Opiator
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 29, 2013
- Messages
- 69
This will be a relatively long post, so be ready to read a lot.
Starting from the very beginning, I'll talk about my parents a little. Both were drug addicts. My dad has been addicted to crack and meth in his lifetime, and my mom has been a heavy drinker, marijuana smoker, and cocaine user for a rather large portion of her life. Today, I can say for sure that they're both clean, aside from the occasional toke or beer, but they had their hardcore partying days and left me behind to chase highs. Back before I was born, my mom inherited a LOT of money. Like, a few hundred thousand dollars. My dad, being the dog that he is, jumped at the opportunity and got with my mom. He told me recently it was solely "because of that green".
They were together for all of three weeks before my dad left her.
Let's just say my mom, who has a multitude of mental disorders from childhood abuse, including bi-polar disorder, did not take this well. She found out she was pregnant with me, but that didn't really stop her from continuing to drug and drink. I don't know how I made it to be as old as I am (I'll go further into detail about that later), but somehow she gave birth to me. I was underweight, and within a month had picked up a case of viral meningitis than permanently damaged my eyes and may have damaged other organs that I don't know about yet. At the worst time through this, I had a fever of about 107*F. Somehow, I made it. My dad denied that I was his child for the majority of the first year of my life until a paternity test was done which determined as Maury would say, that he was "indeed, the father".
My mom, being 19 years old and mentally unstable, didn't do very much of a stand up job parenting me. She was so bad that the state took me away from her and placed me in foster care where I stayed until I was 16 months old. And what happened next I will eternally be grateful for - my dad's mother got legal custody of me and took care of me from that day on. I started growing up, finally with a rather normal life, aside from not really having either parent around. My mom got visitation rights and my dad was off doing his own thing. Skip ahead a few years.
My mother wasn't very good at making scheduled visits and when she did make them she couldn't help but talk about how much of a piece of shit my dad was. She eventually brought a custody lawsuit against my grandma that lasted several years and was eventually thrown out because my mom is batshit insane and the court got tired of her. When I was about eight years old, my dad, apparently heartbroken over the mother of two of my half-brothers, decided to pack up his shit and follow my grandpa out to Arizona where he spent the next seven years doing drugs, becoming a felon and going in and out of jail, and generally not being a father to any of his four sons.
Luckily, I had somewhat of a father figure in my life in my grandma's boyfriend, who I always thought of as my "real" grandpa. He took care of us and made sure we always had what we needed whether it be food, money, clothes...he took me anywhere I wanted to go, got me anything I wanted to have, and was an all around fantastic influence on me, teaching me so much about life and stuff like computers and medicine. About five months after I turned ten years old, he died from heart failure and that was pretty much the worst thing that ever happened to me. I'm still not "over" that. I still haven't properly grieved over that loss, which I blame myself for a lot of the time, and after that, I believe my major depressive disorder "began".
I had a rough adolescence. I wasn't a real popular kid, and had a tight knit group of friends that I loved and spent most of my time with. I had an early love for music, picking up the guitar and choir. To this day, I still play and sing and write my own songs, with ambitions of becoming a recording and touring artist. But back to the story at hand. I began experimenting with drugs at about age 14, first with marijuana, and then pills and alcohol as I got older. The first time I tried opiates, I knew I was hooked because it was the most incredible feeling I'd ever felt and all the pain and anguish I was feeling went away. All those feelings of being abandoned were eliminated by small little pills I'd take way too much of. Around this same time, I started seeing a counselor for my depression, but never brought up my drug use.
In fact, I hid my drug use so well that the only reason it had been revealed was because by age 16 I was a suicidal wreck. I was hospitalized for four days and told the doctors everything, every bit of my life and all the different pains I felt. How my mind raced. How I obsessed over little things. How I was always anxious and had regular panic attacks. How my mood swung like a swing set. I was initially diagnosed with bi-polar disorder, and then major depressive disorder as well as panic disorder.
Now I take 120mg of Cymbalta, 10mg of Abilify, 3mg of Xanax, and occasionally 25-100mg of Vistaril a day. I go to group therapy twice a week and see an individual counselor around twice a month, sometimes more, sometimes less. Most of my "friends" have abandoned me because of my drug problems and shit, and I'm a pretty lonely person. Right now, I'm miserable because I miss the days when it was just me and the boys kickin' it every day doing drugs listening to obscure music no one had ever heard of. It also kills me that I don't get to see any of my siblings, of which I have two sisters on my mom's side and three brothers on my dad's side. I'm just trying to find my way in life and I'm addicted to drugs and generally everything kind of sucks.
tl;dr Life sucks, got lots of problems, addicted to drugs, wish I knew what to do.
Starting from the very beginning, I'll talk about my parents a little. Both were drug addicts. My dad has been addicted to crack and meth in his lifetime, and my mom has been a heavy drinker, marijuana smoker, and cocaine user for a rather large portion of her life. Today, I can say for sure that they're both clean, aside from the occasional toke or beer, but they had their hardcore partying days and left me behind to chase highs. Back before I was born, my mom inherited a LOT of money. Like, a few hundred thousand dollars. My dad, being the dog that he is, jumped at the opportunity and got with my mom. He told me recently it was solely "because of that green".
They were together for all of three weeks before my dad left her.
Let's just say my mom, who has a multitude of mental disorders from childhood abuse, including bi-polar disorder, did not take this well. She found out she was pregnant with me, but that didn't really stop her from continuing to drug and drink. I don't know how I made it to be as old as I am (I'll go further into detail about that later), but somehow she gave birth to me. I was underweight, and within a month had picked up a case of viral meningitis than permanently damaged my eyes and may have damaged other organs that I don't know about yet. At the worst time through this, I had a fever of about 107*F. Somehow, I made it. My dad denied that I was his child for the majority of the first year of my life until a paternity test was done which determined as Maury would say, that he was "indeed, the father".
My mom, being 19 years old and mentally unstable, didn't do very much of a stand up job parenting me. She was so bad that the state took me away from her and placed me in foster care where I stayed until I was 16 months old. And what happened next I will eternally be grateful for - my dad's mother got legal custody of me and took care of me from that day on. I started growing up, finally with a rather normal life, aside from not really having either parent around. My mom got visitation rights and my dad was off doing his own thing. Skip ahead a few years.
My mother wasn't very good at making scheduled visits and when she did make them she couldn't help but talk about how much of a piece of shit my dad was. She eventually brought a custody lawsuit against my grandma that lasted several years and was eventually thrown out because my mom is batshit insane and the court got tired of her. When I was about eight years old, my dad, apparently heartbroken over the mother of two of my half-brothers, decided to pack up his shit and follow my grandpa out to Arizona where he spent the next seven years doing drugs, becoming a felon and going in and out of jail, and generally not being a father to any of his four sons.
Luckily, I had somewhat of a father figure in my life in my grandma's boyfriend, who I always thought of as my "real" grandpa. He took care of us and made sure we always had what we needed whether it be food, money, clothes...he took me anywhere I wanted to go, got me anything I wanted to have, and was an all around fantastic influence on me, teaching me so much about life and stuff like computers and medicine. About five months after I turned ten years old, he died from heart failure and that was pretty much the worst thing that ever happened to me. I'm still not "over" that. I still haven't properly grieved over that loss, which I blame myself for a lot of the time, and after that, I believe my major depressive disorder "began".
I had a rough adolescence. I wasn't a real popular kid, and had a tight knit group of friends that I loved and spent most of my time with. I had an early love for music, picking up the guitar and choir. To this day, I still play and sing and write my own songs, with ambitions of becoming a recording and touring artist. But back to the story at hand. I began experimenting with drugs at about age 14, first with marijuana, and then pills and alcohol as I got older. The first time I tried opiates, I knew I was hooked because it was the most incredible feeling I'd ever felt and all the pain and anguish I was feeling went away. All those feelings of being abandoned were eliminated by small little pills I'd take way too much of. Around this same time, I started seeing a counselor for my depression, but never brought up my drug use.
In fact, I hid my drug use so well that the only reason it had been revealed was because by age 16 I was a suicidal wreck. I was hospitalized for four days and told the doctors everything, every bit of my life and all the different pains I felt. How my mind raced. How I obsessed over little things. How I was always anxious and had regular panic attacks. How my mood swung like a swing set. I was initially diagnosed with bi-polar disorder, and then major depressive disorder as well as panic disorder.
Now I take 120mg of Cymbalta, 10mg of Abilify, 3mg of Xanax, and occasionally 25-100mg of Vistaril a day. I go to group therapy twice a week and see an individual counselor around twice a month, sometimes more, sometimes less. Most of my "friends" have abandoned me because of my drug problems and shit, and I'm a pretty lonely person. Right now, I'm miserable because I miss the days when it was just me and the boys kickin' it every day doing drugs listening to obscure music no one had ever heard of. It also kills me that I don't get to see any of my siblings, of which I have two sisters on my mom's side and three brothers on my dad's side. I'm just trying to find my way in life and I'm addicted to drugs and generally everything kind of sucks.
tl;dr Life sucks, got lots of problems, addicted to drugs, wish I knew what to do.
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