you said it far better than I could. this pretty much sums up how I feel about it as well.
January 2023 was the end of a 6-7 month long coke/opi binge. I was under 100 pounds and was shooting up into my neck because I had destroyed what was left of the crooks of my arms from previous use. I went into drug induced psychosis and had absolutely no sense of reality. I thought people were living under my house in the crawl space. I was convinced someone had made a trap door under my bed from the crawl space.. along with the inside of my walls in my closet. I thought Pokémon cards were talking to me. I was outside every night throwing rocks into the bushes, etc. It was pretty rough. One night, I kept flicking the main breaker on and off to my house, had my doors open and was screaming complete nonsense to myself. Next thing I knew, the cops and an ambulance were at my door for a wellness check. I’m assuming one of my neighbours had called. They said they weren’t leaving until I agreed to go to the psych ward.
I had more drugs to do and was fucking furious.
My parents showed up and after 3 hours or so they convinced the cops that they would watch me to make sure I didn’t hurt myself or go anywhere. My parents live very close to me. The only way they would leave me alone was if I gave them my car keys and agreed to go to the hospital the next day. They stayed up watching my house. I don’t remember much about that night or the next day but I ended up going in. I had 10 dilaudid left and put them in my bra. I managed to crush them up in the bathroom and slept for almost 3 days straight.
I had an abscess on each arm and one beginning on my neck. I was a fucking mess.. As angry as I was at the time at whoever called the cops, I’m now incredibly grateful to whoever it was. I was a fucking mess and desperately needed the wake up call.
There’s not a doubt in my mind that they helped save my life.
Jesus christ that must be awful to think about.... I hope that you have space to unpack it somewhere that feels safe and non judgemental. Part of what I try to offer patients of mine is a space like that.
At the end of my run I found a good friend dead from a heroin overdose, and I stole cheese from a supermarket to exchange at the return desk for cash in order to pay for bags of dope that kept me well until my medicaid got turned back on a few weeks later.
Desperate fucking times man. It's why I do this. It's why I do everything that I do - I try to help. I"m not always perfect at it, and I'm not always perfect.
I needed people to kick me in the ass and tell me to sober up, smarten up, and listen for a bit. I was so fucking educated, and so fucking smart... in that drug treatment program that was being offered to me. I could tell you why god wasn't real, and how as an atheist "we agnostics" in the Big Book wasn't worth the paper it was written on. I could speak eloquently about the Dickensian black hole I'd found myself in, aiming for that cunt hair of a distance between a nod and death.
But I couldn't tell you how to get my shit together, or why I'd gotten into that hole to begin with. I couldn't tell you what I needed to do to get out. I needed someone else to do that for me - and the funniest thing was... the people that did, did so with kindness and love. They showed up and wanted to help me. And soon I realized that I could be one of those people if I just put together enough not fucking up time.
I never want to see someone deprived of liberty, and I hate to think about what some of the ghouls that run this parade of fuckery we call the US Government think about our kind, even though most of them are probably our kind in deep fucking denial and a lot of fucking privilege. Still, there's a humanity to taking the reins for someone who just can't for a while, and letting them know that it'll be okay, and then showing them that you meant it.
I'm glad you got through that shit homie. Stay strong. And know that if you ever fucking need anything, I'm here.