I would say that I have extensive experiences with dependence and addiction. There was a point in my life where I was so hooked on opioids, benzos, and amphetamines that not only did I label myself a horrible drug addict, I was resigned to the fact that I was going to die soon and I welcomed the idea. That was back in 2004/2005. I have been off the meth with only a couple 1-day slip-ups for over 6 years now.
After that, I could not quit the benzos. I was absolutely positive that I would be on them the rest of my life. I was labeled an addict by every single one of my friends and family members. It was obvious to everyone. I was very sick in the head by that point and did not think I could ever quit. I was not willing to put in the work and effort to ever get clean.
In early 2010, I moved to Kerrville, Texas - the recovery mecca of America. There I detoxed off an 8-year Xanax/Klonopin addiction, and had to be hospitalized because the benzo w/d almost killed me. They put me on an Ativan taper. I stayed clean for 3 months, then tried to kill myself from an OD. Why? Because I just didn't want to fight the fight anymore. I was exhausted and couldn't do it anymore...so I thought.
I got clean again for a month after that, did the 12 steps of AA/CA, and seriously put time and effort into making things right with people I had hurt, and let go of nearly every resentment I've ever had towards anyone. I also did everything I could to establish a relationship with a higher power/God/whatever you want to call it. That took major commitment on my part because I never believed in God, and therefore had to do everything I could to realize that I am not in control when I am trapped in my addiction. Through all of my OD's, I (obviously) had ever died...I was spared for some reason. I knew people that died from WAY less drugs than I consumed on a daily basis. Do not take this as me boasting in any way; I am not proud of my behavior in the past.
I ''relapsed'' a month later and did so many drugs that I was blacked out and zombified for 4 days straight. I remember practically nothing. I stayed clean for the next 2 weeks and then got kicked out of my halfway house for ''not being active in my recovery''. I thought I was doing well again. I immediately got back on benzos, barbiturates, and opiates. I wanted to die, but I wanted to go out feeling good. I got kicked out of nearly every halfway house in Kerrville, was deemed a ''chronic relapser'', and got a very bad reputation throughout the whole town.
From September-December 2010, I overdosed near-fatally 5 times and woke up in a hospital, got arrested 5 times and caught 12 charges total, and spent 2 weeks in a psych ward, plus a total of roughly 40 days in jail. Things were very bad, to say the least. I couldn't understand why God was doing this to me and wouldn't just let me die, no matter how hard I tried or how many drugs I did (which was a ridiculous amount...again, not bragging.)
Then it occurred to me...God wasn't doing this to me. I was. God was trying to save me, for some unknown reason or purpose, which I still don't know or understand yet. It was at this point that I decided to get sober not because I needed to, but because I wanted to. There is a massive difference. This was in January of this year. January 9th, to be exact. I am not a Big Book thumper or a crazy 12-stepper, but I will say this: although I do not agree with everything they say and teach in the 12-step program, I credit it with saving my life. I would not be alive right now if I had not put in the effort to change; to let go of all of my anger and resentments, and to make things right with everyone I had hurt. Also, I finally established a connection with God, whoever He is. There is something out there much bigger than I am, and whatever it is, it saved me. There is no way that someone who has done what I have drug-wise could be alive if it weren't for a miracle of some sort. Period.
I stayed sober for 5 months after that, which is a miracle...it really is. I went through so much bullshit, personal AND extraneous, that I cannot believe I didn't get high during that period of time. In June, I started smoing weed again, and soon it was weed, benzos, opiates, amphetamines, and barbiturates. You could say I had a slight slip off the wagon.
I got injured in early July...dislocated my shoulder, tore the radial ligaments in my right arm, herniated a disk in my neck, and compressed my L5/L6. I was sure that I was going to die this time if I let my addiction and personal demons take hold. It was do or die. I decided to do. I moved to Houston to get the help I need, surgically, and mentally. I haven't even smoked weed in a month. However, I am back on tramadol for pain, which I have had issues in the past with.
Do I consider myself an addict? I really don't know. There were periods in my life that I was sure I would never get high again...but I did. I left the 12-step program not only because of my bad reputation around Kerrville, but also because of their belief that ''once an addict, always an addict''. I do not want to believe that is true. The idea scares and depresses me. As good as I am doing now, I will never say never again. I am not a psychic; I don't have a crystal ball. I hope that one day I'll never have to worry about this shit anymore, but I feel sometimes that I am in a mental prison, with no chance of escape.
I guess my opinion on this subject is...everyone is different. I think that anyone can change, if they really want to. But it's a rough subject to debate on. I wish you the best, man, and hope that you can just be happy and one day live without the drugs. I am no one to judge.
