I never thought I would get to this point, and yet it seems I have. I have chosen to write about it here. I have fully left my addiction behind.
I don't know why I prefer to write these things on BlueLight, where I know absolutely no one and there's a very small chance anyone I do know will find me. But perhaps this is for the best.
Sometime over the past year, as I have gone through treatment, three distinct things occurred to me that pushed me farther and farther away from the life of a heroin addict (or rather, a double life as a "productive" member of society and a heroin addict) and into the great void of reality. Real life.
The first great thing that occurred was my overdose on November 5, 2010. I will never forget it. After viewing heroin as my warm, fuzzy, toxic blanket that could do no wrong, it never occurred to me that being just a little careless could actually kill me. The overdose, I should note, was an accident. I had only been in treatment for two months, I was not taking my meds (Suboxone and an anti-depressant called Effexor), and I had just attended a memorial service for my grandmother, who died one year before. That was a very bad time in particular, and a hard one to relive even by memory. Any moment I wasn't crying at the wake or funeral I could barely keep my eyes open. I could barely function. There was so much pain and guilt that no amount of heroin could wipe it out. Throughout the service I kept limping on one leg due to a botched injection the previous night. There was an ounce of dope at my disposal, and I went through it by the time I was limping back to New York.
Anyway, the first week of November was very bad. I had never forgiven myself for not being there for my grandmother in hospital, when she needed me. Excuses of working late and traveling plans that could not be changed and so forth kept me away. When my grandmother died, she still envisioned me as the young, beautiful, hardworking granddaughter she'd come to know and love. I did not want her to see me as I was in that moment - sickly, sallow, and shaking, or so high my eyes could have rolled out of my head. Who would want to leave their grandmother with that as her last memory? I was her favorite granddaughter, I was the girl out doing things to make the family proud.
I don't know why I prefer to write these things on BlueLight, where I know absolutely no one and there's a very small chance anyone I do know will find me. But perhaps this is for the best.
Sometime over the past year, as I have gone through treatment, three distinct things occurred to me that pushed me farther and farther away from the life of a heroin addict (or rather, a double life as a "productive" member of society and a heroin addict) and into the great void of reality. Real life.
The first great thing that occurred was my overdose on November 5, 2010. I will never forget it. After viewing heroin as my warm, fuzzy, toxic blanket that could do no wrong, it never occurred to me that being just a little careless could actually kill me. The overdose, I should note, was an accident. I had only been in treatment for two months, I was not taking my meds (Suboxone and an anti-depressant called Effexor), and I had just attended a memorial service for my grandmother, who died one year before. That was a very bad time in particular, and a hard one to relive even by memory. Any moment I wasn't crying at the wake or funeral I could barely keep my eyes open. I could barely function. There was so much pain and guilt that no amount of heroin could wipe it out. Throughout the service I kept limping on one leg due to a botched injection the previous night. There was an ounce of dope at my disposal, and I went through it by the time I was limping back to New York.
Anyway, the first week of November was very bad. I had never forgiven myself for not being there for my grandmother in hospital, when she needed me. Excuses of working late and traveling plans that could not be changed and so forth kept me away. When my grandmother died, she still envisioned me as the young, beautiful, hardworking granddaughter she'd come to know and love. I did not want her to see me as I was in that moment - sickly, sallow, and shaking, or so high my eyes could have rolled out of my head. Who would want to leave their grandmother with that as her last memory? I was her favorite granddaughter, I was the girl out doing things to make the family proud.