Woodsong
Bluelighter
I'm 26 years old. I've been addicted to opiates for four years (mainly oxycodone), and been on buprenorphine maintenance for one.
The past six months of my life have been a living hell, starting with the sudden death of my father in late April...
This is a brief and condensed version of the events that have taken place in the wake of my father's death...
A week after my father died, my boyfriend, a man I truly loved, broke up with me and moved across the country. Being unable to handle the stress and emotional turmoil, I turned back to oxycodone, and even found a new psychoactive friend: Xanax. I went on Xanax binges that lasted several weeks at a time, and I would wake up one day when I'd run out and not have a single clue what I'd been doing in that time. My co-worker and good friend (at the time) did this with me, but he had also relapsed on methamphetamine. His halfway house had shut down, and he was staying with me for a couple days after he got kicked out. I noticed him acting bizarrely one day, while we were packing his stuff into my truck to move him to a new place. We got into an argument, and he tried to choke me to death in the middle of my apartment complex parking lot. After begging him, he finally stopped. My stepmother, the new owner of the company we worked for, found out about our little altercation, and fired him. When I came back to work a week later, I pretty much had no job anymore because most of the things me and my co-worker did required two people. I went about my work days, trying to find things to do, all the while trashed on Xanax. I simply didn't know what else to do, or how else to handle what was going on in my life. My stepmother gave me several warnings and long talks about my drug use in the following weeks, until I came to work one day slurring and stumbling a lot more than usual, and she finally got fed up with me completely and fired me. Unable to pay my rent and bills, I got evicted from my apartment. I now live with my real mother, grandmother, little sister, and their six cats in a little house in the ghetto. Shortly after I moved in, I ran out of Subutex. I went completely without opiates for approximately a week, until my unemployment started coming in and I could afford to go to my psychiatrist again. That week, I spent all day and night kicking the bed, throwing up and screaming into my pillow. No opiates, no benzos, nothing to help me. I thought I would be able to make it through cold turkey, that is until my money came in, and being unable to stand the withdrawal any longer, I went back to the doctor... Whatever higher power may exist in this universe, I thank it that I never developed a physical dependence to Xanax... I'd taken it on and off for close to four months, and would typically take upwards of 20mg a day... I don't know how I came out of that unscathed apart from very large and long gaps in my memory, and a high level of anxiety for a couple weeks.
Things have finally started to even out for me, but one thing now worries me the most: That I'm going to be stuck here for the rest of my life. I'm in the middle of the goddamn ghetto. There's nowhere I'd feel safe working in this area even if could find a job. My truck is also on its last legs, and there's absolutely nothing within walking distance. My unemployment isn't going to last forever. My father had always been there to provide an anchor for me whenever I fell... There's no one in my life that I can rely on to help me anymore, financially or emotionally; my stepmother has completely abandoned me, stolen my father's company and assets... I feel that I'm going to end up wasting away the rest of my life in this dirty little room, with nothing and no one... When my grandmother finally passes away, I won't even have this house anymore. My mother is in the same boat as me; she's been here for nine years like this... I don't want to end up like that, but I don't know what to do. I barely have the strength to get out of bed in the morn-- er, afternoon...
I just wanted to get my story out there... I'm sure it's not as bad as some of your situations out there, but it's more than I personally can handle, and I don't know how to handle it... I've been to psychiatrists and therapists; they don't help, I come out of sessions just craving Xanax like a damn fiend more than ever... And that's it, really, that's all I have to say... If you've even read this far, I thank you...
The past six months of my life have been a living hell, starting with the sudden death of my father in late April...
This is a brief and condensed version of the events that have taken place in the wake of my father's death...
A week after my father died, my boyfriend, a man I truly loved, broke up with me and moved across the country. Being unable to handle the stress and emotional turmoil, I turned back to oxycodone, and even found a new psychoactive friend: Xanax. I went on Xanax binges that lasted several weeks at a time, and I would wake up one day when I'd run out and not have a single clue what I'd been doing in that time. My co-worker and good friend (at the time) did this with me, but he had also relapsed on methamphetamine. His halfway house had shut down, and he was staying with me for a couple days after he got kicked out. I noticed him acting bizarrely one day, while we were packing his stuff into my truck to move him to a new place. We got into an argument, and he tried to choke me to death in the middle of my apartment complex parking lot. After begging him, he finally stopped. My stepmother, the new owner of the company we worked for, found out about our little altercation, and fired him. When I came back to work a week later, I pretty much had no job anymore because most of the things me and my co-worker did required two people. I went about my work days, trying to find things to do, all the while trashed on Xanax. I simply didn't know what else to do, or how else to handle what was going on in my life. My stepmother gave me several warnings and long talks about my drug use in the following weeks, until I came to work one day slurring and stumbling a lot more than usual, and she finally got fed up with me completely and fired me. Unable to pay my rent and bills, I got evicted from my apartment. I now live with my real mother, grandmother, little sister, and their six cats in a little house in the ghetto. Shortly after I moved in, I ran out of Subutex. I went completely without opiates for approximately a week, until my unemployment started coming in and I could afford to go to my psychiatrist again. That week, I spent all day and night kicking the bed, throwing up and screaming into my pillow. No opiates, no benzos, nothing to help me. I thought I would be able to make it through cold turkey, that is until my money came in, and being unable to stand the withdrawal any longer, I went back to the doctor... Whatever higher power may exist in this universe, I thank it that I never developed a physical dependence to Xanax... I'd taken it on and off for close to four months, and would typically take upwards of 20mg a day... I don't know how I came out of that unscathed apart from very large and long gaps in my memory, and a high level of anxiety for a couple weeks.
Things have finally started to even out for me, but one thing now worries me the most: That I'm going to be stuck here for the rest of my life. I'm in the middle of the goddamn ghetto. There's nowhere I'd feel safe working in this area even if could find a job. My truck is also on its last legs, and there's absolutely nothing within walking distance. My unemployment isn't going to last forever. My father had always been there to provide an anchor for me whenever I fell... There's no one in my life that I can rely on to help me anymore, financially or emotionally; my stepmother has completely abandoned me, stolen my father's company and assets... I feel that I'm going to end up wasting away the rest of my life in this dirty little room, with nothing and no one... When my grandmother finally passes away, I won't even have this house anymore. My mother is in the same boat as me; she's been here for nine years like this... I don't want to end up like that, but I don't know what to do. I barely have the strength to get out of bed in the morn-- er, afternoon...
I just wanted to get my story out there... I'm sure it's not as bad as some of your situations out there, but it's more than I personally can handle, and I don't know how to handle it... I've been to psychiatrists and therapists; they don't help, I come out of sessions just craving Xanax like a damn fiend more than ever... And that's it, really, that's all I have to say... If you've even read this far, I thank you...
Last edited:
