My Life As A Junkie; The Other Part

When I started using again roughly two years ago, I was clean for 5 months prior. I managed to hide it from everyone till I got back on methadone about 7 months ago. So maybe I was a functional junkie for a while; maybe.

Time doesn’t exist for a junkie; I never failed to wake up at 3 am on the dot every morning to do a shot. I always knew it was time. I would wake up and instantly shoot up and go back to sleep, to wake up again in a couple hours to do another shot before I even stepped out of bed.

Hiding the scars and track marks proved very difficult, you can’t wear long sleeves all summer. People would start to notice that something was up. The best I came up with was make-up to cover it up. I had to see myself as other people saw me; I couldn’t be seen as an addict, my family and friends had no idea at this point. Withdrawals are hard to hide; you can’t say you have the flu every two weeks, so I had to manage to feed my addiction any way possible to avoid withdrawals. Not having whatever you need to get high is the worst part if your trying to hide you’re an addict; again.

I truly believed that everyone that saw me thought I was just a normal girl getting by. I think my family knew something was up, but they assumed everything that was going on was a result from my car accident. Maybe they didn’t want to think that I could be using AGAIN. So in some ways acting “normal” or as if everything was okay and I didn’t need to feed my habit; was someone I was pretending to be. I was the lead role in my life. I faked everything just to maintain my addiction. It got to the point where it became very hard to hide it, and I was beginning to make myself a little crazy. I started to make things up in my head, and if I didn’t knock a certain amount of times I would convince myself that something very bad was going to happen. I started getting bouts of OCD. And I stressed myself out, I went to the hospital thinking I was dying but it was just panic attacks. Constant, and severe panic attacks on and off for up to 20 hours at a time.

It was after I was in the hospital that I decided enough was enough, I was sick of pretending, sick of this façade, sick of the worrying, sick of the panic attacks, I was just sick and tired of using again. The day my medication ran out, I went to my doctor and I said I was ready to go back on methadone again. I haven’t used since.

Towards the end, most of the times I shot up were just to feel normal, just to put off the withdrawals. There are constant reminders everywhere I go, everywhere I look; things that may seem insignificant that my mind associates with shooting up. I am sober again, going on 8 months now, and like most people in recovery; some day’s I feel strong, the methadone helps with cravings and other days I feel weak. It’s normal. I know methadone is another crutch, another thing I have to get off of, but I stay on a low dose of 20mg and I refuse to go any higher because I don’t plan on being on it forever, I just want to make sure I am ready this time around. I don’t want to repeat the last time I came off the methadone.

I look at everyday I am sober as a mini celebration, I can’t lie and say I don’t miss it, I do. But unlike before, I have a lot to lose; everything I have to lose, I care about more than anything else in the world, and the one shot could take away everything I love, everything I live for. I’m not willing to lose everything I have worked so hard to maintain. Feeling weak doesn’t mean you don’t have the willpower, it means you are human, and it will pass. Like I’ve said before, every moment counts, and every moment you are sober means something.


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