InTheForest
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Jun 7, 2015
- Messages
- 1
I... don't really know where to start. My life, in the past few years, has been a blur of drug-chasing and trying to maintain normality in the course of it.
The whole sordid affair began with alcohol, my first (five) drink(s) taking place at the tender age of twelve. Even now, I really distinctly recall the warmth and the emotional release I felt after crushing that last can of Coors, rolling around in bed without a care in the god damn world. My father, grandmother, and the roommate of my sister were all boozers, so the supply was plentiful and restriction limited. I don't know if it was this, or some genetic predisposition, or what, that made me crave alcohol so; but when I drank, that was IT. Nothing else could, in my mind, match the euphoria and peaceful bliss granted to me by all those colorful elixirs lined up on Shery's cabinet, or the half-pint of Taaka sloppily placed under my dad's couch.
I've always had a tendency towards addictive-type behaviors. I found an forum post I wrote when I was twelve, recently. I was trying to ration out my supplies of alcohol, asking members of a metal forum how I should "split the bottle" to get as drunk as I could for multiple days. Most dismissed me as a troll, to my confusion at the time, and I got quite the laugh out of this, darkly humorous as it was. My drinking was rare enough for the next few years to where it wasn't a problem, but at 15, that's when I started getting bad.
I had sort of a perfect storm of circumstances that nursed and fostered my boozing at that point. There were a few street-rat kids I knew from around, just enough of losers to buy me booze, usually in exchange for a few bucks for the next bud sack. Knew a few of these sort of guys, if one wasn't available, I'd find another. My girlfriend at the time was highly aware of my growing problem, and it was also the really gross way I would FIEND alcohol that was alarming her. I'd get out of school, look for booze, drink it, and spend the rest of the day obsessing over getting more. She dumped me, and I went off the deep end.
By 16, I HAD to have a pint of vodka a day. At least. More, if I had the slightest ability to get it. I could not drink enough. Ever. I got arrested for stumbling down the street trying to skate, falling every few seconds. I got picked up for falling asleep fucked-up drunk on a nature path, woke up surrounded by emergency personnel. I got picked up after 7 Ativan down the gullet and a pint of Taaka to wash it down, waking up in a drunk tank completely naked, being informed of behavior in a previous cell that the police construed as suicidal. I've said the most horrible things to the kindest of people, those whom I love. I'm a gentle, soft spoken individual, this behavior was so not me. Alcohol had me acting like a fucking horrible, demon-cat from hell version of myself! By 17, I felt like I was doomed. I couldn't drink, but I couldn't not drink.
My mother had caught wind of my issue and regularly checked me upon my arrival home, for booze. I'd hide it outside, wait until 10:30pm, go get it, tell my mom I was bound for bed, and drink the whole thing. 11pm comes around and I'm finally feeling pleasantly drunk, but I needed my sleep for school the next day. I'd wake up with nothing but a bottle of rotgut booze in my system, hungover and feeling like death, every day. This goes without saying, I could not function at school.
I smoked marijuana sporadically throughout high school, and it's effects were usually unpleasant, due to thoughts I would have about the morality of my life, genuine, right on thoughts. But they weren't fun to have, because they were critical of my alcohol abusive lifestyle, and I just wanted my little blanket of misery, the booze. I was so depressed, so anxious which the booze SHOT sky high, I just...did not know how to life. Hah.
I also started fucking around with drugs, and ended up trying most everything. Benzos (Valium, xanax, halcion, Ativan), coke, meth, a Vicodin or whatever, dust off, OTC bullshite meds, whatever. 'Twas always the downers that caught me, though.
Two years of this shit culminated into me saying no more at 17 1/2. I forced myself to enjoy the good kush eventually, and this made marked strides for me in terms of staying sober. I spent 6 months lowering my levels of drinking, but I would still drink out the shop when I would indulge, occasionally as it was. I became a dry drunk. I was doing okay, but I feared I would never be able to see alcohol like a normal person, never be able to be normal. Should probably also mention that I've suffered from anxiety and depression for a while.
This year (18 now), I had a devastating house fire. I lost everything, hundreds of vinyls, hundreds of CDs and old cassettes. My music collection, I spent years and so many hours building it up. I lost my guitar. I lost my patched up metal vest, notes and art from my current girl, and my childhood room, just all gone. Family, too. I discovered that money, not family, money and property came first with them. I won't go into it cause it's a tangent and a half, but my father exhibited himself as an example of what not to be. I lived in hotels for about two months, and after running out of money and dealing with a brief abandonment by my father, my mother and I have moved back into the partially burned house, living in one downstairs bedroom and a small living room. Seeing the ruins on a daily basis has been a horrid source of anxiety and embarrassment for me.
I tried heroin for the first time two days after the fire.
I was reeling from the fire, hadn't slept, I was trying to cope with losing everything, having nowhere to stay, the immense uncertainty of it all, taking care of a little dog who was just as freaked out, and my dad was nothing but an abusive, piss-drunk cunt to my mother and I.
I left the hotel to go to a friend's house on the second day. This guy was pretty permissive. A close childhood friend also came by. There were intoxicants abound at the house, and I discover that someone had brought heroin. I was depressed, drinking, and taking halcions. I didn't think much of smoking the heroin, just cause I was so trashed. I don't know how I made it out of there, honestly. My one distinct memory is sitting there with the foil on my lap after repeated rips, looking down at a handful of Vicodin and triazolam tablets, popping them in my mouth and washing it down with the bottle of booze. I blacked out and I guess I stumbled to the hotel and caused a huge ruckus, screaming at my dad for being the way he was, ect.
Good introduction to it... He was gone the next day.
The next few months, I discovered the pleasures of heroin. Heroin was amazing at the time, I used it to cope with what had happened to my house and family and life. I only needed 20$, and I felt amazing for a day. I was just smoking at first, but then I started to mix, booze, Vicodin, Kratom, low dose benzos, lots of bud and combinations of relaxing ethnobotanicals like chamomile and valerian to increase the effects.
Tolerance got to the point where I'd need to smoke a 40 sack of tar to feel really good. Couldn't afford it, switched ROAs.
I overdosed for the first time within a week of beginning to shoot up.
Things got real; fast. Too fast. I promised myself I would quit, but within a week I was back to smoking. That was about a month ago, and I'm back to shooting and mixing drugs.
I don't know what to do. I'm almost 19, I know I'm not that deep into it with the physical addiction but I feel like my mental well-being is 100% dependent on heroin now. I'm not gonna sit here and wax poetic about opiates, but you guys know how it is. The anxiety I had, was made 100x worse by choosing to use heroin.
Today is my first day off again in at least a week, and I just feel so sad. I feel completely trapped in this life. I feel like I want to contribute to this world. I want nothing more than to go out and do something satisfying, I want to write about social justice and animal rights, I want to go travel and see something beautiful while I'm young, I want to make a grand, cheesy display of my love to my girl, I want to do SOMETHING, anything! I want my life back. I spend so long fixated on drugs, relying on drugs, waiting on drugs, for fucking nothing, and I'm scared I won't be able to get out of this. I'm scared of ODing again. I'm scared of needles and I'm paranoid constantly about infection.
I need to learn to cope. I need to control my emotions. I need some willpower. I need, I don't know what I need.
I truly feel that if I continue on this path, that I won't be long for this world. I don't want to die yet. I don't want to die again. I want things to be okay, but I feel completely, utterly overwhelmed and lonely and unable to function. I don't know what's wrong with me.
I'm sorry if this is a little disjointed. I didn't really proofread or edit the layout much
The whole sordid affair began with alcohol, my first (five) drink(s) taking place at the tender age of twelve. Even now, I really distinctly recall the warmth and the emotional release I felt after crushing that last can of Coors, rolling around in bed without a care in the god damn world. My father, grandmother, and the roommate of my sister were all boozers, so the supply was plentiful and restriction limited. I don't know if it was this, or some genetic predisposition, or what, that made me crave alcohol so; but when I drank, that was IT. Nothing else could, in my mind, match the euphoria and peaceful bliss granted to me by all those colorful elixirs lined up on Shery's cabinet, or the half-pint of Taaka sloppily placed under my dad's couch.
I've always had a tendency towards addictive-type behaviors. I found an forum post I wrote when I was twelve, recently. I was trying to ration out my supplies of alcohol, asking members of a metal forum how I should "split the bottle" to get as drunk as I could for multiple days. Most dismissed me as a troll, to my confusion at the time, and I got quite the laugh out of this, darkly humorous as it was. My drinking was rare enough for the next few years to where it wasn't a problem, but at 15, that's when I started getting bad.
I had sort of a perfect storm of circumstances that nursed and fostered my boozing at that point. There were a few street-rat kids I knew from around, just enough of losers to buy me booze, usually in exchange for a few bucks for the next bud sack. Knew a few of these sort of guys, if one wasn't available, I'd find another. My girlfriend at the time was highly aware of my growing problem, and it was also the really gross way I would FIEND alcohol that was alarming her. I'd get out of school, look for booze, drink it, and spend the rest of the day obsessing over getting more. She dumped me, and I went off the deep end.
By 16, I HAD to have a pint of vodka a day. At least. More, if I had the slightest ability to get it. I could not drink enough. Ever. I got arrested for stumbling down the street trying to skate, falling every few seconds. I got picked up for falling asleep fucked-up drunk on a nature path, woke up surrounded by emergency personnel. I got picked up after 7 Ativan down the gullet and a pint of Taaka to wash it down, waking up in a drunk tank completely naked, being informed of behavior in a previous cell that the police construed as suicidal. I've said the most horrible things to the kindest of people, those whom I love. I'm a gentle, soft spoken individual, this behavior was so not me. Alcohol had me acting like a fucking horrible, demon-cat from hell version of myself! By 17, I felt like I was doomed. I couldn't drink, but I couldn't not drink.
My mother had caught wind of my issue and regularly checked me upon my arrival home, for booze. I'd hide it outside, wait until 10:30pm, go get it, tell my mom I was bound for bed, and drink the whole thing. 11pm comes around and I'm finally feeling pleasantly drunk, but I needed my sleep for school the next day. I'd wake up with nothing but a bottle of rotgut booze in my system, hungover and feeling like death, every day. This goes without saying, I could not function at school.
I smoked marijuana sporadically throughout high school, and it's effects were usually unpleasant, due to thoughts I would have about the morality of my life, genuine, right on thoughts. But they weren't fun to have, because they were critical of my alcohol abusive lifestyle, and I just wanted my little blanket of misery, the booze. I was so depressed, so anxious which the booze SHOT sky high, I just...did not know how to life. Hah.
I also started fucking around with drugs, and ended up trying most everything. Benzos (Valium, xanax, halcion, Ativan), coke, meth, a Vicodin or whatever, dust off, OTC bullshite meds, whatever. 'Twas always the downers that caught me, though.
Two years of this shit culminated into me saying no more at 17 1/2. I forced myself to enjoy the good kush eventually, and this made marked strides for me in terms of staying sober. I spent 6 months lowering my levels of drinking, but I would still drink out the shop when I would indulge, occasionally as it was. I became a dry drunk. I was doing okay, but I feared I would never be able to see alcohol like a normal person, never be able to be normal. Should probably also mention that I've suffered from anxiety and depression for a while.
This year (18 now), I had a devastating house fire. I lost everything, hundreds of vinyls, hundreds of CDs and old cassettes. My music collection, I spent years and so many hours building it up. I lost my guitar. I lost my patched up metal vest, notes and art from my current girl, and my childhood room, just all gone. Family, too. I discovered that money, not family, money and property came first with them. I won't go into it cause it's a tangent and a half, but my father exhibited himself as an example of what not to be. I lived in hotels for about two months, and after running out of money and dealing with a brief abandonment by my father, my mother and I have moved back into the partially burned house, living in one downstairs bedroom and a small living room. Seeing the ruins on a daily basis has been a horrid source of anxiety and embarrassment for me.
I tried heroin for the first time two days after the fire.
I was reeling from the fire, hadn't slept, I was trying to cope with losing everything, having nowhere to stay, the immense uncertainty of it all, taking care of a little dog who was just as freaked out, and my dad was nothing but an abusive, piss-drunk cunt to my mother and I.
I left the hotel to go to a friend's house on the second day. This guy was pretty permissive. A close childhood friend also came by. There were intoxicants abound at the house, and I discover that someone had brought heroin. I was depressed, drinking, and taking halcions. I didn't think much of smoking the heroin, just cause I was so trashed. I don't know how I made it out of there, honestly. My one distinct memory is sitting there with the foil on my lap after repeated rips, looking down at a handful of Vicodin and triazolam tablets, popping them in my mouth and washing it down with the bottle of booze. I blacked out and I guess I stumbled to the hotel and caused a huge ruckus, screaming at my dad for being the way he was, ect.
Good introduction to it... He was gone the next day.
The next few months, I discovered the pleasures of heroin. Heroin was amazing at the time, I used it to cope with what had happened to my house and family and life. I only needed 20$, and I felt amazing for a day. I was just smoking at first, but then I started to mix, booze, Vicodin, Kratom, low dose benzos, lots of bud and combinations of relaxing ethnobotanicals like chamomile and valerian to increase the effects.
Tolerance got to the point where I'd need to smoke a 40 sack of tar to feel really good. Couldn't afford it, switched ROAs.
I overdosed for the first time within a week of beginning to shoot up.
Things got real; fast. Too fast. I promised myself I would quit, but within a week I was back to smoking. That was about a month ago, and I'm back to shooting and mixing drugs.
I don't know what to do. I'm almost 19, I know I'm not that deep into it with the physical addiction but I feel like my mental well-being is 100% dependent on heroin now. I'm not gonna sit here and wax poetic about opiates, but you guys know how it is. The anxiety I had, was made 100x worse by choosing to use heroin.
Today is my first day off again in at least a week, and I just feel so sad. I feel completely trapped in this life. I feel like I want to contribute to this world. I want nothing more than to go out and do something satisfying, I want to write about social justice and animal rights, I want to go travel and see something beautiful while I'm young, I want to make a grand, cheesy display of my love to my girl, I want to do SOMETHING, anything! I want my life back. I spend so long fixated on drugs, relying on drugs, waiting on drugs, for fucking nothing, and I'm scared I won't be able to get out of this. I'm scared of ODing again. I'm scared of needles and I'm paranoid constantly about infection.
I need to learn to cope. I need to control my emotions. I need some willpower. I need, I don't know what I need.
I truly feel that if I continue on this path, that I won't be long for this world. I don't want to die yet. I don't want to die again. I want things to be okay, but I feel completely, utterly overwhelmed and lonely and unable to function. I don't know what's wrong with me.
I'm sorry if this is a little disjointed. I didn't really proofread or edit the layout much
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