As I've said before I dated all sorts of assholes throughout the years. Most of them were abusive in some way shape, or form. My guess is I bagan following the pattern early in life in some relation to the abuse I went through as a child.
So Here I am fresh in recovery, broke up with my fiance'. What would've been a perfect opportunity for me to get to know myself and really dive into my recovery process turned into a self-induced nightmare. Old habits die hard.
I began dating yet another guy I met in treatment. He's much older than me, and like any other guy I had dated in the past, he started off very caring, even-tempered, and appeared to be a good guy. It seems like every guy I had dated in the past seemed ok, and then when the six month hit they turned into complete jerks.
Shortly after we began dating he relapsed with his son, and went back into treatment just before Thanksgiving. I wasn't too upset, relapse happens. We're addicts, using is what we do. When he got out he seemed to make a reasonable effort to stay clean. But knowing what I know now, it was all a lie. I believe that he used throughout our relationship. He was a sneaky shit about it too. Only on a few occasions was I positive he was high.
He and his son had the most dysfuntional relationship between father and son I'd ever seen. They were more like buddies, or brothers. They moved to Eagle River from Rhinelander and were constantly fighting. His son was using and I'm sure he was too. But his son would often get angry and kick him out. So being the softie I am, I was always trying to find him places to stay with friends.
On one occasion his son kicked him out, locked him out, and stole a portable DVD player I had let him. He probably pawned it, and I pressed charges. I had gone out of my way to help this kid on several occasions and was tired of getting burned. Eventually he convinced me to drop the charges and agreed to buy me a new player, which of course never happened.
Finally the boyfriend ended up at my parents house, paid zero rent, never lifted a finger to help me or my parents. (Nice, I know.) On a few of my mom and my journey's up to Minnesota we dropped him off to visit family. And he always appeared to be higher than a kite on return trips, or sleep for 15 hours straight.
In this time period I began to get in closer contact with a friend of mine I was in treatment the second time. He was in prison for a drunk driving accident in which he hurt his passenger. He got word that he would be going to McNaughton, so I would be able to visit him.
My boyfriend was a jealous freak. He instantly thought something ws going on that wasn't. Anytime I went to meetings, or anywhere without him for that matter he was always drilling me, or asking if my ex was around. Just very childish behaviors.
On one of the occasions I plaaned to see my friend I was going to be at an NA campout. My boyfriend had to work, and was actually going to spend some time with his sister who was in town. At this time he had moved back in with his kid and wasn't mooching off me, or my parents.
His sister took him out to the bar and he got drunk, and apparently was on pills at the time too. He went into a jealous rage and was calling my phone non-stop. So I just threw it in my Explorer at the campground to charge while I went to attempt to gain some serenity. Which worked! I was in a great mood when I went back to my tent to curl up and watch a movie. When I retreived my phone there were so many missed calls and text messages I figured he lost his damn mind.
I finally answered one of his phone calls and he had taken his kids car out to St. Germain and ran it out of gas. Being the idiot I am, agreed to pick him up if he was not under the influence and bring him to the campround. When I arrived at the grocery store he was at he was convinced I had slept with my friend, and in a fit of rage. I asked to smell his breath, but he refused and hopped in my car before I could stop him.
I told him I just wanted him to go to sleep when we got to the campground, and we would talk in the morning. Well it didn't work that way. On the way out he went from angry to hurt over something that never happened. At one point he grabbed my purse and through it out the car window.
I stopped and killed the engine and grabbed a flashlight to get my belongings out of the woods. He got out and followed me and tried to drag me back to the car. I shook him off, I wasn't leaving my wallet and everything else in the woods. He went back to the car, found my extra set of keys, and when I heard the engine fire up I ran to the car, and as I went to jump in he put it in drive and stomped the gas while I was not fully in the vehicle. Somehow I managed to get in and stop the car. I had to wrestle the keys away from him.
I turned around and went back once again to finish picking up my stuff. I found it all and got back into the car. I went to grab my phone, because I was going to get to the campground and call the police. Unfortunatley he saw me reaching for the phone and forced it out of my hand. He oredered me to drive him back to his kids house in town and he would give the phone back.
Fine, I didn't want to deal with his drunk ass anymore anyways. At several points he reached his leg over the center console and either stomped on my foot on the gas, or tried to stomp the brake. What he was trying to accomplish, I'm not sure. He shattered the iPod addapter in the process, and my hands were bleeding from struggling to get control of my keys, or phone. I was crying, and furious at the same time. He was screaming in my ear while I was driving, calling me a bitch, whore, and all sorts of other colorful adjectives.
Everything came to a final head on highway J. He reached over stomped the gas, then the brake. My car swerved and skidded to a stop on the side of the road. I thought we were going to crash for sure. On the side of the road he began crying and I was waiting for the right moment to grab the phone and hop out of the car. I went for it and he grabbed me by the throat and tried to wrap his legs around me in order to restrain me.
I managed to break free and got out of the car and like I though he followed. He asked what I was doing, I told him I was calling the police since he assaulted me. I went to get back in my car, and he said: "Assault? I'll show you assault!" He then elbowed me in the face and struggled to get the phone back and my keys. I managed to break free once again, got in my car without him or my phone and just took off.
I went down the road turned around and headed back to the campground. I could use one of my friends phones. When I drove past the point where this all happened he was gone. I presume he went to hide in the woods.
When I got back to the campground I borrowed a phone, called a friend of mine to come sit with me. I wanted to wait to call the police since I was terrified. I went to hide in my tent with the phone and tried to calm down. I could feel my eye swelling up, was exhausted, dirty and bleeding.
Much to my surprise the cops showed up on their own. The son of a bitch had the nerve to call the police on me with my own phone and said I threw him out of a moving vehicle. That's hilarious, because if you've ever met me I'm 5'2" and at the time was driving an Explorer. In order for me (and the police saw with their own eyees) to reach over a person and open the door I would have to have both feet off the floor and wouldn't be able to see over the dashboard.
So of course I pressed charges and explained my side of the story and was not arrested. I found out later the DA in Onieda county was pushing for some stupid charges. I was irrate. I was the victim and never touched the dumbass. They took pictures of my injuries, and the following day I got my phone back that the cops confiscated from him.
I got no sleep, but my NA family picked up my tent and all of my belongings and moved me right next to all of them. The campground was also notified with his picture to call the police if he tried to get in.
I wish this sick story ended here, but like I said old habits die hard. I had a pattern that I needed to break. We got back together and things actually went back to normal for a short time. We got an apartment together. It wasn't long before he was constantly accusing me of being up to something all the time.
When I was at work he would text me and accuse me of sleeping with my male coworker. He called me fat all the time, dumb, psychotic, bitch, whore, and anything I'd ever told him in confidence in the past he used against me. He said some of the meanest things I'd ever been called and I refuse to repeat them on this blog. He made it his mission in life to make me miserable.His kid even went out of his way to make me miserable.
His hours got cut at work so I ended up picking up the slack financially. He already owed me money for when he was short on rent. And my mom had the brilliant idea of getting him a phone on my service. Well, he abused the shit out of it, and I had it suspended. He flew off the handle and I said I was done. I went and looked at another appartment, but he decided to go.
When he left he stole a brand new Blackberry I had as my backup phone, and I was puzzled by odd Facebook posts making me look like a jerk. So I changed my password and cured that problem. He finally got all of his crap out of my house, but texted me nonstop.
If I had a friend over he was asking who was there, and who was I sleeping with. I felt like a prisoner in my own home. I was looking over my shoulder at all times and as soon as it hinted at sunset I pulled the drapes. It wasn't too long he and his kid got into it, and he asked to store some stuff in my garage. I said fine as long as it was out of my way, and organized. So he did the opposite of what I asked. Shocker, I know.
It wasn't long before all messages and calls stopped from him. I figured he went to jail, and I was right. He and his dumb kid got nailed for stealing 5 chainsaws from Ace Hardware in Eagle River. How stupid could you be. His probation got revoked and off he went. I still got a few phone calls and letters. I finally told him that upon his release he was to get his shit out of my garage and I never wanted to lay eyes on him again.
I went to organize his stuff in my garage before I wrote the letter and found needles, which was a huge trigger for me. I promptly called my mom and she got rid of them. I also ran across his phone which I had shut off. I decided to keep it for a back up. When I charged it I found lewd photos and text messages from some bimbo he had been cheating on me the whole time with!
I finally got to the point where I was fed up. I'd rather be alone and happy, than be miserable with someone. I was never going to waste my time on another asshole com hell or high water. I was done being taken advantage of and abused. Never again. I was breaking the cycle once and for all.
Fast forward 6 months of peace and quiet and getting to know myself. This was the longest I had ever gone without a relationship. So I detoxed from toxic relationships. I began to get a little lonely, and the gal I worked with along with one of our customers, knew my whole history and went on a mission to find me a sweetheart.
One day the girl texted me and invited me to a campfire. I knew it was a setup, but I went. That was the day I met Dave. I never thought I'd ever meet someone as sweet, funny, and genuinely kind as him. We began dating and have been together ever since, and I couldn't be happier.
I was dumb for sticking around with the asshole. I was following old sick behavior, and didn't think there was another way to live, until I got angry enough at myself and surrendered to my sick ways and decided to look for a better way.
It's nothing short of a miracle that I stayed clean around him, I'm so grateful for my recovering family. Without them I couldn't have done it.
And I'm grateful to my "normie" friends who helped set me up with Dave and are supportive of my recovery. I'm so blessed to have such great people in my life who love me and care. I hope they know how much I love them back! <3
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
My Grandmothers
Another bittersweet lesson in my first year of recovery was going through the experience of everything that happened with my Grandmothers. My Grandma Bette (Maternal) had been suffering with Alzheimer's/dementia for quite some time. We watched helplessly over the years as she deteriorated. She was no longer capable of taking care of herself and her husband (not my grandfather) was a part of the problem and not the solution.
In 2009 my mom and uncle began being more proactive in getting help for them both. Social Services was going to send someone out each week to help them shop and clean. Meals on Wheels would be taking meals a few times a week. That didn't seem to work. Phil (my grandmas husband) was too proud to accept help and often times would turn the social worker away.
Eventually my mom would take guardianship of my grandmother. So we spent a lot of time traveling to Minnesota to take care of all of these affairs. The first time we went up I brought my hair stuff to give my Grandma Mary (Paternal) a perm and style. I think my mom purposely kept me away from my Grandma Bette's house because it was in such a state.
So I went to spend quality time with Gramda Mary and when my mom arrived at her house, she sat downat the dining room table and broke down in tears. She had never seen Grandma Bette, or her house in such a slump. She had lost at least 40 pounds, due to her forgetting to eat. The house was unkept, which wasn't like her at all. Bette always kept a beautiful home. She was dirty and hair was unkept, which wasn't her either. She always had hair done and makeup on.
Grandma Mary and I felt bad too. I'd never seen my mom that upset over the situation so I knew it was bad. The time was drawing near to find an opportunity to get her into a nursing home. Phil would put up a fuss, but he couldn't help her. She needed professional help.
The opportunity came a few weeks later. Grandma Bette was taken to the hospital because she was unresponsive. They believed she had a stroke. She was also severely dehydrated. So my mom and uncle made arrangements to go into a nursing home in Duluth. That way she'd be close to my uncle and his family. My aunts mom volunteered at the facility and had good things to say.
So my mom and I trekked up to Minnesota again. When we got to the hospital my grandma was in good spirits and a little disoriented. My mom dealt with Phil, the next day we picked up my grandmother after making sure we had everything she needed. The hospital had a bag of her belongings and the clothes were so soiled my mom and I threw them out. Her shoes also smelled terrible, so we decided to get her new ones when we got her to the nursing home.
So we got in the car and began our journey to Duluth. She didn't ask where we were going and did t seem to care. She was pretty happy. When we arrived we were greeted by staff and given the tour, shown to her room. It's actually a very nice place. Her room faced an atrium with fountains and fake plants.
We were surprised by her reaction to it all, she was happy and didn't ask where she was, why she was there, or if she could go home. My mom and I were upset. When we left we were in tears, but relived to know she would be looked after.
Over the next few months we visited regularly and she was taken care of. She put on weight, her hair looked good every time we saw her, she participated in all of the activities. I was happy she was cared for, but it's still a painful thing to watch. Someone you love is taken from their home. But it was my pain, not hers.
A few months later Phil was finally placed by his stepson into a facility a few miles a play from my grandma. She never asked about him, which considering her mindset wasn't odd. I think she lived in a time when her and my grandpa Tony were still married.
The time came to go and clean out her house. My mom, uncle, and myself did the most of it. I could understand why my mom wanted to keep me out of it. I was shocked and heartbroken to see her home in such disarray. We spent a little time there when we arrived. We went out to eat with my uncle to formulate a game plan for the following day.
My uncle and I spent the whole first day on the garage, screen house, and shed. My mom thought my dad was nuts for getting a 30 yard dumpster, but we packed that thing. After about 9 hours of busting our behinds we were all sitting outside on the steps chatting. My dad called, my grandma Mary had been ill and in the hospital. My mom and I had planned on seeing her that evening.
They thought her diverticulitis was acting up, but she was diagnosed with mesothelioma, and would be going to a nursing home on hospice. My mom hung up and told me, and I broke down. It was like what next?
So we finished the weekend of cleaning and went to go see my grandma Mary. She was totally with it, just not feeling super hot. We couldn't stay too long, so we were hoping to have some private time with her, but my cousin and his wife came stomping in. Mind you they lived nearby, we don't. So if you ask me that was beyond rude.
Here's the thing with my grandmothers. Grandma Mary knew I was an addict, and she supported me and was one of my biggest fans. Her mom was an alcoholic, so she had a soft spot for me. She always wrote to me while I was in treatment and I still have her letters in a scrapbook I made for her. My grandma Bette did not know. There was no point telling her, breaking her heart only to have her forget about it ten minutes later. Her only brother drank and smoked himself to death though. There's lots of addiction in my family.
Anyways, my mom and I returned home and the following weekend I drove my dad up to say goodbye to his mom. We brought her candy, Chapstick, and some other things. I drew her a shamrock that was sort of a family tree. It hangs in my shop now. We had the opportunity to see other relatives and spend some quality time with her.
On Sunday we went to say goodbye. I told my grandmother that I loved her with all of my heart and it was an honor and a blessing to have her in my life and as my grandmother. She told me she loved me too and gave me a big hug and kiss. My dad said his final goodbyes, and on our way out we bumped into the priest who was going to give her the last rites. He invited us all to join him and her, but grandma preferred the privacy, which was ok. I would've thoroughly lost it for sure.
When we returned home we told my brothers Bill and Joe time was short, so if they were going to go to move their asses. So they went the following weekend. On 9/06/09 she died. Four hours after my brothers returned. She must have been waiting to see them.
A piece of my life was gone and never would be recovered. She died just short of my 1 year anniversary. I buried her with my 9 month coin. We all took turns being pallbearers, there was 12 of us. She was a loved lady, very kind, and so much fun. I miss her all of the time. Every year I visit her grave and plant a key tag for her. She would be so tickled. And there's no doubt in my mind she's keeping an eye on me.
We continued to visit grandma Bette regularly, and she was always in a pleasant mood. We brought her candy and Coca Cola which she loved. Last year she had a stroke and became unresponsive. They were only giving her comfort measures and didn't expect her to last too long. Especially with no food or water.
I was working in Minoqua at the tattoo shop where I learned. My boss was already giving me a hard time about taking off the weekend for the Journey's marathon, and the. Decided to be an ass about me going with my mom to say my goodbyes to my grandma. I told him this was the last time I was going to see her alive and I was going whether he liked it or not. So my parents and I travelled up to Duluth. We stopped at the nursing home when we got into town and sat with her a while. We went to eat with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. Went back for a little bit before retiring for the night.
The next day we went back to sit with her. She never opened her eyes, and would move a little bit when we would grab her hand and talk to her. Dave was coming to pick me up and bring me back for the marathon, so when he arrived they all cleared out of her room. I held her hand and told her I was sorry that she had to live out her days the way she did. I told her she was an awesome grandmother, that I loved her dearly, and it was ok for her to go home. She squeezed my hand, so I knew she understood what I was saying to her. She died on 05/18/11
I went home and did the marathon and returned the following week to Minnesota to bury her next to my grandfather.
The bitter to all of this was the painful part of saying goodbye to the last of my grandparents and seeing how badly my grandma Bette had deteriorated. The sweet part was being clean for all of it. I worked through my grief and pain without something to kill it. I was also able and willing to be there for my parents. They were always there for me, so I needed to be there for them for once. People would ask me how I got "stuck" cleaning out the house. I was just being there for my family as they were for me when I could not be there for myself. I was happy to participate. I also was able to say goodbye to my grandmothers and express my love for them before they passed. I didn't run or hide from myself or my feelings. I turned around and faced them. I spoke at meetings about how I felt and openly cried as well.
Without my support system of NA, family and loving friends, I would not have made it through. I cried even while typing this and that's ok. I'm comfortable with my emotions.
RIP Mary Alice and Grandma Bette <3 you lots!
In 2009 my mom and uncle began being more proactive in getting help for them both. Social Services was going to send someone out each week to help them shop and clean. Meals on Wheels would be taking meals a few times a week. That didn't seem to work. Phil (my grandmas husband) was too proud to accept help and often times would turn the social worker away.
Eventually my mom would take guardianship of my grandmother. So we spent a lot of time traveling to Minnesota to take care of all of these affairs. The first time we went up I brought my hair stuff to give my Grandma Mary (Paternal) a perm and style. I think my mom purposely kept me away from my Grandma Bette's house because it was in such a state.
So I went to spend quality time with Gramda Mary and when my mom arrived at her house, she sat downat the dining room table and broke down in tears. She had never seen Grandma Bette, or her house in such a slump. She had lost at least 40 pounds, due to her forgetting to eat. The house was unkept, which wasn't like her at all. Bette always kept a beautiful home. She was dirty and hair was unkept, which wasn't her either. She always had hair done and makeup on.
Grandma Mary and I felt bad too. I'd never seen my mom that upset over the situation so I knew it was bad. The time was drawing near to find an opportunity to get her into a nursing home. Phil would put up a fuss, but he couldn't help her. She needed professional help.
The opportunity came a few weeks later. Grandma Bette was taken to the hospital because she was unresponsive. They believed she had a stroke. She was also severely dehydrated. So my mom and uncle made arrangements to go into a nursing home in Duluth. That way she'd be close to my uncle and his family. My aunts mom volunteered at the facility and had good things to say.
So my mom and I trekked up to Minnesota again. When we got to the hospital my grandma was in good spirits and a little disoriented. My mom dealt with Phil, the next day we picked up my grandmother after making sure we had everything she needed. The hospital had a bag of her belongings and the clothes were so soiled my mom and I threw them out. Her shoes also smelled terrible, so we decided to get her new ones when we got her to the nursing home.
So we got in the car and began our journey to Duluth. She didn't ask where we were going and did t seem to care. She was pretty happy. When we arrived we were greeted by staff and given the tour, shown to her room. It's actually a very nice place. Her room faced an atrium with fountains and fake plants.
We were surprised by her reaction to it all, she was happy and didn't ask where she was, why she was there, or if she could go home. My mom and I were upset. When we left we were in tears, but relived to know she would be looked after.
Over the next few months we visited regularly and she was taken care of. She put on weight, her hair looked good every time we saw her, she participated in all of the activities. I was happy she was cared for, but it's still a painful thing to watch. Someone you love is taken from their home. But it was my pain, not hers.
A few months later Phil was finally placed by his stepson into a facility a few miles a play from my grandma. She never asked about him, which considering her mindset wasn't odd. I think she lived in a time when her and my grandpa Tony were still married.
The time came to go and clean out her house. My mom, uncle, and myself did the most of it. I could understand why my mom wanted to keep me out of it. I was shocked and heartbroken to see her home in such disarray. We spent a little time there when we arrived. We went out to eat with my uncle to formulate a game plan for the following day.
My uncle and I spent the whole first day on the garage, screen house, and shed. My mom thought my dad was nuts for getting a 30 yard dumpster, but we packed that thing. After about 9 hours of busting our behinds we were all sitting outside on the steps chatting. My dad called, my grandma Mary had been ill and in the hospital. My mom and I had planned on seeing her that evening.
They thought her diverticulitis was acting up, but she was diagnosed with mesothelioma, and would be going to a nursing home on hospice. My mom hung up and told me, and I broke down. It was like what next?
So we finished the weekend of cleaning and went to go see my grandma Mary. She was totally with it, just not feeling super hot. We couldn't stay too long, so we were hoping to have some private time with her, but my cousin and his wife came stomping in. Mind you they lived nearby, we don't. So if you ask me that was beyond rude.
Here's the thing with my grandmothers. Grandma Mary knew I was an addict, and she supported me and was one of my biggest fans. Her mom was an alcoholic, so she had a soft spot for me. She always wrote to me while I was in treatment and I still have her letters in a scrapbook I made for her. My grandma Bette did not know. There was no point telling her, breaking her heart only to have her forget about it ten minutes later. Her only brother drank and smoked himself to death though. There's lots of addiction in my family.
Anyways, my mom and I returned home and the following weekend I drove my dad up to say goodbye to his mom. We brought her candy, Chapstick, and some other things. I drew her a shamrock that was sort of a family tree. It hangs in my shop now. We had the opportunity to see other relatives and spend some quality time with her.
On Sunday we went to say goodbye. I told my grandmother that I loved her with all of my heart and it was an honor and a blessing to have her in my life and as my grandmother. She told me she loved me too and gave me a big hug and kiss. My dad said his final goodbyes, and on our way out we bumped into the priest who was going to give her the last rites. He invited us all to join him and her, but grandma preferred the privacy, which was ok. I would've thoroughly lost it for sure.
When we returned home we told my brothers Bill and Joe time was short, so if they were going to go to move their asses. So they went the following weekend. On 9/06/09 she died. Four hours after my brothers returned. She must have been waiting to see them.
A piece of my life was gone and never would be recovered. She died just short of my 1 year anniversary. I buried her with my 9 month coin. We all took turns being pallbearers, there was 12 of us. She was a loved lady, very kind, and so much fun. I miss her all of the time. Every year I visit her grave and plant a key tag for her. She would be so tickled. And there's no doubt in my mind she's keeping an eye on me.
We continued to visit grandma Bette regularly, and she was always in a pleasant mood. We brought her candy and Coca Cola which she loved. Last year she had a stroke and became unresponsive. They were only giving her comfort measures and didn't expect her to last too long. Especially with no food or water.
I was working in Minoqua at the tattoo shop where I learned. My boss was already giving me a hard time about taking off the weekend for the Journey's marathon, and the. Decided to be an ass about me going with my mom to say my goodbyes to my grandma. I told him this was the last time I was going to see her alive and I was going whether he liked it or not. So my parents and I travelled up to Duluth. We stopped at the nursing home when we got into town and sat with her a while. We went to eat with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. Went back for a little bit before retiring for the night.
The next day we went back to sit with her. She never opened her eyes, and would move a little bit when we would grab her hand and talk to her. Dave was coming to pick me up and bring me back for the marathon, so when he arrived they all cleared out of her room. I held her hand and told her I was sorry that she had to live out her days the way she did. I told her she was an awesome grandmother, that I loved her dearly, and it was ok for her to go home. She squeezed my hand, so I knew she understood what I was saying to her. She died on 05/18/11
I went home and did the marathon and returned the following week to Minnesota to bury her next to my grandfather.
The bitter to all of this was the painful part of saying goodbye to the last of my grandparents and seeing how badly my grandma Bette had deteriorated. The sweet part was being clean for all of it. I worked through my grief and pain without something to kill it. I was also able and willing to be there for my parents. They were always there for me, so I needed to be there for them for once. People would ask me how I got "stuck" cleaning out the house. I was just being there for my family as they were for me when I could not be there for myself. I was happy to participate. I also was able to say goodbye to my grandmothers and express my love for them before they passed. I didn't run or hide from myself or my feelings. I turned around and faced them. I spoke at meetings about how I felt and openly cried as well.
Without my support system of NA, family and loving friends, I would not have made it through. I cried even while typing this and that's ok. I'm comfortable with my emotions.
RIP Mary Alice and Grandma Bette <3 you lots!
Friday, January 27, 2012
For Those That Went Before Us......
I've decided to share my first year of recovery in segments. Because with each part there was a lesson, or something good that came from each part, as well as each part having a story behind it.
So I was a few weeks clean, going to 6-8 meetings a week, and staying VERY close to my support system. I went to meetings, and went home, with the occasional outing with a recovering friend that was all I did.
Let me back up just a minute here. During the summer there was a good handful of us in recovery that hung out together. Out of that group 2 of us are clean as of this date. There was 6-8 of to start with.
One of the people in that group was named Trent. A beautiful soul, and a boy after my own heart. He was into punk music and clothes and funky hair. There never an attraction, but we were buds. Trent and my friend Doug lived together. Our little group would often go to meetings and then go back to their place to watch movies, or play Wii.
Trent ended up moving out and into a place with a girlfriend who used. He went back out using. We were all crushed, especially Doug. One day I was at Doug's and Trent called. I picked up the phone and talked with him for a good hour. He said he knew what he had to do, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to do it anymore. (Talking about recovery.) He also said I was the only person he felt hadn't judged him. I know that's not true, I just tend to have a softer approach. When I hung up the phone I knew that was going to be the last time I spoke with Trent.
And it was. early November I woke up to more text messages and voicemails than I had in a while. Trent was dead, he took his own life. His dad and a few of his siblings had committed suicide around the same age. So I'm not going to lie about my feelings. I was very angry with him in a way. He fullfilled a destiny that didn't need to be, but I was also heartbroken. I lost a friend, and another addict died.
I had the stomach flu so bad when his funeral came around, but I went. I knew I would kick myself for the rest of my life if I didn't go and be with my friends, and say goodbye the proper way. He was a beatiful soul, and I'm happy that he no longer has to fight the battle. I'm sure he's at peace. Love you Trent!
So that was my first experience with death fresh into recovery. I've been around death my whole life, but never did I ever face it clean.
A few months past and a lifelong friend of mine, someone I manipulted, took advantage of, and hurt numerous times througout my using, his mother's cancer came back. She was a dear sweet lady and I was close to her as well. I stole lots of medication from her over the years, and if she knew about it (which I'm pretty sure she did) she never treated me any different. She was always the same kind lady no matter what.
I had a plan for saying goodbye. I wanted my dad to go with me and be attatched to my hip, so I couldn't have the opportunity to take any morphine if I wanted to. I also debated making an ammends to her about the things I did.
She wound up in the hospital which eliminated the need for a babysitter. My friend was going with me to see his mom. I decided not to make an ammends to her in the traditional way. That would've been very selfish of me to lay everything on her while she was on her death bed. I knew that she would've forgiven me for my wrong-doings anyways. So while I was there with her I prayed silently, for her forgiveness and for my higher powers forgiveness. And I know that both were there.
Here's the nasty part of addiction, and how fucked up the addict inside is. I was sitting at her funeral and knowing that everyone was going to the reception at a restaurant outside of town, and I started going back into old behavior and thought about sneaking over there and seeing if there were any meds left in the house.(Just to clarify this lady was not an addict.)
Luckily some deep breaths and prayer cured that. I also told on myself at the next meeting I was at.
Skip a few months ahead, on my 6 month anniversary my friend Victor died of an overdose. He was a staple at all of our events. He was always there playing volleyball at the Washburn campout. It was quite shocking to me. He was always around ever since I'd first been around recovery. He was someone I saw as having it "together".
He worked hard at keeping the meetings in the Asland area going, and worked at Red Cliff treatment facility. He was ouspoken and fun to be around. He was a source of inspiraion for the lives around him that he touched.
A short time later I was reading my Basic Text and turned to page 74, chapter 7 Recovery and Relapse. This it what it reads at the very top: "If you have a hard time, read this chapter 2x a day and it will help. Love, Victor Reyes" It gave me chills and brought me back to the fact that this disease can take anyone at anytime if we are not diligent.
It came out a short time after Victor's death he had a heart issue, and all it took was one time. Too bad he didn't listen to his own advice.
Addiction is a deadly debilitating disease that affects millions every day. In 2009 we kicked off the year with 12 drug related deaths in about a 6 week timeframe. For this small area that an enormous amount. So please feel free to add someones name in the comments if you know someone who has died from addiction. And may they all rest in peace.
So I was a few weeks clean, going to 6-8 meetings a week, and staying VERY close to my support system. I went to meetings, and went home, with the occasional outing with a recovering friend that was all I did.
Let me back up just a minute here. During the summer there was a good handful of us in recovery that hung out together. Out of that group 2 of us are clean as of this date. There was 6-8 of to start with.
One of the people in that group was named Trent. A beautiful soul, and a boy after my own heart. He was into punk music and clothes and funky hair. There never an attraction, but we were buds. Trent and my friend Doug lived together. Our little group would often go to meetings and then go back to their place to watch movies, or play Wii.
Trent ended up moving out and into a place with a girlfriend who used. He went back out using. We were all crushed, especially Doug. One day I was at Doug's and Trent called. I picked up the phone and talked with him for a good hour. He said he knew what he had to do, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to do it anymore. (Talking about recovery.) He also said I was the only person he felt hadn't judged him. I know that's not true, I just tend to have a softer approach. When I hung up the phone I knew that was going to be the last time I spoke with Trent.
And it was. early November I woke up to more text messages and voicemails than I had in a while. Trent was dead, he took his own life. His dad and a few of his siblings had committed suicide around the same age. So I'm not going to lie about my feelings. I was very angry with him in a way. He fullfilled a destiny that didn't need to be, but I was also heartbroken. I lost a friend, and another addict died.
I had the stomach flu so bad when his funeral came around, but I went. I knew I would kick myself for the rest of my life if I didn't go and be with my friends, and say goodbye the proper way. He was a beatiful soul, and I'm happy that he no longer has to fight the battle. I'm sure he's at peace. Love you Trent!
So that was my first experience with death fresh into recovery. I've been around death my whole life, but never did I ever face it clean.
A few months past and a lifelong friend of mine, someone I manipulted, took advantage of, and hurt numerous times througout my using, his mother's cancer came back. She was a dear sweet lady and I was close to her as well. I stole lots of medication from her over the years, and if she knew about it (which I'm pretty sure she did) she never treated me any different. She was always the same kind lady no matter what.
I had a plan for saying goodbye. I wanted my dad to go with me and be attatched to my hip, so I couldn't have the opportunity to take any morphine if I wanted to. I also debated making an ammends to her about the things I did.
She wound up in the hospital which eliminated the need for a babysitter. My friend was going with me to see his mom. I decided not to make an ammends to her in the traditional way. That would've been very selfish of me to lay everything on her while she was on her death bed. I knew that she would've forgiven me for my wrong-doings anyways. So while I was there with her I prayed silently, for her forgiveness and for my higher powers forgiveness. And I know that both were there.
Here's the nasty part of addiction, and how fucked up the addict inside is. I was sitting at her funeral and knowing that everyone was going to the reception at a restaurant outside of town, and I started going back into old behavior and thought about sneaking over there and seeing if there were any meds left in the house.(Just to clarify this lady was not an addict.)
Luckily some deep breaths and prayer cured that. I also told on myself at the next meeting I was at.
Skip a few months ahead, on my 6 month anniversary my friend Victor died of an overdose. He was a staple at all of our events. He was always there playing volleyball at the Washburn campout. It was quite shocking to me. He was always around ever since I'd first been around recovery. He was someone I saw as having it "together".
He worked hard at keeping the meetings in the Asland area going, and worked at Red Cliff treatment facility. He was ouspoken and fun to be around. He was a source of inspiraion for the lives around him that he touched.
A short time later I was reading my Basic Text and turned to page 74, chapter 7 Recovery and Relapse. This it what it reads at the very top: "If you have a hard time, read this chapter 2x a day and it will help. Love, Victor Reyes" It gave me chills and brought me back to the fact that this disease can take anyone at anytime if we are not diligent.
It came out a short time after Victor's death he had a heart issue, and all it took was one time. Too bad he didn't listen to his own advice.
Addiction is a deadly debilitating disease that affects millions every day. In 2009 we kicked off the year with 12 drug related deaths in about a 6 week timeframe. For this small area that an enormous amount. So please feel free to add someones name in the comments if you know someone who has died from addiction. And may they all rest in peace.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Finally!
So my 2 weeks in treatment this time around was more beneficial than both times before put together. I was really starting to deal with my emotional pain, and beginning to honestly feel better. I had work calling me and bugging me in treatment about if I stole meds. So I finally admitted to them that I did. They referred me to the state and I lost my CNA license. No big loss, that job always got me into trouble.
I also had a theft charge I needed to deal with in the coming months. There was also the matter of my boyfriend who was currently in jail. He was coming to treatment after I got out. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to be with him anymore. He was a bit of a control freak.
I got out of treatment, and began going to meetings again. I made an attempt to work on things with my boyfriend, but he wasn't willing to budge on certain things. The deal breaker was him losing his temper flying down the streets of Rhinelander almost killing us, then calling me every name in the book, and punching my car window.
I began hanging out with a few people I was in treatment with, and ended up isolating and dwelling on the breakup, the loss of my license, and my court case. I started to become overwhelmed. I was watching Intervention one day and got the brilliant idea to use compressed air as a drug. This I thought would be a stealth way to get high, but it made me an idiot.
I blacked out, almost like I was drunk. I did that for a few days before my parents knew something was up. And one night I decided to have "a" drink. Yeah, well, I ended up going balls to the wall and getting completely tanked.
I woke up and thought I'd actually gotten away with it. Then my parents descended upon me and whisked me to St. Mary's for detox. Then my dad said I had to stay in Koinonia after that, and I wasn't welcome home unless I was clean.
They admitted me to the hospital overnight because they couldn't get my heart rate under control. So I had the IV and the whole bit. It was the only year since I was introduced to recovery that I would be missing the Halloween dance. My parents also spoke to my sponsor, and she had nothing but kindness for me.
I had a nurse come in and talk to me about how I was too young to throw my life away. She did so in a very non-judgemental way. I sat and thought about my journey through this hell, and I finally had my moment of complete surrender. I knew, and still know that if I use one more time it equals death for me.
There was no more mind games with myself. This was it, I had to fight for my life with all of my might, and do whatever it takes to stay clean. The next day I went to Koinonia, and sat in detox overnight. My counselor came in and spoke with me the next day. She also offered nothing but her support.
It was right in front of me this whole time. The support system was there, i just needed to dive in. I tried convincing my parents to pick me up, but they insisted I stayed another night. Can't say I blamed them after everything I put them through.
So my clean date is 10/31/08. Halloween, my favorite holiday and my other birthday. I went to 6-8 meetings a week. I stayed very close to my support system, and began calling my sponsor at least three times a week. I was still a wreck, but it was a step in the right direction FINALLY!
Although I had no clue that my first year clean was going to be like a battlefield, and anything that could go wrong did..........
I also had a theft charge I needed to deal with in the coming months. There was also the matter of my boyfriend who was currently in jail. He was coming to treatment after I got out. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to be with him anymore. He was a bit of a control freak.
I got out of treatment, and began going to meetings again. I made an attempt to work on things with my boyfriend, but he wasn't willing to budge on certain things. The deal breaker was him losing his temper flying down the streets of Rhinelander almost killing us, then calling me every name in the book, and punching my car window.
I began hanging out with a few people I was in treatment with, and ended up isolating and dwelling on the breakup, the loss of my license, and my court case. I started to become overwhelmed. I was watching Intervention one day and got the brilliant idea to use compressed air as a drug. This I thought would be a stealth way to get high, but it made me an idiot.
I blacked out, almost like I was drunk. I did that for a few days before my parents knew something was up. And one night I decided to have "a" drink. Yeah, well, I ended up going balls to the wall and getting completely tanked.
I woke up and thought I'd actually gotten away with it. Then my parents descended upon me and whisked me to St. Mary's for detox. Then my dad said I had to stay in Koinonia after that, and I wasn't welcome home unless I was clean.
They admitted me to the hospital overnight because they couldn't get my heart rate under control. So I had the IV and the whole bit. It was the only year since I was introduced to recovery that I would be missing the Halloween dance. My parents also spoke to my sponsor, and she had nothing but kindness for me.
I had a nurse come in and talk to me about how I was too young to throw my life away. She did so in a very non-judgemental way. I sat and thought about my journey through this hell, and I finally had my moment of complete surrender. I knew, and still know that if I use one more time it equals death for me.
There was no more mind games with myself. This was it, I had to fight for my life with all of my might, and do whatever it takes to stay clean. The next day I went to Koinonia, and sat in detox overnight. My counselor came in and spoke with me the next day. She also offered nothing but her support.
It was right in front of me this whole time. The support system was there, i just needed to dive in. I tried convincing my parents to pick me up, but they insisted I stayed another night. Can't say I blamed them after everything I put them through.
So my clean date is 10/31/08. Halloween, my favorite holiday and my other birthday. I went to 6-8 meetings a week. I stayed very close to my support system, and began calling my sponsor at least three times a week. I was still a wreck, but it was a step in the right direction FINALLY!
Although I had no clue that my first year clean was going to be like a battlefield, and anything that could go wrong did..........
Sunday, December 18, 2011
I'm Such A Broken Record
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......
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......
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.......
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