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.......

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........

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.....................

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......................

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..........

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................

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..........