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.......
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