake me up a little, but I proceded to drop my iPod in it. (It survived.)
You hear needle users talk about how they fall in love with the needle. I always thought they were nuts. But they're not. The whole process becomes a drug in itself. Getting the spoon ready, drawing the drugs up into the needle, finding a vein, watching it register , and the high hits as soon as the plunger goes down.
It wasn't long before I was back to my lying, thieving, cheating ways. I ripped off anyone I could to get more of my fix. My use was out of control yet again. I was shooting up at least ten times a day. I used at work. I finally managed to land a full time job as a nurses assistant on NOC shift, so it was a little easier to get away with for a little while anyways.
I used when I came home. I started squeezing the gel out of fentanyl patches and using that. If you know anything about fentanyl it's 10 times more potent than morphine, and I would use three days worth at once. Sometimes I was slapping myself to breath, I would hit my head on the sink nodding out. I always had the hiccups. Opiates depress the respiratory system.
I would come home when my parents were getting up, go into the tub and shoot up once more before bed. I would always have a needle loaded and ready to go for when I woke up in the morning. If I couldn't find a vein in my arm, I used one in my kneecap.
If I ever had marks from my using I always said I had a violent patient, or the cat scratched me. I was getting close to the breaking point. Work suspected me of using and stealing narcotics, but couldn't prove anything. My disease always had a strangle hold on me, but this time it was breathing down the back of my neck. It was only a matter of time before I dropped dead.
I was sick of lying to everyone, I certainly wasnt fooling myself. I was so broken, and empty. Traci was gone, but I knew she was in there somewhere. I was sitting on my parents front porch having a cigarette. My phone was in my hand. My higher power had to be watching over me, because I called a friend of mine who worked with Koinonia. He answered and I poured my heart out to him. He asked if I was ok, and if I could survive a few more days. He said he would call the next day with my bed date for respite.
He called on a Monday and said I would go in Wednesday. I typed up a letter for work and said I needed to take a leave of absence for personal reasons. I told my parents I thought I was losing my mind and decided to go in to be safe. I figured I would drop the bomb on them later on. I kept using right up until the morning I went in. And it was lime deja vu, my brother Joe picked me up to take me and almost a year to the day later I was back in treatment again.....
Friday, September 16, 2011
Treatment Round 2 (Part 2)
So I managed to meet a guy in treatment which breaks the cardinal rule of staying out of relationships for the first year. It's much easier not to focus on ones self when you have someone else around.
Now I can look back at what the real truth was when I left treatment for the second time. I still had a couple of secrets left that I didn't want to talk about. I figured if I ignored them long enough then they would just disappear. I also wasn't ready to fully surrender to my disease yet. There was still a tiny part of me that thought I was so unique I could maybe learn to use successfully.
The guy I met in treatment I knew had a crush on me, but we didn't begin dating until I was out of treatment and he was actually still in. He seemed really nice, but fresh out of treatment everyone is vulnerable.
We actually did go to meetings together quite frequently. Every once in while he'd be tired from work and suggest we just stay home and be lazy. Not a good move in early recovery either. You start thinking you're doing ok, and maybe you could skip more.
My dad pressured me into getting a job as a CNA. I reluctantly began searching for work as an aid, but deep down I had the sinking feeling it would be my demise. I did get a job through an agency filling in for people that were sick, or on vacation. At first I moved around so much I didn't have a chance to get into much trouble.
Then I took care aof a man with Lou Gehrig's disease in his home. He was at the end stages, and it was difficult to sit and essentially watch someone die. His wife was planning to take care of him a little while longer, and then possibly put him in a hospice house.
My parents were going to Minnesota, so I figured I'd get wasted and no one would be the wiser. (A pattern I often followed.) So I stole some of my patients Xanax, and went home that day to get high and have a few cocktails. I remember my boyfriend coming over after I had crushed and snorted some of the Xanax, and I remember having at least one drink.
The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital not knowing what the he'll was going on. I pulled out the IV and catheter, got dressed located my phone, called my boyfriend and said pick me up. Mind you I was still wasted. The hospital called the police in order for them to get me to stay, but they had no authority.
So the boyfriend took me home. I came to sometime later that afternoon with my parents standing over me asking me if I wanted to talk. Ridden with shame I declined. I still wasn't getting it. I ended up in the hospital because I passed out on the couch, vomited up blood and had a seizure. My boyfriend didn't know what to do since he had been drinking and called an ambulance.
I managed to keep my shit straight for a little while. My boyfriends neighbor or was on all sorts of narcotics, and wasn't shy about it. I managed to ignore it for so long before I stopped by and got a handful of Vicodin.
I started off occasionally using. I would have some Vicodin on the weekends, and manage to leave it alone while I worked. I thought I had things under control, but I'm an addict, and I was far from in control.......
Now I can look back at what the real truth was when I left treatment for the second time. I still had a couple of secrets left that I didn't want to talk about. I figured if I ignored them long enough then they would just disappear. I also wasn't ready to fully surrender to my disease yet. There was still a tiny part of me that thought I was so unique I could maybe learn to use successfully.
The guy I met in treatment I knew had a crush on me, but we didn't begin dating until I was out of treatment and he was actually still in. He seemed really nice, but fresh out of treatment everyone is vulnerable.
We actually did go to meetings together quite frequently. Every once in while he'd be tired from work and suggest we just stay home and be lazy. Not a good move in early recovery either. You start thinking you're doing ok, and maybe you could skip more.
My dad pressured me into getting a job as a CNA. I reluctantly began searching for work as an aid, but deep down I had the sinking feeling it would be my demise. I did get a job through an agency filling in for people that were sick, or on vacation. At first I moved around so much I didn't have a chance to get into much trouble.
Then I took care aof a man with Lou Gehrig's disease in his home. He was at the end stages, and it was difficult to sit and essentially watch someone die. His wife was planning to take care of him a little while longer, and then possibly put him in a hospice house.
My parents were going to Minnesota, so I figured I'd get wasted and no one would be the wiser. (A pattern I often followed.) So I stole some of my patients Xanax, and went home that day to get high and have a few cocktails. I remember my boyfriend coming over after I had crushed and snorted some of the Xanax, and I remember having at least one drink.
The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital not knowing what the he'll was going on. I pulled out the IV and catheter, got dressed located my phone, called my boyfriend and said pick me up. Mind you I was still wasted. The hospital called the police in order for them to get me to stay, but they had no authority.
So the boyfriend took me home. I came to sometime later that afternoon with my parents standing over me asking me if I wanted to talk. Ridden with shame I declined. I still wasn't getting it. I ended up in the hospital because I passed out on the couch, vomited up blood and had a seizure. My boyfriend didn't know what to do since he had been drinking and called an ambulance.
I managed to keep my shit straight for a little while. My boyfriends neighbor or was on all sorts of narcotics, and wasn't shy about it. I managed to ignore it for so long before I stopped by and got a handful of Vicodin.
I started off occasionally using. I would have some Vicodin on the weekends, and manage to leave it alone while I worked. I thought I had things under control, but I'm an addict, and I was far from in control.......
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Treatment Round 2!
Koinonia was a lot different from the first facility I was in. For one I actually made the decision to go in myself, for two it was coed, and for three we were allowed caffiene and sugar.
It was difficult getting used to the routine. We were up everyday at 6:30 and had classes all day long. My room mate was awesome, we got along great! We were like two little kids at a slumber party, giggling into the night.
But treatment was far from fun and games at times. My counselor hated me from the start I was sure. And I found it difficult to open up. We had a very odd female group while I was in treatment. One of the girls monopolized most of the group time. Looking back I should've been more assertive, but live and learn.
I did work rather hard on some issues, but there were some I was just not going to let go of. I thought if I ignored them long enough they would just go away. Unfortunately life doesn't work that way, and secrets keep us sick. But being the stubborn addict that I am, I thought that somehow my situation was unique and I could get away with it.
We did do a lot of screwing around in treatment. At the time I thought I was taking everything so seriously, but I most certainly was not. We flirted with the guys, and in one case two individuals snuck off behind the shed one evening to get their groove on. Luckily I was gone when that all came out.
One guy was in there, I knew his sister from high school, so we developed a bond. We sat through family night every Thursday with our dads. My mom was not a good one for participating in my recovery. She was still under the impression that it was a phase. My dad did well though and my friends dad sort of adopted me. Good men, both of them. My dad and his friend diligently participated in the family program, and Alanon. My dad became less angry with me, and had a better understanding that I have a disease, not a moral defect. We actually began to communicate in a more healthy manor.
Then the day came for my room mate to go home, and I was sad. We had developed such a close bond. All I could do was hope she stayed clean. To this date I don't think she is. They put me with a new room mate right away. I was a little ticked off, but she proved to be a wonderful person as well. I just had it in my head at the start that no one could replace the first girl.
There was always sone drama with the females if course. There were two that hated each others guts, and fought like cats and dogs. For the most part we actually got along besides those two. I forget what the circumstances were entirely, but the situation came to a head one day and the one female got sent back to the jail.
I did get to travel a little bit while I was in treatment. I was lucky enough to go to Unity Jam, and Washburn. Two ca,pouts that were a blast. There was so much more to treatment than what I have written about already. I will continue this story, but looking back right now, I'm really not exactly sure what I got out of this treatment........
It was difficult getting used to the routine. We were up everyday at 6:30 and had classes all day long. My room mate was awesome, we got along great! We were like two little kids at a slumber party, giggling into the night.
But treatment was far from fun and games at times. My counselor hated me from the start I was sure. And I found it difficult to open up. We had a very odd female group while I was in treatment. One of the girls monopolized most of the group time. Looking back I should've been more assertive, but live and learn.
I did work rather hard on some issues, but there were some I was just not going to let go of. I thought if I ignored them long enough they would just go away. Unfortunately life doesn't work that way, and secrets keep us sick. But being the stubborn addict that I am, I thought that somehow my situation was unique and I could get away with it.
We did do a lot of screwing around in treatment. At the time I thought I was taking everything so seriously, but I most certainly was not. We flirted with the guys, and in one case two individuals snuck off behind the shed one evening to get their groove on. Luckily I was gone when that all came out.
One guy was in there, I knew his sister from high school, so we developed a bond. We sat through family night every Thursday with our dads. My mom was not a good one for participating in my recovery. She was still under the impression that it was a phase. My dad did well though and my friends dad sort of adopted me. Good men, both of them. My dad and his friend diligently participated in the family program, and Alanon. My dad became less angry with me, and had a better understanding that I have a disease, not a moral defect. We actually began to communicate in a more healthy manor.
Then the day came for my room mate to go home, and I was sad. We had developed such a close bond. All I could do was hope she stayed clean. To this date I don't think she is. They put me with a new room mate right away. I was a little ticked off, but she proved to be a wonderful person as well. I just had it in my head at the start that no one could replace the first girl.
There was always sone drama with the females if course. There were two that hated each others guts, and fought like cats and dogs. For the most part we actually got along besides those two. I forget what the circumstances were entirely, but the situation came to a head one day and the one female got sent back to the jail.
I did get to travel a little bit while I was in treatment. I was lucky enough to go to Unity Jam, and Washburn. Two ca,pouts that were a blast. There was so much more to treatment than what I have written about already. I will continue this story, but looking back right now, I'm really not exactly sure what I got out of this treatment........
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Bottoming Out?
I started dating a guy who had access to pills via his ex-girlfriend. He was much older than me, and to be completely honest I must have had my "pill goggles" on. I actually wanted a serious relationship. (Just another way to hopefully fill the emotional void.) He of course did not.
I was to the point of being completely on the edge. When I wasn't pilled out I was beyond drunk, so I didn't have to feel dope sick. And when I wasn't either I couldn't function at all. I wanted to end it all. I began messing with a few of the guns in my parents house. It would be so easy just to be gone.
I couldn't live the way I was, and I had no idea where to go, or how to change. One day I did load the .22 and put it to my temple. My dad walked in on me and grabbed the gun. Someone must have been watching over me that day. This is a big one that I still feel bad about. I made my dad cry way too many times. And my mom.
I decided to check myself into the mental health unit in Rhinelander, because I was just so afraid of what was going to happen, or not happen. They decided it wasn't a good idea that I had just quit taking Xanax, and were going to help me ween off of it.
This part of my life is a bit of a blur, I don't remember if I stayed 1, or 2 days. All I remember is making the call to Koinonia Treatment Facility and got a bed date. It was almost 2 weeks out, but I knew I needed help, and was making the decision to go on my own.
I asked my mom to come pick me up, I couldn't handle being in the nut ward anymore. She filled my Xanax presciption and kept them under lock and key to help me ween off of them so I didn't have seizures, or have a stroke.
So I used and partied it up until the day I went to treatment. I was so ashamed that I had gotten to this point. My lease was finally up at the shop, and I had no intention of ever setting foot there again. I packed my stuff, and informed the owner I was going to treatment again. At least she wished me luck.
I packed my stuff for the treatment facility, and had no intention of telling the yahoo I was dating where I was disappearing to. My parents had a trip planned to Ireland, England, and Scotland, so they would be gone for the last half I was in treatment. Hopefully it provided them some relief that I was somewhere safe from myself. I was also going to spend my birthday in treatment. Oh well, better than being dead, even though I was pretty dead on the inside anyways.
So my brother Joe picked me up and took me to treatment. He's not one for hugs, but this time I got one. He said he just wanted me to be ok. Poor Joe had seen way too many things too. I felt beyond bad. I had let everyone down. My family, friends that really cared.
The range of emotions was crazy. Panic, sick, ashamed, guilt, and the list went on. Hopefully this place would help me, because I so desperately wanted just an average life free from all of the shit. At least there was hope, that's a start.....................
I was to the point of being completely on the edge. When I wasn't pilled out I was beyond drunk, so I didn't have to feel dope sick. And when I wasn't either I couldn't function at all. I wanted to end it all. I began messing with a few of the guns in my parents house. It would be so easy just to be gone.
I couldn't live the way I was, and I had no idea where to go, or how to change. One day I did load the .22 and put it to my temple. My dad walked in on me and grabbed the gun. Someone must have been watching over me that day. This is a big one that I still feel bad about. I made my dad cry way too many times. And my mom.
I decided to check myself into the mental health unit in Rhinelander, because I was just so afraid of what was going to happen, or not happen. They decided it wasn't a good idea that I had just quit taking Xanax, and were going to help me ween off of it.
This part of my life is a bit of a blur, I don't remember if I stayed 1, or 2 days. All I remember is making the call to Koinonia Treatment Facility and got a bed date. It was almost 2 weeks out, but I knew I needed help, and was making the decision to go on my own.
I asked my mom to come pick me up, I couldn't handle being in the nut ward anymore. She filled my Xanax presciption and kept them under lock and key to help me ween off of them so I didn't have seizures, or have a stroke.
So I used and partied it up until the day I went to treatment. I was so ashamed that I had gotten to this point. My lease was finally up at the shop, and I had no intention of ever setting foot there again. I packed my stuff, and informed the owner I was going to treatment again. At least she wished me luck.
I packed my stuff for the treatment facility, and had no intention of telling the yahoo I was dating where I was disappearing to. My parents had a trip planned to Ireland, England, and Scotland, so they would be gone for the last half I was in treatment. Hopefully it provided them some relief that I was somewhere safe from myself. I was also going to spend my birthday in treatment. Oh well, better than being dead, even though I was pretty dead on the inside anyways.
So my brother Joe picked me up and took me to treatment. He's not one for hugs, but this time I got one. He said he just wanted me to be ok. Poor Joe had seen way too many things too. I felt beyond bad. I had let everyone down. My family, friends that really cared.
The range of emotions was crazy. Panic, sick, ashamed, guilt, and the list went on. Hopefully this place would help me, because I so desperately wanted just an average life free from all of the shit. At least there was hope, that's a start.....................
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Hazardous Career Move
I continued to use while going to classes. I took my CNA exam, and passed. I soon took a job working with my mom (who's an RN) at the nursing home she's been at for many years. For a while I was doing ok at my job. I took very good care of my patients, but soon I started to get desperate. I figured out how to get into the lock boxes at work and steal narcotics.
I usually would do it when I had a few days off. Usually the nurses caught the brunt of my actions. Getting questioned, and urine tests. But it wasn't long before I was under fire and I had to take a urine test. The nuts thing about the urine test was I got canned for having a positive for marijuana, not the pills.
It wasn't long and I was missing a lot of school because of my using. It's a miracle I passed any of the classes I was taking. I was dating a guy who had a little girl. We used together, but I became very attached to his daughter. About 5 months into the relationship he began cheating on me, and started treating me like a ghost. It came without warning. I must say he was an idiot, but I was heart-broken over not being able to be around her anymore.
I decided never again would I date anyone with a young child anymore. Not only was it painful for me, but I'm sure it messed with the kid too.
I spent very little time at the salon, not only was I uncomfortable, but I'd managed to screw myself out of a lot of potential business due to my addiction. I only went to work there when it was absolutely necessary.
I was also making at least one trip to Lac Du Flambeau a day to buy drugs. When I didn't have money I took out pricey advances on my credit card, or took money from my dad's safe at the funeral home. I pawned jewlery from past relationships, including the engagment ring from my ex-fiance.
I was also dealing drugs to people from the area. I would usally pick up large quantities of pills and bring them to Eagle River. There was one guy who used to sell me quite a sizeable prescrition a couple times a month. Had I ever been pulled over and searched I would've been screwed.
One thing that always amazed me was I could almost always get pills of some kind in Flambaeu, and that so many people were on these heavy-duty narcotics long-term. I guess I sucked at lying to doctors.
At this point I had broken ties with anyone involved in NA. I wasn't going to meetings, or working anysort of program. My parents also were beyond angry for my sticky fingered habits. I don't blame them, and I still feel bad about the things I put those poor people through. At the time I could care less. As long I could get high, I would've sold them into slavery for a fix.
By the end of the school year I had managed to pass my nursing classes, but I had no intention of going back to finish. As time passed through this relapse I was becoming more hollowed out, and had very little concious about anything. I turned into everything I hated. A liar, cheat, thief, and most of all I had managed to push everyone who cared as far away as possible.
I was running out the clock on the lease in the salon, and wasn't sure what I was going to do......................
I usually would do it when I had a few days off. Usually the nurses caught the brunt of my actions. Getting questioned, and urine tests. But it wasn't long before I was under fire and I had to take a urine test. The nuts thing about the urine test was I got canned for having a positive for marijuana, not the pills.
It wasn't long and I was missing a lot of school because of my using. It's a miracle I passed any of the classes I was taking. I was dating a guy who had a little girl. We used together, but I became very attached to his daughter. About 5 months into the relationship he began cheating on me, and started treating me like a ghost. It came without warning. I must say he was an idiot, but I was heart-broken over not being able to be around her anymore.
I decided never again would I date anyone with a young child anymore. Not only was it painful for me, but I'm sure it messed with the kid too.
I spent very little time at the salon, not only was I uncomfortable, but I'd managed to screw myself out of a lot of potential business due to my addiction. I only went to work there when it was absolutely necessary.
I was also making at least one trip to Lac Du Flambeau a day to buy drugs. When I didn't have money I took out pricey advances on my credit card, or took money from my dad's safe at the funeral home. I pawned jewlery from past relationships, including the engagment ring from my ex-fiance.
I was also dealing drugs to people from the area. I would usally pick up large quantities of pills and bring them to Eagle River. There was one guy who used to sell me quite a sizeable prescrition a couple times a month. Had I ever been pulled over and searched I would've been screwed.
One thing that always amazed me was I could almost always get pills of some kind in Flambaeu, and that so many people were on these heavy-duty narcotics long-term. I guess I sucked at lying to doctors.
At this point I had broken ties with anyone involved in NA. I wasn't going to meetings, or working anysort of program. My parents also were beyond angry for my sticky fingered habits. I don't blame them, and I still feel bad about the things I put those poor people through. At the time I could care less. As long I could get high, I would've sold them into slavery for a fix.
By the end of the school year I had managed to pass my nursing classes, but I had no intention of going back to finish. As time passed through this relapse I was becoming more hollowed out, and had very little concious about anything. I turned into everything I hated. A liar, cheat, thief, and most of all I had managed to push everyone who cared as far away as possible.
I was running out the clock on the lease in the salon, and wasn't sure what I was going to do......................
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
On Again Off Again
So while in treatment, I jumped through all their little hoops. I thought I wanted to get clean, but all of the counselors said I was doing it for all of the wrong reasons. I was on the pink treatment cloud they talk about. I was in treatment for a few weeks after all. I knew everything!
While I was in treatment they didn't allow us to go to outside 12-step meetings unless we were there for a certain amount of time. They had one in-house CA (Cocaine Anonymous) meeting. Two women came in and talked to us.
I asked my counselor to have a list of 12-step meetings in my area faxed down, so I could get some sort of game plan for when I returned home. I saw Narcotics Anonymous on the list, and thought that would be a better fit than AA. Since I'm an addict that seemed to make sense.
I also kept in contact with my still using fiance'. I esentially coerced him into recovery. I told him we were done unless he quit, and he certainly didn't want to. Not a move I would recommend for anyone. Ultimatums don't work so well.
I thought I knew this recovery shit inside and out. In fact I was going to save the world one addict at a time! HA!
So I completed treatment "successfully" and returned home. I went to my first NA meeting, and dragged the fiance' kicking and screaming. I clicked with people, took numbers, and shared. I was so full of crap though looking back on it all. I didn't want to be clean. If I did I would've usued the phone numbers, and began dealing with my big bag of crap.
I also thought I was different than all of the people I met in meetings. I was unique, I didn't have to work the program like they did. I was special.
I also returned to work to two women who managed to deplete my clientelle. Whatever the one was telling my clients while I was gone, most of them wouldn't even look at me, or talk to me. So I decided I needed to go back to school right away. I decided nursing would be a good career. I could make lots of money, right?
I was clean about 90-120 days when I went to the doctor, and she noticed I was due for a refill on my Xanax. Without thinking about it I happily said yes, had it refilled, and a 30 day supply was gone within 24 hours.
I promptly spent the next week feeling sorry for myself, and minimizing my relapse like it was no biggie. I even lied at meetings telling people that my sponsor (I didn't have one) said it was ok, and that it didn't really count as a relapse. Looking back I can remember all the crazy looks I got when that one came out of my mouth.
So back on the horse I went. I did get a sponsor not too long after that, but didn't know how to use her, therefore I didn't. I registered for school and began taking nursing classes, on top of working at the salon, and going to meetings.
How stupid could I get?! One of the first classes I was in was a math class. I met a girl who was on all sorts of anti-anxiety medication, and began using again. I thought I could somehow control it, or it would be different this time. What I learned would make me sneakier for sure.
Soon I was in a CNA class. I met two Natives from the Lac Da Flambeau Indian reservation. We were in a group one day and they asked if I was into painkillers. I said yes. Soon I was off and running to the reservation to get high, and get painkillers.
I was also beginning to develop quite a few connections in the Native community. I soon realized the rez was a gold mine of drugs. Seemed like no matter where you went you could find something.
I was still attending meetings here and there to keep up an "appearance". What appearnance I'm not quite sure. My fiance' was cheating on me so I dumped him, and really had no desire to date anyone. Evetually I would pawn the ring for drug money.
They always said each time you relapse it gets worse and worse, like I said I thought I was above all of that and that I could stop whenever I wanted to. I was clueless as to how far I would really go down into the depths of despair..........
While I was in treatment they didn't allow us to go to outside 12-step meetings unless we were there for a certain amount of time. They had one in-house CA (Cocaine Anonymous) meeting. Two women came in and talked to us.
I asked my counselor to have a list of 12-step meetings in my area faxed down, so I could get some sort of game plan for when I returned home. I saw Narcotics Anonymous on the list, and thought that would be a better fit than AA. Since I'm an addict that seemed to make sense.
I also kept in contact with my still using fiance'. I esentially coerced him into recovery. I told him we were done unless he quit, and he certainly didn't want to. Not a move I would recommend for anyone. Ultimatums don't work so well.
I thought I knew this recovery shit inside and out. In fact I was going to save the world one addict at a time! HA!
So I completed treatment "successfully" and returned home. I went to my first NA meeting, and dragged the fiance' kicking and screaming. I clicked with people, took numbers, and shared. I was so full of crap though looking back on it all. I didn't want to be clean. If I did I would've usued the phone numbers, and began dealing with my big bag of crap.
I also thought I was different than all of the people I met in meetings. I was unique, I didn't have to work the program like they did. I was special.
I also returned to work to two women who managed to deplete my clientelle. Whatever the one was telling my clients while I was gone, most of them wouldn't even look at me, or talk to me. So I decided I needed to go back to school right away. I decided nursing would be a good career. I could make lots of money, right?
I was clean about 90-120 days when I went to the doctor, and she noticed I was due for a refill on my Xanax. Without thinking about it I happily said yes, had it refilled, and a 30 day supply was gone within 24 hours.
I promptly spent the next week feeling sorry for myself, and minimizing my relapse like it was no biggie. I even lied at meetings telling people that my sponsor (I didn't have one) said it was ok, and that it didn't really count as a relapse. Looking back I can remember all the crazy looks I got when that one came out of my mouth.
So back on the horse I went. I did get a sponsor not too long after that, but didn't know how to use her, therefore I didn't. I registered for school and began taking nursing classes, on top of working at the salon, and going to meetings.
How stupid could I get?! One of the first classes I was in was a math class. I met a girl who was on all sorts of anti-anxiety medication, and began using again. I thought I could somehow control it, or it would be different this time. What I learned would make me sneakier for sure.
Soon I was in a CNA class. I met two Natives from the Lac Da Flambeau Indian reservation. We were in a group one day and they asked if I was into painkillers. I said yes. Soon I was off and running to the reservation to get high, and get painkillers.
I was also beginning to develop quite a few connections in the Native community. I soon realized the rez was a gold mine of drugs. Seemed like no matter where you went you could find something.
I was still attending meetings here and there to keep up an "appearance". What appearnance I'm not quite sure. My fiance' was cheating on me so I dumped him, and really had no desire to date anyone. Evetually I would pawn the ring for drug money.
They always said each time you relapse it gets worse and worse, like I said I thought I was above all of that and that I could stop whenever I wanted to. I was clueless as to how far I would really go down into the depths of despair..........
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Fully Consumed
My using became my priority. I didn't care about my business, my health, my family, or anything else. As long as I could get high life was ok. If I couldn't get high, I would lie and manipulate the situation until I could. I started writing bad checks to either buy crap I didn't need, or to cash to buy pills.
I managed to cover my checks as best as I could, but I just got to the point in which I didn't care about the consequences of my using anymore. I couldn't get out of bed without something in my system. I would blow off appointments at work if I was high. I felt like I couldn't function if I wasn't high.
I also began stealing money from my parents. Something I still feel really bad about. I can't remember what brought everything to a head, but somehow my parents figured out I was on everything I was on. So they began watching me like a hawk.
I didn't really care what they thought about it either. It's my life and I was going to do what I wanted. But they had other plans. They sat me down one day and said either I was going to treatment, or they were going to throw me out, and disown me. So I relented and planned to go to treatment against my better judgement.
At work I asked the girls to just say I was gone, and take care of my clients while I was gone, but with the understanding that when I returned my clients would come back to me. (They never called once while I was gone, or bothered to see how I was doing.)
My parents chose a facility down in Milwaukee, they figured it was far enough away that if I decided I was leaving I wasn't going to be walking home. It was a womens program, and I could've stayed for 6 months, or longer, but I had it in my head that I was only staying for 30 days.
So my mom dumped me off at treatment. I was never so scared in all my life. I just wanted to go home, or run, but where would I run to? I wanted to hide from myself most of all. I didn't want to face anything, it would be easier to keep on pretending. I also was clueless to the fact that all the crap I was coming off of was messing with my emotions along with my body. I was feaking out.
When I arrived it was in the afternoon, so everyone was in their groups.After they let out I met girls that were all hugging me as they met me, which was way bizarre. I wasn't usued to people being nice. Especially if they weren't expecting anything.
There were two houses. One used to belong to the priest, and the other was the old nunery. I was in the old priests house. It was a crummy neighborhood, but next door was a beautiful Catholic church. Most of the women that I met were right out of the ghetto, a lot had prostituted to support their drug habits, had smell children, and all around lived a much tougher life than I could've imagined. If I had been more receptive to treatment, I think I would have had more appreciation for what was around me, but I wasn't ready for this. My higher power was trying to show me something, but I was still blind.
There were groups and classes all day. We weren't allowed off the premises unless we were given permission to go to meetings, or were doing a job search. We weren't allowed caffiene or sugar either. They gave me a pile of homework. I finished it within a few days, and thought I was some sort of super hero. I had it in my head that 30 days of treatment was somehow going to "fix" me. Little did I know................
I managed to cover my checks as best as I could, but I just got to the point in which I didn't care about the consequences of my using anymore. I couldn't get out of bed without something in my system. I would blow off appointments at work if I was high. I felt like I couldn't function if I wasn't high.
I also began stealing money from my parents. Something I still feel really bad about. I can't remember what brought everything to a head, but somehow my parents figured out I was on everything I was on. So they began watching me like a hawk.
I didn't really care what they thought about it either. It's my life and I was going to do what I wanted. But they had other plans. They sat me down one day and said either I was going to treatment, or they were going to throw me out, and disown me. So I relented and planned to go to treatment against my better judgement.
At work I asked the girls to just say I was gone, and take care of my clients while I was gone, but with the understanding that when I returned my clients would come back to me. (They never called once while I was gone, or bothered to see how I was doing.)
My parents chose a facility down in Milwaukee, they figured it was far enough away that if I decided I was leaving I wasn't going to be walking home. It was a womens program, and I could've stayed for 6 months, or longer, but I had it in my head that I was only staying for 30 days.
So my mom dumped me off at treatment. I was never so scared in all my life. I just wanted to go home, or run, but where would I run to? I wanted to hide from myself most of all. I didn't want to face anything, it would be easier to keep on pretending. I also was clueless to the fact that all the crap I was coming off of was messing with my emotions along with my body. I was feaking out.
When I arrived it was in the afternoon, so everyone was in their groups.After they let out I met girls that were all hugging me as they met me, which was way bizarre. I wasn't usued to people being nice. Especially if they weren't expecting anything.
There were two houses. One used to belong to the priest, and the other was the old nunery. I was in the old priests house. It was a crummy neighborhood, but next door was a beautiful Catholic church. Most of the women that I met were right out of the ghetto, a lot had prostituted to support their drug habits, had smell children, and all around lived a much tougher life than I could've imagined. If I had been more receptive to treatment, I think I would have had more appreciation for what was around me, but I wasn't ready for this. My higher power was trying to show me something, but I was still blind.
There were groups and classes all day. We weren't allowed off the premises unless we were given permission to go to meetings, or were doing a job search. We weren't allowed caffiene or sugar either. They gave me a pile of homework. I finished it within a few days, and thought I was some sort of super hero. I had it in my head that 30 days of treatment was somehow going to "fix" me. Little did I know................
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Money Does Not Equal Success
So I rented a chair in a local salon. I met with the owner a few times, and she seemed really nice, supportive, and was successful. I figured she would serve as a good example for me. I also wanted out of dipshits house. I needed to make money in order to get my own place.
I had began to use morphine and oxycontin on weekends along with benzodiazapines. (Xanax, Valium, Etc.) My drinking became almost non-existant. I stuck with drugs that were less obvious. At least I thought they were less obvious.
So I signed my lease, and went shopping to stock up on all of the supplies I would need in order to run my own business. I started on July 1st that year, and soon became reasonably steady. I had a decent following starting. I got a checking account, and actually started out being somewhat responsible with the money I was making.
Soon after I started the owner and I began partying on weekends. We went to parties, and on several occasions she gave me some pills. Her mom's potent benzos, and her own ADD meds. We were fast becoming friends. Since she wasn't of age yet I would also buy her alcohol.
Things came to head with the jerk I was living with, and I moved out one day while he was at work. Since I had limited access I only moved the important things, and ended up having to go back for the rest. I was back at my parents house yet again with the hope that I would be getting my own place soon.
With the money I had coming in I had more than enough to spare for more pills on more occasions. I started using pills 3-4 days a week, and then 4-5 days a week, and eventually daily. When I couldn't find any I was either too depressed and panicky to function, or starting to get dope sick.
I would also use at work, therefore the quality of work I did began to suffer. I was always leaving to score more dope. I tried to get as much as I could everyday so I never had to go without. I would snort so much morphine or Xanax at work I was often nodding out if I sat down, or just way out of it.
I would go home to my parents, sit down in the recliner and nod out. My dad knew something was up, my mom always made excuses for me. I often couldn't remember what I did once I started to nod out.
Right around this time I also got engaged to my on again off again boyfriend of 5 years. I spent most of my time at his place because we both used and that way I could isolate from the rest of the world.
The owner of the shop knew I was using heavily, but didn't know what to do. The other woman that worked there just went out of her way to be as rude and nasty as possible. I'm sure I made them look nad as well as myself.
Soon the only reason I went to work was just to make money to support my habit. I didn't care too much about what kind of work I was doing, as long as I got paid.I didn't even want to work, or run a business. I just wanted all the financial rewards that came with a business.
Using was numbing me out, and when I was somewhat lucid, I was completely miserable and didn't even know who, or what I was anymore. I just knew that I had to keep using, and nothing was going to get in the way of my using..........
I had began to use morphine and oxycontin on weekends along with benzodiazapines. (Xanax, Valium, Etc.) My drinking became almost non-existant. I stuck with drugs that were less obvious. At least I thought they were less obvious.
So I signed my lease, and went shopping to stock up on all of the supplies I would need in order to run my own business. I started on July 1st that year, and soon became reasonably steady. I had a decent following starting. I got a checking account, and actually started out being somewhat responsible with the money I was making.
Soon after I started the owner and I began partying on weekends. We went to parties, and on several occasions she gave me some pills. Her mom's potent benzos, and her own ADD meds. We were fast becoming friends. Since she wasn't of age yet I would also buy her alcohol.
Things came to head with the jerk I was living with, and I moved out one day while he was at work. Since I had limited access I only moved the important things, and ended up having to go back for the rest. I was back at my parents house yet again with the hope that I would be getting my own place soon.
With the money I had coming in I had more than enough to spare for more pills on more occasions. I started using pills 3-4 days a week, and then 4-5 days a week, and eventually daily. When I couldn't find any I was either too depressed and panicky to function, or starting to get dope sick.
I would also use at work, therefore the quality of work I did began to suffer. I was always leaving to score more dope. I tried to get as much as I could everyday so I never had to go without. I would snort so much morphine or Xanax at work I was often nodding out if I sat down, or just way out of it.
I would go home to my parents, sit down in the recliner and nod out. My dad knew something was up, my mom always made excuses for me. I often couldn't remember what I did once I started to nod out.
Right around this time I also got engaged to my on again off again boyfriend of 5 years. I spent most of my time at his place because we both used and that way I could isolate from the rest of the world.
The owner of the shop knew I was using heavily, but didn't know what to do. The other woman that worked there just went out of her way to be as rude and nasty as possible. I'm sure I made them look nad as well as myself.
Soon the only reason I went to work was just to make money to support my habit. I didn't care too much about what kind of work I was doing, as long as I got paid.I didn't even want to work, or run a business. I just wanted all the financial rewards that came with a business.
Using was numbing me out, and when I was somewhat lucid, I was completely miserable and didn't even know who, or what I was anymore. I just knew that I had to keep using, and nothing was going to get in the way of my using..........
Friday, June 3, 2011
Homeward Bound
My using finally spiraled to point of me not being able to hold a job for very long. I had a few short lived jobs, and my mom tried to help me financially a little, but soon I had to move home. I felt defeated by this, like my life was over and I was a complete failure.
I managed to get a job fairly quick when I was home, but I spent every spare moment I had getting comepletely wasted. I soon began to date a guy who introduced me to Dilaudid, a potent painkiller. I loved the way it made me feel, it surely killed the pain.
It struck me odd that instead of throwing up like I always used to on Morphine, I was now getting incredibly high. I just assumed that my body chemistry had changed, and apparently in my favor.
My job was short lived, and I broke up with the Dilaudid guy. I My dad had me bartending at a Knights of Columbus dinner when I met yet another jerkbag in my life. He was a great enabler, but then would get angry when I used.
He allowed me to use until I was in a stooper. I would up in detox one Christmas. (I still feel really bad about that. My poor parents.)
He bought me paraphenalia, gave me cash, let me take his car when my license got revoked, and tried to get my family and anyone else who would listen to hate my guts. I went out with him, because on appearance he seemed like the type of guy I "should" be with. Underneath it all he's a porn addicted wierdo, and possibly the most mentally abusive freak I've ever known.
So I did would an sick addict would do, I moved in with him. I got a second OWI just before I moved in with him, and had to beg him to take me anywhere. Then when I'd disappear and use, he would threaten me. Say he was going to lock my cat out in the garage, or lock me out in the cold.
He would also narc me out to my family at every turn. Took me years to be rid of him completely. By now no one can stand him, and I must admit if he stood close enough I may just hit him. I certainly wasn't a saint by any means, but that guy is the biggest, phoniest jerk I've ever known. I think the fact that he was so fake made me livid.
The more he tried to control, the more I bucked. I used out of hurt, anger, and every emotion there ever could be. Things were great! I used. Things were terrible! I used.
During this time period I also sought (on my own) outpatient couseling, but I had no desire to stop. I thought just showing up at these sessions were supposed to magically cure me, or something. After I did the voluntary thing, I had to go on account of my 2nd OWI.
They suggested 12 step meetings. So the first meeting I ever went to was an AA meeting. As soon as they brought up the "God" thing I panicked and it was many years before I went back to any 12 step groups.
I think my logical brain was trying to peak out in these times, but my addict brain was too powerful and stomped out any thought of trying to get straight. At this point I could string together a couple weeks to a month clean, and then I was back at it ten-fold.
I would try to set dates to stop, try and figure out ways to ween myself and nothing worked. I had surrendered to the fact that I was an addict and I always would be. But I didn't really want to be the way I was, but I didn't know where to go from where I was at. It's really quite an exhausting way of life, or should I say death.
Well wasn't sure what to do, or what to try next. I knew I had to get out of the jerks house, and make my own way. I decided to rent a chair at a local salon and run my own business. Surely financial success would make me happy enough to stop using..............
I managed to get a job fairly quick when I was home, but I spent every spare moment I had getting comepletely wasted. I soon began to date a guy who introduced me to Dilaudid, a potent painkiller. I loved the way it made me feel, it surely killed the pain.
It struck me odd that instead of throwing up like I always used to on Morphine, I was now getting incredibly high. I just assumed that my body chemistry had changed, and apparently in my favor.
My job was short lived, and I broke up with the Dilaudid guy. I My dad had me bartending at a Knights of Columbus dinner when I met yet another jerkbag in my life. He was a great enabler, but then would get angry when I used.
He allowed me to use until I was in a stooper. I would up in detox one Christmas. (I still feel really bad about that. My poor parents.)
He bought me paraphenalia, gave me cash, let me take his car when my license got revoked, and tried to get my family and anyone else who would listen to hate my guts. I went out with him, because on appearance he seemed like the type of guy I "should" be with. Underneath it all he's a porn addicted wierdo, and possibly the most mentally abusive freak I've ever known.
So I did would an sick addict would do, I moved in with him. I got a second OWI just before I moved in with him, and had to beg him to take me anywhere. Then when I'd disappear and use, he would threaten me. Say he was going to lock my cat out in the garage, or lock me out in the cold.
He would also narc me out to my family at every turn. Took me years to be rid of him completely. By now no one can stand him, and I must admit if he stood close enough I may just hit him. I certainly wasn't a saint by any means, but that guy is the biggest, phoniest jerk I've ever known. I think the fact that he was so fake made me livid.
The more he tried to control, the more I bucked. I used out of hurt, anger, and every emotion there ever could be. Things were great! I used. Things were terrible! I used.
During this time period I also sought (on my own) outpatient couseling, but I had no desire to stop. I thought just showing up at these sessions were supposed to magically cure me, or something. After I did the voluntary thing, I had to go on account of my 2nd OWI.
They suggested 12 step meetings. So the first meeting I ever went to was an AA meeting. As soon as they brought up the "God" thing I panicked and it was many years before I went back to any 12 step groups.
I think my logical brain was trying to peak out in these times, but my addict brain was too powerful and stomped out any thought of trying to get straight. At this point I could string together a couple weeks to a month clean, and then I was back at it ten-fold.
I would try to set dates to stop, try and figure out ways to ween myself and nothing worked. I had surrendered to the fact that I was an addict and I always would be. But I didn't really want to be the way I was, but I didn't know where to go from where I was at. It's really quite an exhausting way of life, or should I say death.
Well wasn't sure what to do, or what to try next. I knew I had to get out of the jerks house, and make my own way. I decided to rent a chair at a local salon and run my own business. Surely financial success would make me happy enough to stop using..............
Friday, May 27, 2011
Another Severe Low In The Addiction World
This is possibly one of the hardest things for me to discuss. I know that if I hadn't been using it never would have happened, but it still doesn't excuse the other parties behavior. It makes me feel ashamed, and downright gross when I talk, or think about it. So here goes.......
One night I decided to walk up to one of the nearby watering holes from my apartment. It was a balmy July night, and I wanted to be out and about. I proceeded to get drunk, mind you I wasn't to the point of blackout drunk. The crowd that night was a little on the grungy side, and I wasn't gonna stick around. There were two men with thick accents next to me being rather lude. (I think the accent was possibly Russian.) I was ignoring them for the most part.
They slipped something into my drink. I left and began to walk home, I was drunk, but was suddenly feeling really fuzzy and blurry. I have a slight memory of the men pulling up beside me in a van and asking if I wanted a ride. I refused. One got out and forced me in. I put up a fight, but not good enough.
The next thing I remember was coming to several hours later naked, locked in a childs bedroom, and begging them to let me leave. They refused and left the room. I had no clue where I was, and no idea what had happened. I knew I had to get out of there no matter what.
I found my shorts, but no other clothing. I grabbed the sheet off the bed, kicked the screen out of the window, and jumped out. I looked around and saw I was only 3 buildings away from my own. I booked to my friends house which was nearby and woke him up. He didn't know what to do with me, I didn't know what to do with me. He gave me some clothes to change into, and contemplated what to do.
I was due at work the next day, but I was in such a state I just stayed at my friends and shut my phone off. We ended up going to my apartment to get my cat, and a few days worth of clothing, because I was too scared to be alone. When we were there a co-worker and her boyfriend came to check on me, because it wasn't like me to disappear.
I explained what had happened, and she and the guys took me to the hospital. They conducted a rape kit, and had the police come and take a statement.
I called my mom and told her, she offered to come get me. Work was giving me a leave of abscence for at least 2 weeks. The following day I had to go to the police station to be photographed nude. I was covered with bruises, and had handprints on my neck and breasts, as well a bite mark.
The men were arrested, but no charges were ever brought. Kind of got the feeling the cops saw "I had it coming." I ended up losing my job, because all I did was use and couldn't get my shit together. I loved that job, and was sad that I had to find a new one.
After the incident my using skyrocketed. I couldn't face myself at all. I was disgusted and ashamed of myself. I was pissed that nothing ever happened to those assholes. I was a wrecked hot mess.
Now I still hate talking about it, but there are some things to be grateful for: I didn't have a child as a result, no diseases, it's really a blessing that I don't remember much (although the PTSD comes out in my sleep), and I'm positive Karma will take it's toll at some point. I can also speak out to other females, and hopefully inspire them to get their own horrors off their chests. This particular experience I used to refuse to speak of, and it kept me more sick than anyone can imagine.
This was a consequence of my using. I didn't deserve that, no one does, but this would never had happened if I was clean.
One night I decided to walk up to one of the nearby watering holes from my apartment. It was a balmy July night, and I wanted to be out and about. I proceeded to get drunk, mind you I wasn't to the point of blackout drunk. The crowd that night was a little on the grungy side, and I wasn't gonna stick around. There were two men with thick accents next to me being rather lude. (I think the accent was possibly Russian.) I was ignoring them for the most part.
They slipped something into my drink. I left and began to walk home, I was drunk, but was suddenly feeling really fuzzy and blurry. I have a slight memory of the men pulling up beside me in a van and asking if I wanted a ride. I refused. One got out and forced me in. I put up a fight, but not good enough.
The next thing I remember was coming to several hours later naked, locked in a childs bedroom, and begging them to let me leave. They refused and left the room. I had no clue where I was, and no idea what had happened. I knew I had to get out of there no matter what.
I found my shorts, but no other clothing. I grabbed the sheet off the bed, kicked the screen out of the window, and jumped out. I looked around and saw I was only 3 buildings away from my own. I booked to my friends house which was nearby and woke him up. He didn't know what to do with me, I didn't know what to do with me. He gave me some clothes to change into, and contemplated what to do.
I was due at work the next day, but I was in such a state I just stayed at my friends and shut my phone off. We ended up going to my apartment to get my cat, and a few days worth of clothing, because I was too scared to be alone. When we were there a co-worker and her boyfriend came to check on me, because it wasn't like me to disappear.
I explained what had happened, and she and the guys took me to the hospital. They conducted a rape kit, and had the police come and take a statement.
I called my mom and told her, she offered to come get me. Work was giving me a leave of abscence for at least 2 weeks. The following day I had to go to the police station to be photographed nude. I was covered with bruises, and had handprints on my neck and breasts, as well a bite mark.
The men were arrested, but no charges were ever brought. Kind of got the feeling the cops saw "I had it coming." I ended up losing my job, because all I did was use and couldn't get my shit together. I loved that job, and was sad that I had to find a new one.
After the incident my using skyrocketed. I couldn't face myself at all. I was disgusted and ashamed of myself. I was pissed that nothing ever happened to those assholes. I was a wrecked hot mess.
Now I still hate talking about it, but there are some things to be grateful for: I didn't have a child as a result, no diseases, it's really a blessing that I don't remember much (although the PTSD comes out in my sleep), and I'm positive Karma will take it's toll at some point. I can also speak out to other females, and hopefully inspire them to get their own horrors off their chests. This particular experience I used to refuse to speak of, and it kept me more sick than anyone can imagine.
This was a consequence of my using. I didn't deserve that, no one does, but this would never had happened if I was clean.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Feeling Good
- Like most drug addicts I like to feel good. There were a lot of negative emotions as a teen that I wanted to hide from. I felt emotionally abandoned by my my parents. As I said before the wedge between my mom and I had started around the time I was 12.
She was finishing nursing school, and all of the sudden seemed to resent me. She became very cold, and mean. I was in seventh grade getting ready for cheerleading tryouts, and she informed me that I was too fat to be a cheerleader. I was devastated. At 12 I needed my both my parents to help guide me through the tough times that I was going through. I wasn't sure what I did, but I felt terrible about it.
Anyways,drugs filled the void, and made those feelings of inferiority go away. They took me to a place that was fun, exciting, and euphoric. Anything could be going on in life, and a little pot or alcohol would alleviate the feelings. At this point in my using career I didn't feel the guilt and self-loathing that came later. It was all fun and games.
By the time I was 15 I had calmed down a little at home. I got a job and started to improve in school. I was a "functional" addict. I also had an amazing group of friends at that time, people I'm still friends with to this day. They weren't just using buddies, but good people.
Don't get me wrong, I was still using daily, but it seemed there was a little peace in my mind.
I started to use drugs to feel good about myself, laugh, and have good feelings that I never really had experienced since I was a child. I continued to use drugs to feel good, but eventually my drug use took me down roads that led to situations that I did feel guilty and ashamed over. The drugs then were used to cover up those emotions. And the drugs I used shifted continuously in a feeble attempt to find the right one to completely mask all the negative and bring out the positive feelings and emotions.
*This was written earlier and should've been placed ahead of some of these other posts.
Crazy Neighbor 2
- Once in while Trouble would slip into the hall, run up the stairs, down the hall, back down the front stairs, and back home. The whole time I would follow. My friend up the street one night wanted to go out to the bar. I wanted to stay put. So we compromised. We went to the bar for about an hour then came back to my apartment. When I left I pulled the door shut, Trouble peeking at me, and dead bolted the door. There was no lock on the knob, just the dead bolt.
When we returned I could see someone had tried to pry the living room screen away. We walked inside the apartment and my furry companion was no where in sight. We searched high and low, no kitten. I began to panic. I said, "That son of a bitch upstairs has her!" I tore out the door and ran up the stairs, my friend in tow. I pounded on the nut jobs door, and he answered the door with my cat tucked under his arm! I flipped out. What the hell was he doing with my cat?! His explanation was that she was out wandering the halls, which I knew was crap. She was sitting on the floor looking at me when I closed the door and locked it.
Some time passed and things seemed calm. I came home from work one afternoon, and he pooped up in my living room window asking me if I wanted a beer. Being a good addict I said sure. (Yes, even after all of the crap he pulled.) I wanted a freaking beer, and when you're an addict you take what you can get. So I changed and wandered upstairs. I drank one, and cracked a second. I took a sip and went to the bathroom. When I came out I picked up my beer and took a swig. Something hit my front tooth. I went to the kitchen sink and spit the beer out. A large white pill came out with the beer. I grabbed the beer and dumped the rest out. Three more large white pills came out of the can. I walked over and got in his face. I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. Of course he claimed he had no idea how they got in there.
I called the police and met them at a nearby gas station. I handed over the evidence, and he admitted to the police that he had put a large dose of Lithium in my drink. He said I was too high strung and needed to relax. It took several years and me badgering the DA to prosecute him. He was convicted of a lesser charge of attempting to poison, or something along those lines. I still have a card somewhere with a number to call and I can find out where his last known address is.
When I moved I just left hastily. I told the owners not to tell him where I went. He continued to call me on occasion until one of my friends answered my phone and chewed him out.
Crazy Neighbor
- So, right before I moved into my new apartment I turned 21. It just so happened on a Friday, so I took a four day weekend, much of which was a blur. I went to Milwaukee for one night to visit a body piercer who I was dating, and that ended with disaster. I went back to Appleton and spent the rest of the weekend with a few friends getting blitzed.
9 days after I turned 21 I got my first OWI after driving someone home from a bar.I told myself it was bad luck. I didn't even go to jail. I went to a hospital for a blood test, car was impounded, and I was released to a friend of mine. Got the car out the next day and went on my merry way. The only people that knew to start with were my brother and his wife.
Anyway, I moved into my apartment. I was also looking for a new job. I was working at a salon that was run like a Nazi boot camp and also at a grocery store a few times a week. Shortly after I had moved in I managed to get a job at another salon which paid better and was better all around. I thought maybe this would resolve some of my issues in life.
I also got lonely for a pet so I got my cat Trouble as a kitten out in Greenville from a coworker of mine.I still have her, and if she could talk I imagine she'd have some stories to tell. I liked living by myself, but I was lonely. I had few friends, and lets face it, I wasn't really happy with them. All we did was use.
A few months after living in my apartment we had a nasty ice storm in Appleton and a transformer in the area blew. The manager of the apartment came to my door and introduced himself and asked if I was okay, and had a flashlight and whatever I needed. He also said he lived alone, and seemed very kind. He was a little older, and at first it seemed like perhaps he needed a friend.
I being delightfully naïve deicded to make friends with him. He liked to cook so I went up for dinner. He also liked to drink, and always had plenty of alcohol, and on occasion other drugs. Not too long after we became friends he expressed that he wanted more. I told him we could only be friends and that was all. Then weird things began to happen.
I had another neighbor who wasn't crazy I was friends with. Any time I hung around with the non-crazy neighbor the nutty neighbor would try and make trouble with the non-nutty guys probation officer. Nothing ever became of it. He also started trouble with another friends employer. Called and said all the guy did was use and made a bad name for company. (It was true, but you don't need to mess with someones career.)
I went through 4 cell phones. Mine would mysteriously disappear. Since he was the manager to the apartment building he did have a set of keys to my place. Another time my cold water was shut off. I went to the basement, and he turned the wrong valve. I think he was trying to shut off my hot water. (Never accused him of being smart.) I was also missing random atricles of clothing from time to time.
The lady that lived next to me bartended down the street, and said she had issues with him from time to time. One day she came and knocked to inform me that my bedroom screen was laying on the ground. There was no way that fell, or blew out. I began sleeping with a 9" chefs knife in my head board. I was constantly afraid he was lurking somewhere nearby. I was courteous when I saw him, but didn't spend time with him anymore.
Not In Kansas Anymore
- So I moved 2 1/2 hours away from home with a guy I had been dating for six months. Our whole relationship was based on using. Once again my addiction has turned me into an idiot. I began working at a salon full of using addicts. Everyone there smoked pot, did cocaine, drank, smoked crack, or all of the above. We were a classy bunch.
One of the girls I worked with had a boyfriend that sold cocaine. He would become my connection for many years even after I moved back up north. Nick and I started buying some on weekends. He was drinking age, and I wasn't , so sometimes he'd go out to the bars and I would stay at home alone and use. I'd slowed my drinking way down. I would have a drink here and there. Usually he came home soused enough for us both.
Actually we got along pretty well, until the cocaine use became more frequent. We would budget our bills and rent out so we could spend the rest on our using. We had a shared checking account, which was a huge mistake. I started to get calls from businesses where he had bounced checks, so I began to cover those. I went to pull money out of our account one day and he had nearly cleaned out the account.
I confronted him, and he became angry with me! He swore he wouldn't squander our money on drugs again. Some time passed and things calmed down a little. One day I came home from work and went to put some of my tip money in a stash spot I had. I managed to save about $130. I pulled the little bag out and there was $5 left. I was beyond angry. I was fed up with my trust being violated.
When he came home we had it out. Needless to say our relationship came to a screeching halt shortly after. Things were thrown, we cheated on each other, and I packed up and moved out of the apartment and into my brother and sister-in law's apartment. I did end up having to return to clean it out after he was evicted. I also got stuck with part of the judgment on that. I also picked up the tab for a string of bounced checks that surfaced later.
Living with my brother wasn't the easiest, I love them both dearly, but I felt like a third wheel. They worked early in the morning and I usually worked PM shift at the salon. I spent most of my time out of the house partying with friends. I wasn't old enough to go to the bars yet, so I would spend time with older friends that could buy alcohol.
It was a very lonely era in my life. I felt very alone. I really had no support system to speak of. I had drunk dialed so many family members and friends I had scared them off. I wasn't seriously dating anyone, and nor did I have the desire to date anyone for a while. I certainly had enough using buddies, but I was becoming acutely aware of the fact I really had no real friends anymore. The real friends I had left I managed to push away with my using. I lived with a sibling and barely spoke.
I had a minor falling out with my sister-in-law and decided to move out on my own again. We mended our differences rather quickly, but I still needed my own space. I set out apartment hunting, and managed to find a one bedroom near my a using buddy of mine. It seemed like it was a resonably decent neighborhood, but to my dismay it became part of some of the worst memories in my life.
Enter The Dark Ages
After all was said and done I should've been whisked into counseling for the abuse, and the drugs. I think that's what hindered me. I was afraid that any counselor would make me stop using. As you can tell my life up to this point is full of "should'ves."
For the first time in my life I didn't want a relationship. I wanted to be alone, but be with my friends. To cheer me up they took me to a bar way out in the middle of nowhere. I had a blast from what I could remember. That was the first time I blacked out. The first of many, many times. It was a line I had crossed over and would never be able to go back.
I woke up in bed in my friends basement. It took me a minute to figure out where I was, but I was relieved that I was at least safe. Had a terrible hangover, but I was safe.
The blackout scared me, but at the same time I could block all of the pain, anger, shame, and resentment I was feeling from the relationship with Eric. So I began drinking more frequently on top of the using.
A guy named Nick began hanging around more closely. He asked me out, but I said no. I said I needed friends more than I needed a boyfriend. So he became a good friend. I think he hung around so closely so that when I was ready he would be there.
I spent all of my free time partying. Went to bars and house parties. Anywhere I bumped into Eric he made sure to make me feel like garbage. He would attempt to make an ass out of me in front of my friends. Most of them just tolerated his being around. Nevertheless I allowed it to get under my skin. So what? I would just get wasted and life would be okay.
Every time I was drinking I was blacking out. I would drive drunk, not come home, drunk dial friends and relatives, and just make a general ass out of myself. I was lying to myself, but the truth is I'm an addict, and I was using to mask much deeper rooted issues. The fun part of using was dulling, and the shadow that was cast over me grew darker and more gruesome. I couldn't face myself clean. Eric had snuffed the zest out of me. I wouldn't look people in the eye, sudden movements scared me (still does), and I was fearful of people for the most part.
Nick and I hung out a lot, and even though I logically knew I shouldn't get into another relationship, but my addiction for sick relationships swayed me into another relationship. Nick was a really great person, but our whole relationship was based on using like so many others that I had been in.
I finished college and Nick and I decided to move in together in Appleton. We moved into a really nice apartment complex, I had a good job in a salon, he was a carpenter. Of course we managed to get our drug connections when we moved so then began the same thing, just in a different area. Couldn't seem to run away from myself.......
For the first time in my life I didn't want a relationship. I wanted to be alone, but be with my friends. To cheer me up they took me to a bar way out in the middle of nowhere. I had a blast from what I could remember. That was the first time I blacked out. The first of many, many times. It was a line I had crossed over and would never be able to go back.
I woke up in bed in my friends basement. It took me a minute to figure out where I was, but I was relieved that I was at least safe. Had a terrible hangover, but I was safe.
The blackout scared me, but at the same time I could block all of the pain, anger, shame, and resentment I was feeling from the relationship with Eric. So I began drinking more frequently on top of the using.
A guy named Nick began hanging around more closely. He asked me out, but I said no. I said I needed friends more than I needed a boyfriend. So he became a good friend. I think he hung around so closely so that when I was ready he would be there.
I spent all of my free time partying. Went to bars and house parties. Anywhere I bumped into Eric he made sure to make me feel like garbage. He would attempt to make an ass out of me in front of my friends. Most of them just tolerated his being around. Nevertheless I allowed it to get under my skin. So what? I would just get wasted and life would be okay.
Every time I was drinking I was blacking out. I would drive drunk, not come home, drunk dial friends and relatives, and just make a general ass out of myself. I was lying to myself, but the truth is I'm an addict, and I was using to mask much deeper rooted issues. The fun part of using was dulling, and the shadow that was cast over me grew darker and more gruesome. I couldn't face myself clean. Eric had snuffed the zest out of me. I wouldn't look people in the eye, sudden movements scared me (still does), and I was fearful of people for the most part.
Nick and I hung out a lot, and even though I logically knew I shouldn't get into another relationship, but my addiction for sick relationships swayed me into another relationship. Nick was a really great person, but our whole relationship was based on using like so many others that I had been in.
I finished college and Nick and I decided to move in together in Appleton. We moved into a really nice apartment complex, I had a good job in a salon, he was a carpenter. Of course we managed to get our drug connections when we moved so then began the same thing, just in a different area. Couldn't seem to run away from myself.......
Damages 2
It started without incident, but quickly escalated. I tried to reason with him as best as possible, but it was no use. We went outside and before he gave me the snowboard I had to listen to his anger at me one last time. He then began to trip me anytime I tried taking a step. Whenever I was on the ground he pulled me by the hair back to my feet. I managed to get my snowboard, and started to leave, he tripped me one last time, then had the nerve to face wash me. I rolled over and he picked up the snowboard, and went to hit me across the face with it. I looked up at him and said, "Go ahead! I fucking dare you!" He then threw it over me and it went sailing under my car. I got up, and booked as fast as I could to grab it, get in my car, and go. The whole time he was crying and wailing at me that he loved me and was so sorry for what had just happened. And of course uttered the words I had heard so many times before. "It'll never happen again."
I rushed to my friends house a few doors down and they wanted me to call the police, but I was too scared. To my surprise they pulled in no too long after I got to the house. The neighbors had called the police next door, they saw the whole thing. I filed a report and the police went to look for Eric. In no time his horrible mother came to my friends door and stuck her finger in my face and called me a liar! Apparently her and her equally useless husband had watched the whole incident as well and she was calling me a liar! I was never so furious in all of my life. I thought I might have killed the bitch. Good thing there were several people holding me back and showing her the door. Probably a good thing, I would've choked the life out her for that.
I couldn't understand how someone could enable their child to be such a monster, especially after witnessing it with her own eyes.
A few days later a friend of mine went to my dad with me to show him the police report. I don't think I've ever seen my dad so angry in my life. Not at me, and of course he had some choice words expressing his discontent.
I should have been immediately whisked to therapy after the whole thing, but like everything else I stuffed it convinced it would just eventually heal on it's own. I had no idea how I was going to unravel from this. I was a completely different person, Like someone snuffed the life out of me. I had no spirit left. So like any good addict I just poured drugs all over myself in an attempt to put the spirit back into myself. I was just making things a whole lot worse.......
I rushed to my friends house a few doors down and they wanted me to call the police, but I was too scared. To my surprise they pulled in no too long after I got to the house. The neighbors had called the police next door, they saw the whole thing. I filed a report and the police went to look for Eric. In no time his horrible mother came to my friends door and stuck her finger in my face and called me a liar! Apparently her and her equally useless husband had watched the whole incident as well and she was calling me a liar! I was never so furious in all of my life. I thought I might have killed the bitch. Good thing there were several people holding me back and showing her the door. Probably a good thing, I would've choked the life out her for that.
I couldn't understand how someone could enable their child to be such a monster, especially after witnessing it with her own eyes.
A few days later a friend of mine went to my dad with me to show him the police report. I don't think I've ever seen my dad so angry in my life. Not at me, and of course he had some choice words expressing his discontent.
I should have been immediately whisked to therapy after the whole thing, but like everything else I stuffed it convinced it would just eventually heal on it's own. I had no idea how I was going to unravel from this. I was a completely different person, Like someone snuffed the life out of me. I had no spirit left. So like any good addict I just poured drugs all over myself in an attempt to put the spirit back into myself. I was just making things a whole lot worse.......
Damages
- So my relationship with Eric lasted about a year and a half. I endured more shit than one person should in a lifetime. I was choked in front of my friends, pushed down stairs, dropped down stairs, pushed, grabbed, had clothing ripped off of my body, restrained, tripped, had my hair pulled, my cars keys chucked into the woods, my car kicked, and this was only the physical abuse.
The mental abuse was so much worse than I even realized at the time. He kept me in a constant supply of drugs, but he doles them out. I wasn't allowed to have my own dealings anymore. My pot dealer was now his, and I wasn't to have any phone numbers, he had to have control. He controlled everything we did, I said, and who I saw. He also began to cheat on me with some of the most disgusting women in Eagle River area. This wasn't good on my self-esteem either. Why would he do that when he had me, guess I wasn't worth much.
I was also made to think I was crazy whenever I accused him of this, or suspected him of anything. He also would threaten to break up with me, or give me the cold shoulder if I ever expressed any opinion. He and his bitch of a mother would also gang up on me when we fought. She would insist that I must have said, or done something to provoke her precious, innocent child. Some of his family sympathized with me, but wouldn't stand up to him. My friends hated him for what he was doing to me, but were afraid to lose their drug connection.
I finally confessed to my friend Jack what had been going on all the while, and that I was scared to tell my family, because I was so ashamed I had gotten stuck in this situation. He went to my dad and told him what was going on. My dad felt bad that I felt I couldn't come to him, but Jack did his best to explain it wasn't him it was me. So my parents approached me and said I needed to find a way to end it, and post haste. My dad gave me a cell phone in case I needed to call for help, and he could keep tabs on me as well.
I was going to the Chicago hair show with some classmates. They all knew the situation, and were supportive of me leaving him. So we went drank, got tattooed, and I finally had a fantastic weekend without living in fear of my action. I needed that little break to find a sliver of courage to leave his woman beating ass for good.
When I returned home I somehow needed to get my snowboard back from him without incident. I was in the car with a friend of mine when Eric called. I hung up and begged my friend to come with me to Eric's mother's apartment to get my things. He was scared and said no, but he would be a few doors down.
Now What Do I Do?
- I graduated at 17, started college for barber/cosmetology at NATC. I felt alone and isolated for the first time in my life. I was away from younger friends that were still in high school, and most of using buddies weren't interested in college.
I turned 18, and was making some older using buddies. With that came the "harder" drugs. I started doing cocaine on occasion. I drank in a bar for the first time with a classmate. No matter where I seemed to go I always gravitated towards people that used drugs.
That same year I began dating one of the two biggest mistakes in my life. I wouldn't know it until about a year and a half down the road. His name is Eric. The first six months seemed to be rather perfect. We had fun, and seemed to be functioning well as a couple. We were also doing a lot of drugs, so maybe I was just blind to him being an asshole.
Around six months, I clued him in on a little secret. This ended in me getting my ass kicked (the first of many times), and the only time I fought back. I must say I kicked his ass back. He fully had it coming though. We both went to jail, and I vowed to myself no one was ever worth going to jail for again. Besides, the courts don't care if you're defending yourself.
That was also the first blemish on my adult record. (I did get an underage at 16 when I went to a concert.)
Somewhere in all of the chaos that was going on, I had a very brief moment of clarity. I thought, "People probably don't party like this. Maybe I should do something about this, or just stop." Unfortunately that was as far as that thought went. And because of the incident with Eric I began having a little contest with myself. I tried on a daily basis to put as many, and as large quantity of drugs into my system. It didn't matter if it was pot, mushrooms, acid, X, Valium, cocaine, and whatever else I could get my hands on.
Never once did I try and stop, but then again I didn't have a true desire to quit using. Along with physical abuse, Eric was beginning to break me. I wouldn't look anyone in the eye, I spent less time with people I really cared about, I was afraid to speak to my male friends, I thought I was worthless, and this was as good as it was going to get. I was afraid to tell my family what was going on. I was living in fear and shame.
This point in my life was like being at the top of a massive roller coaster in the clouds, but you have no idea when you're going to drop, or what's waiting for you at the bottom.
Progression (And Not The Good Kind)
By the time I was 16 I had been smoking pot daily for 2 years, drinking regularly experimented with Valium, and Ritalin, and some other drugs. The more my use increased, so did my crazy antics. I would do almost anything on a dare. Hanging out of car windows flying down a back road, hanging drunk over a rapidly moving dam, and many other stupid things. (I'm amazed I survived my teen years.)
Another thing I decided to do at 16 was take acid for the first time. This would be the first occurrance of many. Did many stupid things while under the influence of that as well.
I shoplifted like crazy as a teen, in fact I prided myself on how stealth I was. Most of my wardrobe was stolen. My parents always asked where I got things, and I would lie and say friends bought them for me, gave them to me, or I found a deal shopping.
This was also the year I met an older pot dealer. I made $10 an hour either in cash or pot cleaning his house. So I was never without either. Everyone I hung out with used drugs. That was all my life revolved around, and I could never see myself quitting. How would life be any fun? All the super cool people did drugs.
I had no idea what I wanted to do in life other than cause trouble and get high. I had no idea how I was going to support myself. All of my dreams were slowly going by the wayside.
I had some silly idea that prince charming was going to come along and life would just happen. The house, the kids, and everything else.
I was getting worse and was fully clueless on the road ahead. I thought I was special an
Another thing I decided to do at 16 was take acid for the first time. This would be the first occurrance of many. Did many stupid things while under the influence of that as well.
I shoplifted like crazy as a teen, in fact I prided myself on how stealth I was. Most of my wardrobe was stolen. My parents always asked where I got things, and I would lie and say friends bought them for me, gave them to me, or I found a deal shopping.
This was also the year I met an older pot dealer. I made $10 an hour either in cash or pot cleaning his house. So I was never without either. Everyone I hung out with used drugs. That was all my life revolved around, and I could never see myself quitting. How would life be any fun? All the super cool people did drugs.
I had no idea what I wanted to do in life other than cause trouble and get high. I had no idea how I was going to support myself. All of my dreams were slowly going by the wayside.
I had some silly idea that prince charming was going to come along and life would just happen. The house, the kids, and everything else.
I was getting worse and was fully clueless on the road ahead. I thought I was special an
The Earlier Years
By the time I was 14 I was smoking pot daily, and drinking on the weekends. I skipped school, and made it a point to appear as a "rebel". I didn't really hide my use from peers.
This was also my freshman year in high school. The year my dad bought the funeral home and began running it essentially by himself with no help, other than another gentleman that didn't hold a license for embalming. One thing my dad told me before he bought the place was: "No matter how busy I am, I will always make time for you." Much to my dismay any time I wanted to talk to him about issues I was told: "I don't have time for this shit!" So that about broke my heart. We were always close, and I felt quite abandoned.
This began the teenage war with my parents. (With my mom the war had started 2 years earlier.) The more they tried to control, or punish, the more I pushed back. I truly was a rotten kid. But then again most of us are at that age.
I was even contemplating the geographical cure at this age. I wanted to move to Minnesota and stay with my grandma Mary. It was discussed briefly, but the red tape would've been a little too much. So I stayed put.
At this point in my using it was still fun, and exciting. Even though the consequences were already there. Poor peformance in school, failing family relations, and poor self-esteem.
I never had good self-esteem. I used drugs partly to cover the way I felt about myself, and to cover other emotions. I had no idea that this was just the tip of the iceberg.
This was also my freshman year in high school. The year my dad bought the funeral home and began running it essentially by himself with no help, other than another gentleman that didn't hold a license for embalming. One thing my dad told me before he bought the place was: "No matter how busy I am, I will always make time for you." Much to my dismay any time I wanted to talk to him about issues I was told: "I don't have time for this shit!" So that about broke my heart. We were always close, and I felt quite abandoned.
This began the teenage war with my parents. (With my mom the war had started 2 years earlier.) The more they tried to control, or punish, the more I pushed back. I truly was a rotten kid. But then again most of us are at that age.
I was even contemplating the geographical cure at this age. I wanted to move to Minnesota and stay with my grandma Mary. It was discussed briefly, but the red tape would've been a little too much. So I stayed put.
At this point in my using it was still fun, and exciting. Even though the consequences were already there. Poor peformance in school, failing family relations, and poor self-esteem.
I never had good self-esteem. I used drugs partly to cover the way I felt about myself, and to cover other emotions. I had no idea that this was just the tip of the iceberg.
Introduction
- My name is Traci, and I am an addict. My story begins in Eagle River Wisconsin, the town where I was born. There are many theories why people become drug addicts. Some believe it's genetic, some think it's a character flaw, and some believe it's environmental factors .I believe it's the combination of things. (For me at least.)
First off I believe I was born this way. I also have many relatives on both sides of my family, in which my parents educated me very little on. I also went through abuse as a child, and at this point I will not disclose specifics. I also was picked on in school. I could never seem to fit in, I was fat, I was a dork, whatever I tried to be I was never acceptable.
Any time I tried telling my parents how miserable I was, I was always shut down. Finally something inside of me began to snap around the age of 13. I smoked pot for the first time, and I finally felt like I belonged somewhere. I also really liked getting high, and becoming a totally different person. I felt like a rebel, unique, and like I belonged to a secret society of sorts.
From that first time I used I was driven to become more unique and strange. I wanted to be extreme in my using. Life was already beginning to revolve around using drugs. If only I could have seen the road ahead, but everything happened for a reason.
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