noddedallwayup
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jul 12, 2021
- Messages
- 22
I really want it this time.
I continue to tell myself after promising the person letting me move in tomorrow that I WILL NOT bring drugs in their home. Knowing that the cellophane of meth in my sock would have me in their bathroom minutes after the conversation.
They seem to want it more than I can, I’ve made it 24hrs without drinking because they have helped push me. But no amount of hope from them will keep my nose from burning and the surprised look off their face when they see me still up at 6a.m next morning.
I’ve made it a maximum of 59 days sober, felony time a week after my 18th birthday. I got out hopeful, almost remembering the sound of my own happiness. It lasted a couple of hours. Then I was back, drinking myself into another daily blackout. Celebrating right?
After my Dad died when I was 7 years old my mom fucked us up. Half a million life insurance policy and a raging Opana epidemic made sure our sad little lives grew up to finding her boyfriends oded, even after finding her passed out against the bathroom door next to him dead with his head cocked in the toilet, no one stopped the trauma. It took my little brother being born unbelievably addicted to heroin for CPS to turn their heads in our direction.
Sending us all to separate homes was their solution. No Father, no Mother, and no siblings. It worked out though, after I was sent to live separate with an 80 something year old relative it all started to make sense.
Just drink. Just drink till you don’t care about being alone, and while you’re at it hit up your buddy for his Addy script. Honestly, I wish that would’ve been it. Just some pills & alcohol to cope. It ended up in sketchy alleys in cities I didn’t know, buying balls of heroin because addies became xans, xans to norcos, roxies, anything i could manage to get in my small 10,000 population town. If it wasn’t here then a quick 30 minute trip to Louisville would surely result in a nod or night of jaw-clenching bliss.
So here I am, 21 years old. 3 cases and a felony record. No clue on how to live like a real functioning adult. Small trash bag of clothes and a phone. Active Addiction silently raging behind my mask of sobriety I hold up, sunset to sundown using the absolute cheapest vodka I can find. As long as the world sees me drunk they’ll never know that my sobriety was about as real as a fent free $3 bar.
2 lines and a handful of roxies from my sock or the prospect of a real life?
I hope it works out this time.
I continue to tell myself after promising the person letting me move in tomorrow that I WILL NOT bring drugs in their home. Knowing that the cellophane of meth in my sock would have me in their bathroom minutes after the conversation.
They seem to want it more than I can, I’ve made it 24hrs without drinking because they have helped push me. But no amount of hope from them will keep my nose from burning and the surprised look off their face when they see me still up at 6a.m next morning.
I’ve made it a maximum of 59 days sober, felony time a week after my 18th birthday. I got out hopeful, almost remembering the sound of my own happiness. It lasted a couple of hours. Then I was back, drinking myself into another daily blackout. Celebrating right?
After my Dad died when I was 7 years old my mom fucked us up. Half a million life insurance policy and a raging Opana epidemic made sure our sad little lives grew up to finding her boyfriends oded, even after finding her passed out against the bathroom door next to him dead with his head cocked in the toilet, no one stopped the trauma. It took my little brother being born unbelievably addicted to heroin for CPS to turn their heads in our direction.
Sending us all to separate homes was their solution. No Father, no Mother, and no siblings. It worked out though, after I was sent to live separate with an 80 something year old relative it all started to make sense.
Just drink. Just drink till you don’t care about being alone, and while you’re at it hit up your buddy for his Addy script. Honestly, I wish that would’ve been it. Just some pills & alcohol to cope. It ended up in sketchy alleys in cities I didn’t know, buying balls of heroin because addies became xans, xans to norcos, roxies, anything i could manage to get in my small 10,000 population town. If it wasn’t here then a quick 30 minute trip to Louisville would surely result in a nod or night of jaw-clenching bliss.
So here I am, 21 years old. 3 cases and a felony record. No clue on how to live like a real functioning adult. Small trash bag of clothes and a phone. Active Addiction silently raging behind my mask of sobriety I hold up, sunset to sundown using the absolute cheapest vodka I can find. As long as the world sees me drunk they’ll never know that my sobriety was about as real as a fent free $3 bar.
2 lines and a handful of roxies from my sock or the prospect of a real life?
I hope it works out this time.
Things have been so hard for you. I wish strength to you and offer my empathy.