Well howdy-ho, neighbor-eenos!

[MadmSelfDestruct]

Hello, everyone!
To anyone who cares-- (I can't imagine there are many who do, lol)-- here is the watered-down version of my story: My name is Laura. I am 24 years old (soon to be 25, once the beginning of August arrives) and live in South Jersey. I began engaging in the use of illicit drugs practically the moment I hit puberty. I was suddenly seething with an immense amount of obligatory teenage angst, and feeling angry, unhappy, and hopelessly miserable literally every moment I was conscious. My older brother introduced me to weed when I was 13-- however, I did not feel the effects of the THC the first time I smoked... it was not until I shared an enormous blunt with my big bro and his best friend that I discovered I had the wonderful ability to alter my conscious perception of reality and well-being, if I simply desired to. It didn't take me long to move on to stronger drugs-- by the age of 14 I was popping various painkillers, benzos, and stimulants. At the tender age of 15, I got my hands on three klonapin (they were yellow, I'm still not sure what the dosage was) and three sixty milligram Morphine pills. I saved them until later in the evening, and moronically took them all at the same time... Hence, as I slept that night, my respiratory system was shutting itself down. By the grace of God, my father just so happened to be late for work that day, and as he was walking toward his truck to leave for work, it dawned on him he had seen my backpack at some point as he was getting ready to go... he decided to check to see if I had forgotten to bring it with me to school, or if I had not gone to school at all, and ended up finding me sprawled on my bed, blue and purple, and barely breathing. He told me I was taking a short and pathetic attempt to inhale about every 6 seconds. The next thing I remember is a sharp pain and lots of yelling.. the paramedics had given me an adrenaline shot and were screaming at me to reveal what I had taken. I would have died that morning if my father hadn't decided to check on me... and yet, inexplicably,, this did not deter my drug use even a little bit! What I drew from that horrible experience was, "Well, now I know to be more careful, and to do my research before mixing different chemicals". Both my mother and father were prescribed various narcotic drugs-- my mother has multiple sclerosis, and my father had complications from hernia surgery, back problem, obstructive sleep apnea, carpal tunnel, and worst of all-- the disease of addiction. By the age of 16 he was sharing alcohol, vicodin, and xanax with me. I recall him taking me to the local bar, getting me served by bribing the waitress, and giving me a blue xanax on the way home, stating, 'take this, Laura, you'll be flying!'... my boyfriend at the time made me flush it down the toilet, but I really had not wanted to. My father died suddenly in June of 2004 from what was ruled an accidental overdose, and my using progressed into complete insanity. ANYWAY... I am blabbering on about shit I'm sure none of you care about. Long story short: I escalated into using several 80mg Oxycontin's, handfuls of 10mg Vicodins and 30mg Adderalls, and countless Xanax daily for years. I am a baby when it comes to Opiate withdrawal, so it held a powerful grip on me for a long, long time. I've been to 2 rehabs in the last year, and still I relapsed shortly after discharge each time. The second time I had a fighting chance, I moved into an Oxford house and got through 60 days of not touching any narcotics or alcohol... however, my house mates found out I was taking extras of my own medications (mild stuff such as Trazadone, Clonidine, and Vistaril) and notified me that this is considered a relapse. They kicked me out, and I was so disgusted by the fact I had even passed their 12 panel drug test, but STILL was kicked out into the streets, I thought, 'fuck it, I didn't even get to get high!' and thus, I did. Since then my addiction has reached new heights. I've recently been introduced to dope... sniffed it for a while, and (naturally) ended up with the daily ritual of booting it up. Two weeks ago I began the Methadone clinic, and am currently taking 60mg daily... however, I'm terrified from the numerous horror stories regarding Methadone detox, and plan to see the clinic's doctor on Monday and request a blind, gradual detox. It's going to be extremely difficult for me now, way harder then when I was just eating lots of pills everyday.. because, now I am in love with the needle. The inability to perform the ritual, the process, watch the blood pour into the syringe, and anticipate the inevitable rush is going to be a whole new ballgame regarding getting clean again. I do not get high from shooting a bag of dope anymore, but have found a different kind of rush now in shooting coke. I hate how short lasting it is, and yet I can not get enough. I'm scaring myself. I need to get my act together.

Well... wow, no one is going to read all of that.. but it was kind of therapeutic for me to type it all out. So there's that. I am Laura and I am definitely an addict, as well as an alcoholic. I can not do anything I thoroughly enjoy in moderation, I ALWAYS overdo it. I believe it's the way my brain is wired... I wish I had a 'reset' button I could push! 8)