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.

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.......

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.......

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

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.

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.