dimentra dot com

April 21st: Big day for me. It is the day, 13 years ago, that I decided to quit heroin and change my life for the better. I kicked the hardest thing in the world in the ASS and I’ve never looked back.It was hard, I won’t deny it, but I am glad I woke up. Stabbing dull needles into my fragile arms was not a way to live, people.

In short, go me for deciding that was not the life I wanted. Go me for choosing life. Most people do not choose that route.

Below is something I post every year on my anniversary, so here it is again….

I usually repost this note on the anniversary of the day I quit heroin, which is 4/21/1999.  I am posting it early this year because someone out there, who is VERY important to me, needs to read this.  I can only hope that it will shed some light, or even make a sliver of a difference.  Here goes nothing…

4/4/2011

Sometimes when we are wrapped up in a situation, we do not see what the right choice is.  We’re biased, consumed, and out of control.  We want to believe everything that our circle of “friends” tell us…

“People who quit drugs, or do not ever do drugs are brainwashed.  They do not realize that drugs make them a better person.  They do not realize that the war on drugs is bullshit.  Drugs shouldn’t be illegal.  I know I can’t function in society without drugs.  I know that I can’t live in reality without drugs.  I do not need an escape, I need a window into reality and drugs are that window for me.  So, I don’t know about you, but I am going to continue to do what makes ME happy because at the end of the day, I am the only one who knows what’s best for me.”

If I had a nickle for every time I’ve heard those words, or every time I’ve heard MYSELF speak those words, I’d probably be rich.

With that being said, I can only share my own experiences, and while I can be harsh and abrasive and blunt, the people who know me are aware of the fact that I only do that to people I love with every single fiber of my being.   If I love you, you’re a lucky person because with that harshness, and bluntness comes loyality, caring, generosity and the kind of love that any drug could never duplicate.

12 years ago today, I was on my couch with a needle in my arm.  With every skin puncture, another dream flushed down the toilet.  I lived for that fix, that ride into nothinginess.  I couldn’t wait for my needle to provide my veins with liquid heat that would stop me from seeing clearly, and surely kill me if I let it.  Looking back, it seems like it happened to another person, in another lifetime.  However, the memories are still fresh enough to know that I would never want to go back there and I am grateful for that fact.  I am glad that while my other memories are fading quickly, the morning I decided to quit still sits fresh in my mind and will never fade.  It was a turning point for me.

I was lucky because most people never have that opportunity, or drive to save themselves.  It was as if I somehow managed to clean the dirt and fog off of my “mirror of self” and was able to catch a short glimpse of what I had become.  A glimpse, that for 30 short seconds, was not clouded by the devil (heroin) in my system that worked SO hard to keep my blinders on.  A glimpse that scared the living shit out of me because it was grotesque, and horrible and evil.  I had let the dark side carry me away, like a fun tube ride down the esopus river.  The whole time I thought I was living, and had convined myself that it was “fun.”  Surely, a liquid decent into the bowels of hell is nothing but a “good time,” right?

We all know the answer to that…

12 years, and many insane hardships later, I made it over the wall.  While I still struggle with that old friend, “addiction,” in different forms, every day of my life, I still  made it over the wall.  While, at times, it seemed like I’d never get back to where I was:  the career, the bubbly life, the personality, the drive, the feeling that I actually wanted to live… I DID, and that is all that matters.

There is nothing more difficult than facing an addiction head-on and dealing with all of the crap that comes along with quitting, but I can promise you, IT IS WORTH IT.  When you can finally wake up in the morning and feel great just by opening your eyes, there is nothing better than that.  It takes a very long time, and a lot of strength, but if I can do it – ANYONE CAN.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

4/21/2010

Today is a very serious and special day for me. 11 years ago today I was boarding a plane to South Florida in the worst condition I’ve ever been in. I was 80 lbs and addicted to mainlining heroin. I had been doing it for about a year prior to that moment and had managed to ruin almost every good thing in my life.

Prior to flushing my life up my arm, I was on top of the world. I had a great career, and in typical Glory fashion, had many friends and a full social life. I worked a lot of hours and while I loved my job, I was very stressed out for a girl at 23 years old.

The following is something I wrote right after getting clean 11 years ago. The writing is a bit dated, and not great, but I still like to post it every year on this day to remind me of where I was and how far I have come during the last 11 years. I managed to do something that only 2% of heroin addicted users can do, and that was quit, cold turkey, no methadone program and stay CLEAN for 11 years. I will say that while it was one of the most difficult things I have ever endured, it has gotten much easier over the years. I am now at the point where it seems like it wasn’t even me at all. That fact is a bit scary, as I always want to keep that memory fresh in my mind, but at the same time it is a bit wonderful as well.

So, happy 11 years off of drugs for me! I am proud to say I have never looked back, and I don’t ever plan on it either. 🙂 xoxo

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

5/16/1999

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!