My Life as A Junkie; Part Of It

I was addicted to cocaine for years; a big part of my life was all about coke. Until I discovered OxyContin, I became addicted instantly; when they were wiped off the market other drugs just had to do. Anything from prescription pain pills to heroin. Whatever there was at the time, whatever I could get my hands on. It wasn’t too long after that I decided to start shooting them instead of snorting them. I’m being honest when I say, I was terrified of needles, and I used to freak out just getting blood work. But when it came to getting high, I got over that fear pretty damn quickly.

Its true when they say you not only become addicted to the drug, but you become addicted to the ritual, the whole process of breaking down the pill, adding the water, heating it up, drawing blood, and the plunge of the wonderful feeling I desired. Those were the so called good times of being a junkie. I’m not going to lie; it’s an indescribable feeling, a rush like no other. I’m not trying to glorify it in any way, I just can’t deny that it felt good.

When being a junkie, you learn pretty quickly what it’s like to be dope sick. Withdrawals that eat you alive and spit you out. I can honestly say, I have never felt so fucking shitty (excuse my language) and the only way to get rid of it; is to use, and it works instantly; instant relief.

One of the worst things about feeling helpless is the constant intrusion of doubt. Even when you know there’s nothing you can do about something, even when you’re absolutely sure, even when you’ve considered every possibility over and over again, knowing full well that you’re wasting your time… Even then, you still can’t help feeling that maybe your wrong. That horrible feeling of desperation. . .I can’t tell you how many times I have searched my house and car for hours thinking that maybe I missed something, maybe when I broke the pill up, pieces fell on the floor. I would search for crumbs; I would hold on to this thread of hope that I missed something.

84 pills were to last me two weeks, and they would always be gone in 5 days. When I would run out of my prescription; which I always did, I would have to drive roughly 45 minutes- hour to find what I needed. Driving while withdrawing is not fun, it’s uncomfortable and extremely painful. But drugs make you do stupid things, and all you’re thinking about is feeling normal let alone high. I did things I am not proud of. I figured I was doing what I had to do to get by. I consistently lied to myself, justifying everything in my mind to make it okay.

I can look back now and understand that my mentality was one of an addict, I did thing’s I wouldn’t otherwise do if sober. I know this now, so I have stopped beating myself up. But that doesn’t mean that I have forgotten, that doesn’t mean what I did was okay. All that means; is I recognize the pain I have caused, I recognize my mistakes, and I take ownership of it, and I can move on. I can forgive myself, and hopefully the people I truly care about can find it in their hearts to forgive me.

Putting my feelings and thoughts down on paper, then sharing them here helps in so many ways. It’s like self-therapy.  I know I say it all the time, but I’ll say it again; thank you to everyone who takes time to read my posts.

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