**Read This First**
There are a few things I would like to say before we get into this new series. First, thank you so much for reading, it means a lot that you all follow along! Second, this series is different than the first in that, it will contain graphic details regarding drug use. If you think that reading about the use itself, or the feelings and emotions that go along with using will “trigger” you than PLEASE, reconsider going any further. Addiction is sneaky and sometimes hearing certain words can cause your mind to work in ways you weren’t prepared for – so proceed with caution. Lastly, I am again changing the names of all persons involved. I have always been honest and truthful, which is what I think you all appreciate the most. However I don’t want to offend, incriminate or hurt anyone by writing this. So even if you think you know who I’m talking about, you may not. Lets take everything we see here with a grain of salt, and read it with an open mind. I am sharing my story in hopes that it helps someone; not to hurt anyone. Thanks again and I hope you all stick with me through this new journey.
As I sat on Blake’s couch, stuffing Cheetos into my face and watching animal planet, I suddenly realized it had been exactly 4 months since I left rehab.
Which means it was exactly 4 months and 2 weeks since my mom died.
I knew that my mom’s friend set up a trust fund for us with an insane amount of money. I also knew that if I was given access to that money – I would buy all the drugs in the world and do them in one shot.
I confessed to her friend that I’d been popping pills and felt sick without them, so he spent $30,000 on rehab. The money, in essence, ended up going to drugs anyway-in a roundabout way. I would have detoxed in my f***ing car if I’d known he was spending my trust fund money on that bogus-ass place.
I thought back to the last time I saw my mom and cringed. I was holding her hand when she passed. Having to rub her head and tell her that it was “okay to let go” was the hardest f***ing sentence I’d ever uttered in my life. I didn’t want her to “let go“. I wanted her to stay. I wanted her to get up out of the hospice bed and dance around the living room to Tom Petty like she used to.
I wanted her to sit in the front row of my wedding, beaming with pride. I wanted her to rock my future children to sleep in her arms as she hummed “you are my sunshine” like she used to with me. I didn’t want her to let go. She did anyway.
Anytime my sister and I had left the house as teenagers, my mom would walk us out and stand at the end of the driveway giving us the “princess wave”. So when they carried her out and drove her away for the last time, my sister and I did the same. We stood at the end of the driveway, and waved goodbye.
F*** man, why was I thinking about this right now?
“Pass that shit, will you?” I said to Blake, reaching for the blunt. He ignored me, staring at the zebras on T.V. in amazement. “PASS THAT SHIT, MAN” I said louder, bringing him back to reality.
“Oh, here”, he handed it to me without taking his eyes off the screen. Blake was my roommate. I moved in with him when I left rehab, mainly because he was one of the only true friends I’d had and he didn’t do pills. So I was safe here.
I held the blunt between my fingers and inhaled a long, slow drag deep into my lungs. I held it there for a moment and closed my eyes. Thank God for weed. I wouldn’t have made it through all this shit if I didn’t have it. The people at the rehab tried to tell me I couldn’t smoke weed and I stood straight up out of my chair and called them on their bullshit. Weed was a plant, and weed wasn’t my problem, pills were, and they were crazy if they thought I wasn’t gonna smoke when I got out of there.
Things are good right now, and I wouldn’t do anything to f*** that up. I haven’t done pills in like 4 months and I have a steady job. Weed doesn’t make me sick if I don’t have it, it just makes me feel awesome when I do.
“You want a beer?” Blake asked, standing up and heading to the fridge. “Ummm, f*** it I have the day off tomorrow why not?” I replied.
Oh and I drink.
But I don’t get drunk like I used to, I drink at home. I know my tolerance level and I never get drunk. Just a beer after work to take the edge off. Besides I’m afraid to get too drunk around Tom, because even though he had a girlfriend, he’s always giving me “the look”, you know? The “I would bang you in a second if I had a chance” look?
My phone buzzed from the coffee table and I was immediately overwhelmed with dread. I hated talking to people when I was high, especially my boyfriend. He knew I smoked, but he didn’t approve of it, and he hated talking to me when I was high.
“Uh oh. You better answer” Blake joked, looking down at the caller Id and seeing who it was the same time I did. It was him.
“Nope. I can’t. Let me drink a few more of these and I’ll just drunk dial him and blame it on the beer”, I said, taking a big swig of my bottle. I loved the way the ice cold bubbles lathered in my throat. How the hell is anyone supposed to go their entire life without drinking? Dumbest shit I ever heard.
One hour and multiple bong rips later, Tom stood up abruptly and grabbed his keys.
“Woah dude, don’t move so f***ing fast you scared the shit out of me. I thought the f***ing cops were here or something” I said placing my hand on my heart.
“Haha, you wish” he said, shoving his Marlboro’s into the pocket of his jeans.
“Oh yeah, I would love for the cops to show up to my pot-growing room mates house when I can barely open my f***ing eyes, idiot”.
“I’m going to Stacey’s, don’t wait up” he said giving me a wink. Honestly it creeped me out. Stacy was his cousin and I’m pretty sure they were banging, but that’s whole other story.
“Aright. Hey well if you are gonna be gone all night can you leave me some green?” I said giving him the puppy dog eyes, they worked every time.
“Just grab it when you want, it’s in my top drawer. Leave me some though, Cheech, I know how you get when I’m not here to regulate your smoking” he laughed. “Shut the f*** up” I said chucking a pillow at him as he left. It bounced off the door as he shut it behind him.
I decided to call my boyfriend before I melted into the couch in a hazy fog. I took a deep breath and dialed his number. It rang, and rang and rang. I was relieved when the voicemail picked up and quickly hung up. Not wanting to leave evidence of my current state on a recording.
Alrighty then, I tried, I thought as I stood up from the couch.
I shut all the lights off, locked the front door, and headed to grab some buds out of Tom’s secret stash. I flipped his bedroom lights on and glanced around at his pigsty of a room. Cigarette ashes and empty fast food wrappers littered the floor. I stepped over a pair of dirty boxers and pulled the top drawer of his oak dresser open. Knifes and random objects began thumping around in the drawer as I rifled through to locate the bag.
Where the f*** was this thing?
Suddenly my fingers hit something hard and plastic, it definitely wasn’t a bag. I began to sweat as my knuckles turned white from grasping the tube so hard. I gave it a shake and my suspicions were confirmed.
Pills rattled inside the bottle as I pulled it out from under the socks to observe it. I should have let go and ran out of the room, but curiosity had gotten the best of me. I looked at the label and didn’t recognize the name of the person they were prescribed to, but I recognized the drug immediately. They were Oxy 80’s.
One of the most powerful pills one could get. One pill costs like 40 bucks. What the f*** was he doing with these?
My palms were clammy around the bottle but I couldn’t let go. My heart was rapping the insides of my ribcage and I began salivating. It felt like I was possessed.
“Put them back you f***ing idiot. You are clean. You got clean for your mother. She is watching you right now. Don’t do this” I said to myself. There was an inner battle going on in my mind between my addiction, and myself, turmoil and angst swarmed around inside me like bees.
Suddenly, and before I had time to think, I threw the bottle into the drawer and left the room, I didn’t even bother closing the drawer, I had to get out of there. I wasn’t going to let my addiction win this time. I had come so far and was not about to give up now.
I made it 2 steps out of the bedroom door when suddenly my mind was hijacked. A dark force took over the helm and I was merely a helpless bystander. I watched from somewhere far away as my body turned around and my legs began moving toward the dresser before my brain could process what was happening.
“Stop” I yelled out loud to myself. “Nooooooo” the tears began streaming down my face. I couldn’t stop what was happening. I was powerless.
The familiar “pop” of the lid being opened was the most rewarding and heartbreaking sound I’d ever heard. I knew what came next.
I shook a few pills into the palm of my hand and returned the bottle to it’s resting place.
A few moments later I was staring down at the white line in front of me. It looked like powdered snow. I had licked the coating off of the Oxy and smashed it to smithereens without a single thought. It was mechanical, I’d done it so many times that it was programmed into my mind.
Without hesitation, I placed the rolled up dollar bill in my nose, leaned down and snorted deeply. The powder coated the back of my throat as the familiar burn in my nose greeted me like an old friend.
I shoved the straw into my bra just as my brain turned to Jello and the warm sensation of liquid relaxation began flowing through my veins. G**damnit I missed this feeling. F***, why would anyone voluntarily stop taking these things?
It felt as if I was being wrapped in a warm hug. A hug I couldn’t recieve from anyone else.
All at once the world around me began to slow down and my arms felt as if they were 20 lbs each. I rolled on to my side to light a cigarette and realized I could hardly move a muscle. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I was in the same position, but light was beaming through my blinds and on to the wall. I checked the time on my phone and realized I’d missed 3 calls and 2 texts from my boyfriend. Panic rose within me and I racked my brain trying to remember when I fell asleep. More importantly, why the hell I was sleeping with my shoes on.
The memories of the night before suddenly came rushing in like a tidal wave.
Oh my God. I relapsed.
I reached down to my bra and felt the plastic straw and froze. It happened. It wasn’t a dream. My head started pounding and I felt nauseous. I leaned over the side of my bed and vomited all over the clean clothes I’d been neglecting to fold.
My head rested on my arm as a million thoughts zoomed through my mind. This was too much. The disappointment, guilt and shame was overwhelming. How could I do this? I wept as I realized how badly I f***ed up and immediately decided I didn’t want to feel this way anymore. I needed to numb it, make this hurt go away long enough for me to sort my thoughts. I needed a line.
I began crushing the second half of last nights pill, when a knock at the door made me jump 10 feet into the air.
I quickly shoved the paraphernalia into my top drawer and pulled the blinds down to peek outside and see who the hell was here. My heart dropped when my eyes focused on the visitor.
A cop car was sitting in the driveway.
You gotta be kidding me. I glanced quickly at myself in the mirror and attempted to fix my hair as I sprinted toward the front door. I took a deep breath, swung it open and smiled…
“Well helllllo, officer. Visiting me while on duty? How romantic!”, I exclaimed, leaning forward to give my boyfriend a kiss….