I’ve been isolating myself again, which happens to me every now and again. I find myself going through these phases more often than I used to, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to pull myself out of the abyss. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed, nervous, afraid (which is odd for me), and on the physical side – tired. CONSTANTLY tired.
I know why, I just have to be strong enough to pull myself from this before it gets out of hand again. April is a big month for me, as it is my 13 year “no heroin” anniversary, and my 6th wedding anniversary. In July, I will be 37, and birthdays are never easy for me either. I put so much pressure on myself to succeed, and be the things I always wanted to be. When I was a kid, I wrote out a list of ages, and set a goal for each year. I wrote this when I was 12 years old, and I still have it. At 37, I was supposed to be living in Southern California, writing novels, with more money than Satan, and an MD degree from UCSD. Here I am, 5 months away from that age, and I have accomplished none of those goals. I am not one to dwell on things I have not accomplished, but I do put myself through moments of depression because my “Life’s Plan” did not go as well as anticipated. On the other side, I have managed to become pretty successful despite all of the odds stacked against me from my childhood, and self-inflicted destruction.
So, every year beginning in mid-March, I start to take stock in what I have accomplished and how far I have come in my life. This usually works to make me feel a bit better about not accomplishing the goals I set for myself as a kid, but I still find myself longing for more. With every passing year, my dream of becoming a Doctor just becomes more and more of a fantasy. This is completely my fault, and I know this. Had I gone to UCSD in 2007, like I had planned, I’d be a Doctor by now. No one to blame but me, my own fears, etc. I can’t really dwell on that stuff, life is too short to think about the “what if’s” and I have never been a fan of that.
Coming up on my 13-year heroin anniversary, I need to look at the positive changes I have made. 13 years ago at this time, I was 80 lbs, dying, horribly addicted to mainlining heroin, with a guy who treated me like dog shit, a circle of friends completely dependent upon me to support their habits, I had a great job, but was just going through the motions and not really loving it like I should have. Towards the end, when I lost my job, and almost lost my life, I was practically homeless, my family and friends cut me off, and all I cared about was that needle. I’d do ANYTHING to get my fix, and I did things I am not proud of. The morning I decided it was time to quit, I chose ME, and I have not looked back since. Right before I started down that slippery slope of heavy drug use, I was at an all-time high in my career. I was one of the youngest VP’s in IT in NYC. I had a sick salary, a corner office, and a bright future in the industry. Against all of the odds, I had made it. Shit, I even dropped out of High School when I was 15 years old and managed to climb the ranks without a college degree, or even a HS diploma. Pretty impressive. Somehow, I got lost along the way, and it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that I beat my demons, and came out of that alive. At 37, I am finally where I would have been (salary-wise) right before I flushed my life away. I am happy with my job, happy with my life (for the most part), and trying to do the “next right thing.”
There are more changes on the horizon for me, and they will not be easy, but they’re necassary and an integral part of my long-term happiness. I will get there, it is just going to take a lot of courage, time and patience. The latter being something I have always struggled with.
I have a amazing people in my life, this is undeniable. My best friends rule, I recently connected with a new friend in my life on a level that is practically unexplainable, and I am beyond grateful for that. I’ve been trying to take better care of myself, and have been succeeding – losing almost 25 lbs in 2 months and getting back into shape. I’m not drinking and partying as much as I used to, which is a good thing. All in all, I’ve come a long way.
The following is a part of my drug diary, I wrote this a long, long time ago. It is about the morning I quit. I repost it every year, to remind myself of how far I have come. Believe it or not, I actually do need reminding.
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4/20/1999
I lie awake, curled into a fetal position. Sweat dripping from my face onto my stained pillow. It’s cold in here and my body shivers as if submerged in a pool of ice water. Layers of blankets cover my frail, lifeless body. The sour smell of body odor fills the room. The windows are closed and have been for months. The mere thought of fresh air makes me cringe, chills me to the bone.
I am shaking. I can’t get comfortable. My spine feels as if its been replaced by a cold metal object. My head is pounding like an African drum. I have to pee, but cannot bring myself to walk 10 feet to the bathroom. I feel dizzy and the room is spinning. I don’t know how long I have been lying here like this. The days have turned to nights and the nights to days. I haven’t showered in awhile, haven’t brushed my teeth.
The urgency to pee has finally taken over as I force myself to push the blankets back and pull myself out of the bed. Everything aches as I walk slowly towards the door and into the cold hallway with its bare wood floor. I reach my hand out to grab the doorknob and as I touch the metal a shock goes through my entire body. I am freezing.
I make it into the bathroom, which hasn’t been cleaned for weeks. The cat’s litter pan is overflowing with feces and urine, making the entire house smell of ammonia. I didn’t think that the cat was still alive considering that I haven’t fed it in more than 5 days. The stench in the bathroom brings on a wave of nausea so bad that I almost faint. I lean over the rotten toilet and open my mouth to release the yellow-green fluid, which escapes from my stomach. There isn’t much more to vomit because I haven’t eaten in more than 8 days.
I rest my head on my right arm. Now that I am in the light of the bathroom I can see where the surging pain through my right arm has been coming from. There is a lump the size of a golf ball and my entire lower arm is black and blue. It is leaking puss and bleeding from being stabbed repeatedly with a dull needle.
I stand up to wash my face and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. What I see staring back at me is not me at all, but some grotesque version of me that I do not recognize. My long blonde hair hangs in knots around my pale white face. I have deep black circles under my eyes. I am 80lbs, dirty and I smell horrible. The veins on my neck are distended and blue. I am staring at myself and all I can do is scream. I am 23 years old and I am a junky…
Me, the day I arrived in Florida. 80 lbs! Ewwww!
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