addiction
The realities of addition; the truth about living under, above and beyond the influence of drugs and alcohol.
Chasing the Spoon
I have been dreaming about sharing my story for quite some time now. There have been internal battles on whether or not to share it with the world. I had fear of being judged, ridiculed, laughed at, etc. There is such a stigma placed on addicts, alcoholics, and criminals, and with good reason too. My goal in starting this blog is to lift that stigma. I know that I cannot do that with everyone in the world. But if I can allow just one person to see recovering addicts, alcoholics, and criminals in a different light then my job is done.
Olivia ScottPublished 6 years ago in PsycheOur 1st Encounter
My body was a little shaky, but you approached me so confidently and immediately I was filled with a desire of interest. I had seen you with my friend, although it didn't feel right to be with you after her, I went for it, she persuaded me. I looked at you intensely, trying to see why so many had bragged about the way you had made them feel. So many others had spoken of their devotion to you, and that un-nerving need to always have you around. I too needed you, I grabbed you and took you in. I was feeling you for the first time, you had entered my body, immense feelings rushed from head to toe, every single cell in my body was feeling an unfamiliar pleasure almost unreal. The room in which we were in had once fully been lit, but now it seemed dark and a little chill, as all I could feel was you. It was an instant love for me, from that day on you knew as well as I did, no one could or would break us apart. You had made me feel alive, that part of me I needed to feel complete. My heart was pounding, my body full of sweat and shaking, although suddenly, my fears were no more. Every part of me took you in, you came in slow and took your time, making sure that my first time would be unforgettable. The room we made our sanctuary, a sacred place for you and I. I remember she watched but not for a second did I feel shy, I think I blocked her out altogether, I really didn't care who was there. The night came quickly and although morning was around the corner, I grew weary of having to let you go. But you promised me everything would work itself out! Promises~ Promises of always of being by my side, promises of healing the worst of all my pain, you promised to always put me first and never let me down. You promised in this walk of life I would not walk it alone, you said you would go with me to my grave, you promised you would be my light in my darkest time. I believed all your promises. What a night, strangers we were no more, every day, everywhere in front of anyone. I wasn't ashamed of you and you kept me on a high. Every day you made me find a new strength, you awoke new passions; you let me explore hidden traits I didn't know I had. A once, young girl afraid of the unknown, you had made a woman, strong and tall, unafraid of people's cynical ways and I now walked in a confidence that stood out far more than anyone in the crowd. I loved you and I was sure you loved me back, I was never going to let you go and I knew how bad you wanted me to hold on. I had finally found perfection in my life, a purpose, you became my strength, hope, endurance, confidence, loyalty and above anything else, you became my life. It was easy to tell I was deep in your hold; people suddenly were intrigued by me and why not? You gave me that confidence to show the talented, beautiful, desired woman who held her head high. One night with you and you altered all I would become, my morals, my common sense, all I had known was no longer what I knew. I was far more than just another one of your girls; no, you had truly made me your number one. Thirteen long years of complete loyalty between you and I, and I would settle for nothing less. And then suddenly, I awoke from this fairy tale fantasy relationship you allowed me to create in my mind. Something awoke deep within me, The fire I once felt you light had simmered and when the smoke started clearing I was finally able to see the real you. So why was I deceived and misled, manipulated and taken advantage of? You failed to mention to me in all your promises, that you would be making these same promises to others. You failed to tell me how the pain you promised to take away, you would one day replace even more. Or your promise to never let me down, oh that one you kept by being the one putting me there, making damn sure I felt the worst of all my pains. You had mentioned going to the grave with me, but you never mentioned how it would be you that would put me there. How only I wished we were still strangers, how much I regret that day we meet. I should have walked away, why didn't I stand my ground? You tainted my world, you tore me from my family and kids, robbing me of all my hopes and dreams. All you did was bring me broken promises I was misled in thinking you were something you were not. The life I chose to lead with you, was your reality never mine. How foolish of me to compromise who I am and naively fall victim to your ways. How could you do this to me? Why do I even ask! This is you, and your only purpose is to make people believe they need you as if they can’t live without you, willing to compromise who they are, just for you. You thrive off their need to have you, their dependency they rely on you fulfilling, becoming manipulated by your charm that they will go to any extent to have you. I have been struggling to stay away from you trying to restore whatever life I have left. I don't wish for anyone to come across you and blindly take part in what will ultimately become their biggest regret. So to what name do I refer you by as you go by many? A deceiver, manipulator, a con artist. Illusionist, a drug? Or those charming names I once ignorantly would say, my love, charming, perfect my other half, my way of life, my happiness. Those of you that have been caught in his twisted and sick ways, ask god to help you find way, far from something that stands for nothing. But for me your name will always remain as is... methamphetamine.
Pink MartinezPublished 6 years ago in Psyche"Used to It"
Last night I was sitting with my friend talking and the words "I'm used to it" came out of my mouth while we were discussing addiction and all the lives that it's taking. My friend just sat there silent for a minute... he wasn't sure how to respond to that because that's not something anyone should ever be "used to." I went on to explain that probably wasn't the right choice of words because you don't get used to people dying; it's hard every time, it doesn't get easier. But what I was trying to say is that we live in a place today where people in their young 20s are loosing friends left and right.
Felishia MuddPublished 6 years ago in PsycheThere Are No Words for Loss
They say life can change in the blink of an eye. One moment you're making coffee and the next you're on the floor with your expensive mascara staining your cheeks and the soft white rug that you've always loved. My moment came by a phone call.
Austin SusannePublished 6 years ago in PsycheThree Crazy Things You Experience With Junkies
Adventures can be thrilling, until they’re terrifying. For instance, take the undertaking of sharing your space with a junkie. Back that up, you are sharing your house with a friendly lady that turns out to be a psychotic addict. Some of you have been there. For those of you that have escaped the destruction and the PTSD, Hollywood has been alerting you for years. You can’t say that they didn’t warn you. You might dismiss Tinsel Town as delusional fantasy, but they know junkies.
Dave RauschenfelsPublished 6 years ago in PsycheTo Whoever Found Her
It was an early morning that Sunday as the sun shone on shimmering sidewalks and the puddles that filled them. The birds were singing, the air smelled sweet and I knew; today was the day. Murder is meticulous, it is; it requires a level of precision. Where, how, whom.
Addiction Is a Mental Illness
I was 15 years old when my best friend committed suicide. The night before, we were in my bed talking about how we were going to get matching tattoos: cherries. That was going to be my first tattoo. We had plans. I was excited for her to see my driving and show her how much I kicked ass at learning how to drive. I couldn't stop obsessing over my 16th birthday. We talked about what we were going to do. Recently, before she had just come home from being away for a while, I came home from school one day and she left notes all over my room with compliments and funny shit. At least five of them said how much she loved me. We talked and laughed so much during the days after she got back. It's hard to think that it can all stop one day. The thing that nobody knew was that I felt responsible for her death and, at the time, I really couldn’t tell you why. Did she get enough help? Could I have prevented it? Why did she do it? It affected me more than I expressed.
Kenzie JanischPublished 6 years ago in PsycheQuit "Mething" Around, Man
There is no good place to start when revisiting my personal battle with meth addiction. It all started, perhaps, because the drugs were missing from my sex and rock and roll. Really they weren't; being a drummer in a rock and roll band obviously came with the cliché. Living in a town with a population under 1000 didn't make much of a difference either when it came to access. A college chemistry student coming home for spring break would "guinea pig" their home mixes of salts. Online dark web markets can send it directly to your mailbox, and they accept cash, credit, and crypto. In a pinch, the head cook at a local restaurant would even toss a bindle into a to-go box; the food may or may not have been eaten. As my tolerance and usage of this soluble substance increased, the more soluble everything else became.
Eli FredericksPublished 6 years ago in PsycheI Am an Addiction Survivor, but I Am Not an Addict
I Am an Addiction Survivor, but I Am Not an Addict Addiction is a disease. You hear this phrase all of the time. I have no qualms about this phrase, of course, it’s a disease. It ransacks your body, takes what was once yours, and turns it into something barely recognizable to you or your family. Addiction is a painful, impossible, back-breaking kind of disease. But those afflicted with this disease are not the only ones who feel like “survivors.”
Renee' ForresterPublished 6 years ago in PsycheMy Name Is Alex, and I'm Addicted to Xanax
I was 14 years years old the first time I took a Benzodiazepine. They weren't prescribed to me like they are to most. The provider of my first dose was my mother. My mother always kept about 60 Pro-Lorazepam tablets in her purse at all times. My mom's been taking the stuff since she was 19 years old. At the time of this story, she was probably about 52, so she had 33 years of continuous use under her belt at the time. One night she had left to walk the family dogs and she always left her purse sitting on her dresser in her bedroom. It had never crossed my mind to steal these pills from her, but I was getting to an age where I was curious about experimenting with drugs. I thought I had a pretty good idea of what they were going to do to me, so I went into her room and pulled back the zipper on the top of her black leather purse. Inside the purse was a makeup case containing her prescription drugs. I opened up the makeup case and took out the Pro-Lorazepam and popped the safety cap open. I knew she'd never notice they were gone. I proceeded to dump four pills into my palm and dry swallow them, without hesitation, right there in the dark of her bedroom. I snapped the top of the pill bottle back on and positioned it exactly as I found it in her makeup case. I closed her purse carefully, positioned it just as it was, and settled back down into the basement for whatever trip I was about to experience. To sum it up, a 14-year-old me had just taken four one milligram tablets of Pro-Lorazepam, which would be eight times the recommended dose for somebody of that age.
Alex CamachoPublished 6 years ago in PsycheThe 800 lb. Gorilla
The thing that everyone is aware of. Everyone knows about. On occasion it is discussed, however, only in the most superficial terms. It warrants discussion of course. More than that it warrants action, even resolution, but that will not come anytime soon. It is too sensitive a subject to discuss as deeply as it needs to be. So many layers of pain, resentment, guilt, powerlessness, anger. No—don’t go too deep or you may be forced to face an awful truth.
McDonald's: My Nightmare
When I was a small boy, I would see commercials for McDonalds. In fact, I would see them over three or four times a day, to the point where I would be craving the golden arches all day long. My parents were rather smart about this, though, because very rarely would we ever go to fast food, so I would always consider it a treat when we did. This was during the mid to late 90s, when the size of their food was that of a pickup truck and the prices were low. A Big Mac meal cost around $2.99 back then, now you couldn't get one for less than seven dollars, and the sandwich has shrunk considerably. I loved going, and when I would get a happy meal and get that cheap toy from the latest blockbuster that was kicking around in theaters at the time, I thought of it like Christmas. I would only ever get toys two times a year: My birthday and Christmas. The rest of the time, if I wanted something, I would get the same answer. "NO." As simple as that; a large, pulsating NO. My parents were stern, but they were fair. McDonald's was the same way—whenever I would ask to go, same thing. NO.
Evan FilleyPublished 6 years ago in Psyche