I hope this doesn't come off as long and boring but I don't really know any other way to tell the story. I've lurked these threads for a long time, both before and after I got off dope and they've helped me tremendously so I figured I owed it to everybody to give something back. If you don't have the attention span to read, or if you're just suffering right now and want to skip to the kicking part I'll separate this into two sections; first the addiction, second getting clean.
To make a long story short I started using heroin about a year ago in Portland OR. I had chipped now and then back when I lived in NY in the 90's and when the opportunity presented itself, literally about two weeks after moving to Portland, I jumped on it. At the time I was married, making so much money I had no idea what to do with it and working a job that I hated but was contractually bound to for a year. It was my first experience with tar and so I smoked it since I heard this was the easiest way to do that shit. One thing leads to another and next thing I know I'm smoking six bags a day just to function. At this point my wife starts to notice something was up so I came clean and told her everything. I had gone from a solid 190lbs to 145 in 6 months. Plus I was nodding off all the time, constantly making excuses to sneak out, all the typical nonsense that comes along with being a junky. My wife told me in no uncertain terms that if it happened again she was out. She helped me wean down to half a bag a day with the idea that I'd just jump off after that. That lasted about 2 days and I jumped right back on it. Needless to say she figured it out, packed her stuff and left me. After that I had nothing to slow me down and bumped up to 12 bags a day, still smoking. She then cleaned out my bank account leaving me in a really fucked position. I had no choice but to call my family in NY, come clean about everything and head back east to kick.
I had a family member fly out to Portland to drive across the country with me because I knew I was too weak to make the trip myself. Luckily I had enough dope on me to make it back and timed it so perfect that I smoked my last bag as we crossed the border into NY. As soon as we arrived at my sisters house the withdrawal started kicking in. It had been about 8 hours since my last hit. My family, who hadn't seen me in over a year, started crying as soon as I stepped out of the car. At this point I had shrunk down to 130lbs and looked like an extra from the walking dead. The first night was living hell. I had heard it takes about 48-72 hours to hit the worst of the withdrawal but for me it was unbearable around 12-14 hours. I had already puked and shit everything out of me and was just dry heaving nonstop. And it was getting worse by the minute. The pain was unbearable and my mind was going crazy. All I wanted was to die. I had several guns on me when I arrived but luckily my family took them and hid them otherwise I probably wouldn't be here to type this right now. I also had several large male family members sitting with me around the clock to make sure I didn't do anything stupid. Around 18 hours in I was screaming and rolling on the floor like Linda Blair in the Exorcist. Luckily someone had managed to get ahold of some suboxone and I took about 36milligrams that first night. It helped a LOT. It reduced my symptoms by at least 50%. But still I was miserable, tired, sick and depressed. Those first 2 weeks are a blur to me now and I have little memory of them.
By week 3 I started to come out of the haze, had reduced my suboxone to 0.5milligrams a day but was still exhausted and super emotional. I spent most of my days planning to kill myself and thinking up the most effective method. I would break into crying spells for no apparent reason. I was wracked with guilt over ruining my marriage, my job, but mostly my marriage. My plan was just to fake it long enough to get my guns back and put a bullet in my head.
Week 4 I started to get a little more energy so I started to hit the gym again. Dragging my ass out of bed, into the shower and to the gym was a huge undertaking and left me feeling totally drained but it was worth it. I was less depressed, more focused on getting off the suboxone and thinking about killing myself less. The down side was I was still experiencing hot and cold flashes that would leave me drenched in sweat. And panic attacks that seemed to come from nowhere. Now that I was eating again I also was shitting about 5 times a day, with very little warning.
Week 5 I stopped the suboxone completely which set me back a little. Those feelings of sadness, malaise, chills returned but I was dedicated to getting completely clean. Plus I had the luxury of taking 2 months off work and I figured I'd take advantage of it. Had a conversation with my wife and for the first time didn't get off the phone crying my eyes out. My perspective was returning and I took that as a good sign.
Now here I am 7 weeks clean. I'm getting ready to drive back across the country in a few days to start a new job. I wish I had a few more weeks to relax and recover here but I don't really have a choice. People keep asking me if I'm scared I'll use again when I get out there, especially since I'll be all alone. I can honestly say no fucking way. I still dream about dope almost every night, but there is no way I want to go through this hell again. As I type this I look at the keys on my laptop and see they are covered in black residue from all the tar I smoked and it truly makes me sick. I still feel tired, run down, anxious, but everyday it gets a little tiny bit better. I'm probably about 60% of the person I was before I touched dope a year ago but I do feel myself coming back a little more every day. And I guess that's the point of me posting this. If you're reading this and you're scared to kick, or in the midst of it, or even just thinking about it, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. You're gonna go through hell to get there but in the end it is worth it. A few weeks ago I thought my only option was to off myself, I couldn't see any other way out. Today, though I'm not exactly on top of the world, I can imagine my future and I'm actually looking forward to it. My wife, while I feel terrible about what I put her through and while I'm a little pissed that she cleaned out my bank account I can't blame her, and I've accepted that maybe I'm gonna have to move on without her. This is my life now and as far as I'm concerned the heroin is behind me, it's in the past. I know a lot of the AA/NA types will say once an addict always an addict and maybe there's some truth to that. All I know is I'm looking forward to a year where I don't spend every waking moment chasing dope, lying and screwing over the people I love. Good luck to you.
To make a long story short I started using heroin about a year ago in Portland OR. I had chipped now and then back when I lived in NY in the 90's and when the opportunity presented itself, literally about two weeks after moving to Portland, I jumped on it. At the time I was married, making so much money I had no idea what to do with it and working a job that I hated but was contractually bound to for a year. It was my first experience with tar and so I smoked it since I heard this was the easiest way to do that shit. One thing leads to another and next thing I know I'm smoking six bags a day just to function. At this point my wife starts to notice something was up so I came clean and told her everything. I had gone from a solid 190lbs to 145 in 6 months. Plus I was nodding off all the time, constantly making excuses to sneak out, all the typical nonsense that comes along with being a junky. My wife told me in no uncertain terms that if it happened again she was out. She helped me wean down to half a bag a day with the idea that I'd just jump off after that. That lasted about 2 days and I jumped right back on it. Needless to say she figured it out, packed her stuff and left me. After that I had nothing to slow me down and bumped up to 12 bags a day, still smoking. She then cleaned out my bank account leaving me in a really fucked position. I had no choice but to call my family in NY, come clean about everything and head back east to kick.
I had a family member fly out to Portland to drive across the country with me because I knew I was too weak to make the trip myself. Luckily I had enough dope on me to make it back and timed it so perfect that I smoked my last bag as we crossed the border into NY. As soon as we arrived at my sisters house the withdrawal started kicking in. It had been about 8 hours since my last hit. My family, who hadn't seen me in over a year, started crying as soon as I stepped out of the car. At this point I had shrunk down to 130lbs and looked like an extra from the walking dead. The first night was living hell. I had heard it takes about 48-72 hours to hit the worst of the withdrawal but for me it was unbearable around 12-14 hours. I had already puked and shit everything out of me and was just dry heaving nonstop. And it was getting worse by the minute. The pain was unbearable and my mind was going crazy. All I wanted was to die. I had several guns on me when I arrived but luckily my family took them and hid them otherwise I probably wouldn't be here to type this right now. I also had several large male family members sitting with me around the clock to make sure I didn't do anything stupid. Around 18 hours in I was screaming and rolling on the floor like Linda Blair in the Exorcist. Luckily someone had managed to get ahold of some suboxone and I took about 36milligrams that first night. It helped a LOT. It reduced my symptoms by at least 50%. But still I was miserable, tired, sick and depressed. Those first 2 weeks are a blur to me now and I have little memory of them.
By week 3 I started to come out of the haze, had reduced my suboxone to 0.5milligrams a day but was still exhausted and super emotional. I spent most of my days planning to kill myself and thinking up the most effective method. I would break into crying spells for no apparent reason. I was wracked with guilt over ruining my marriage, my job, but mostly my marriage. My plan was just to fake it long enough to get my guns back and put a bullet in my head.
Week 4 I started to get a little more energy so I started to hit the gym again. Dragging my ass out of bed, into the shower and to the gym was a huge undertaking and left me feeling totally drained but it was worth it. I was less depressed, more focused on getting off the suboxone and thinking about killing myself less. The down side was I was still experiencing hot and cold flashes that would leave me drenched in sweat. And panic attacks that seemed to come from nowhere. Now that I was eating again I also was shitting about 5 times a day, with very little warning.
Week 5 I stopped the suboxone completely which set me back a little. Those feelings of sadness, malaise, chills returned but I was dedicated to getting completely clean. Plus I had the luxury of taking 2 months off work and I figured I'd take advantage of it. Had a conversation with my wife and for the first time didn't get off the phone crying my eyes out. My perspective was returning and I took that as a good sign.
Now here I am 7 weeks clean. I'm getting ready to drive back across the country in a few days to start a new job. I wish I had a few more weeks to relax and recover here but I don't really have a choice. People keep asking me if I'm scared I'll use again when I get out there, especially since I'll be all alone. I can honestly say no fucking way. I still dream about dope almost every night, but there is no way I want to go through this hell again. As I type this I look at the keys on my laptop and see they are covered in black residue from all the tar I smoked and it truly makes me sick. I still feel tired, run down, anxious, but everyday it gets a little tiny bit better. I'm probably about 60% of the person I was before I touched dope a year ago but I do feel myself coming back a little more every day. And I guess that's the point of me posting this. If you're reading this and you're scared to kick, or in the midst of it, or even just thinking about it, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. You're gonna go through hell to get there but in the end it is worth it. A few weeks ago I thought my only option was to off myself, I couldn't see any other way out. Today, though I'm not exactly on top of the world, I can imagine my future and I'm actually looking forward to it. My wife, while I feel terrible about what I put her through and while I'm a little pissed that she cleaned out my bank account I can't blame her, and I've accepted that maybe I'm gonna have to move on without her. This is my life now and as far as I'm concerned the heroin is behind me, it's in the past. I know a lot of the AA/NA types will say once an addict always an addict and maybe there's some truth to that. All I know is I'm looking forward to a year where I don't spend every waking moment chasing dope, lying and screwing over the people I love. Good luck to you.
.. and I think its fucking sick how gangs like this use everything they can to exploit and use people for their own ugly self serving purposes.. gangs prey on peoples weaknesses and never seem to use it to do any sort of good.. they prey and fear and misery to promote more of the same. would be real nice to see the power and wealth of drugs taken out of these peoples hands by making them legal... then we could use some of the revenue created to educate all the lost souls caught up in that manipulation, to see what is really important in life.. The power for us as an individual to live free and peaceful is worth more than having all the gold and power to hold over anyone on the planet... its really so miss matched that there is no comparison.