Why are you addicted?

Because sometimes reality sucks. And then even when you think maybe it doesn't, you've been using so long it's too late to stop and suddenly you realise life still sucks.
 
I'm addicted to feeling high and euphoric....I get high because of mental/physical pain...I haven't talked to anybody about what I've been through...all the higher up think I'm just trying to get a fix off of opiates but in reality I've had chronic back pain since 2004 and been taking 6 500mg of tylenol or excedrin 3 times a day for a year now so my tolerance to pain meds are extremely high and has little to no effect on me...
 
The age old question


Im a firm beleiver that there is no reason why I was addicted. I beleive its just the result of some bad decisions.

Ive come to the conclusion they everyone on this earth had a rough up bringing. No one was raised perfect. Everone lacked love, and so on and soo forth. Its just a matter of how you dealt with them.
 
Alot of it was simply because i like the drugs im addicted to. I love opiates and alcohol plain and simple. Also if im stressed, depressed, suicidal, lonely, etc opiates help.

I also have severe chronic pain and only opiates really help. Unfortunatly i use them for psychological pain as well as physical and ended up hitting the needle as well. That wasent the worst part of my addiction but due to the stigma of injecting it caused quite abit of friction with various people :p
 
I was due to: escape, constant availability, price, possible depression or summat, and "why be sober when I can feel good man?" attitude
 
I blame it on that trench coated guy behind the fence in the school yard, pssst. first one is free kid. ha

why? no clue
 
I've become addicted to altering my consciousness because I am highly intelligent and, as such, am uncannily efficient at manipulating my perception of the damage my use/abuse causes me. I can find justification for using drugs in reaction to most any event in my life. I do not regret the vast number and variety of things I have experienced; rather, I feel hopeless to stop in lieu of my overactive, sheisty mind. It's upsetting and unsettling - every.single.day.

...vaya
 
"I do not regret the vast number and variety of things I have experienced; rather, I feel hopeless to stop in lieu of my overactive, sheisty mind. It's upsetting and unsettling - every.single.day."

i do relate, and see you with some hyper-analysis of everything around you, and 24/7 pain, of the body and mind. but not my soul, entirely, that is more resilient then the ret of me.

;)

opioids, and med marij. nothing illicit, i cant handle long lasting psychedelics anymore(i do enjoy my dmt etc.) sick and bore with E and the rest, alcohol, cocaine, and apms are things i can not ever do, i dont at all, i could stick a G to my fridge and it would end up kicked underneath it haha, same with booze, can not and have no desire to. sick.
 
A copy-paste from another document I had written, a reflection right after getting out of rehab:

December 1, 2009

Prologue

Who am I Right now I’m what the doctors say I am. A patient. Just another statistic. According to the admission documents I was admitted for:

Severe Rapid-cycling Bipolar I, polysubstance dependence, history of physical aggression, suicidal ideation and attempts, psychosis, ahedonia, catatonia, flat affect, neglect of hygiene, sleep problems, decreased appetite, and panic attacks.

Despite abusing whatever I could get my hands on and narcotics being my drug of choice, I was dependent on: All kinds of opiates/opioids, anxilyotic and hypnotic benzos, pregabilin, Zaleplon, Marijuana, Chloral Hydrate, carisoprodol, methylphenidate, DXM, and amphetamines.

Nothing has affected me more profoundly than drugs and/or addiction, and nothing ever will. I wrote a chronology of every drug I did till I threw it away last year, which totaled dozens and dozens of different drugs I have tried at the time. It's supposed to be light-hearted recreation, of course. I’ve certainly introduced a lot more shit in my body since then. It is strange how a simple organic chemical can alter your life for good, for every second you see tick by, for every breath you take, for every single input your brain puts into for thinking about craving and needing such a subject. But are not chemicals and circuitry the very basis of our existence? Without those things, we are nothing. To abuse your mind is to abuse your reality and everything and everyone around you for you are not a member of existence as you were meant to be, but a stain of existence that would no longer be the same without that clear-headedness, without the nodding all day, without speeding so fast others can’t follow; You become the parasite, laying ruin to everything. Hope is key, for cures are impossible at the present moment, one must search desperately to something – anything- greater than himself previously undiscovered (without necessarily the implication of a higher power) for that very person that started this imprisonment has failed himself; he should not rely on himself as he knew himself at that time and even throughout his entire life to recover on that basis. A problem (the person himself) cannot fix a problem (overcoming addiction/alcoholism).

I was under the influence of drugs immediately after I had been birthed. I was an 11-pounder and had a difficult birth. It is miraculous I actually survived that alone, let alone the fact I have survived two decades. The toxicity of the drug caused profound hearing loss in both ears. God knows what it was administered to me as treatment. It’s always ironic knowing, many professionals may have very well been outside on smoke break watching a squad car whizzing by to bust the dealer in a beaten ’78 Cadillac; inhaling their nicotine despite the fact that all psychoactive effects have dissipated and is merely for maintenence, their Marlboros or Newports or whatever bullshit, sipping a 400mg caffeine Starbucks latte or Dunkin' Donuts brands of black coffee or whatever bullshit. As the nicotine fog dissipates, one begins to notice the street’s almost always lit up with billboards promoting alcohol and adjacent to that street would be a headshop with kratom, salvia, paraphernalia, spice and if one is not too jaded by this overwhelming location, found all across the world manifesting in different environments, that it is virtually impossible to not pass at least a couple liquor stores on your way back, undoubtedly responsible for the countless alcoholics in this environment to relapse back to their misery. And the four gas stations on the intersection appealing to a base group of customers This illustrates my point drugs are fucking everywhere, they cannot be avoided, period. Everyone seems to be self-medicating even if they’re not aware, one is exposed to psychoactive substances daily and if not, there’s always paint. Kids in Africa inhale raw sewage to get high as started around the mid-90s. I think it’s just human nature to escape reality and perfectly healthy if done right. If one thinks doing drugs frequently is an appropriate way to have fun then that person is like I was for years and I would find that very frightening. This is often the case for the aforementioned unrestricted substances and paraphernalia as well as easily accessing the arbitrarily scheduled drugs via many means.

They, and I stress the word they regarding substances, backhand you into denial, fear, blackouts, and comas and mutilate you so painfully and slowly that the Spanish Inquisition would probably find it too inhumane to practice. You come back to what’s left of your senses until that next fiending episode takes over. You’re left with guilt, shame, regret, self-hatred, self-pity, low-self esteem if you succumb to whatever they, and if you’re really far down the rabbit hole (for better or worse), you’re further affirmed you are not a sane person by any means – a profoundly disconcerting experience affirming how dire the situation truly is. As a drug addict of my own, I still have not accepted I am not a sane person fully. As a bipolar, when I look at the antipsychotics and mood stabilizers in my hand produced by the same pharmaceutical companies soccer moms find safe enough to take excessive amounts daily, I think nothing of it; nothing of the fact there is something really wrong with me. There has been perhaps 2 minutes of my 5 years of use that I was capable of the severity of my affliction. Acceptance of insanity, the insanity of addiction, is a profoundly tough pill (pill of your choice, of course) to swallow, snort, inject, plug.

I am merely illustrating a point of how silly, how fucking silly our society looks at, treats with, and use drugs. I’m a prime example as will be explained along with my personal motives to abuse and sustain addiction. This is a story of a junkie, a junkie who wants out.

My Story

I overdosed almost immediately after I was born, causing permanent profound hearing loss. This would affect me for the rest of my life. I grew up. I was a child of genius capacity (and in this case, the suggestion that those with above average intelligence lack common sense would come back to haunt me. I had all the joy in the world despite my physical disability, always smiling, always inquisitive, always eager. My early childhood was great. I had a lot of limitations due to being deaf but my mother and I fought to bypass them. I played in sports, I had a sufficient amount of friends for birthday parties, and many people, heterosexual females and homosexual males, just seemed to be attracted to me.

However, my even earlier childhood was far too much to cope with. Every single day from about age 4 I would come home from school crying in despair, incapable of relating to the Deaf culture surrounding me when I attended an educational facility specifically and only for those who were deaf (for the record, I hate the word "hearing impaired," explaining my repetitive use of the word "deaf". Despite my extreme popularity there, that suppression and frustration of feeling so different, especially with the lack of understanding regarding such frustration, somehow would culminate in extremely violent temper tantrums once I arrived at the safe haven of home. Strangely enough, all my other behavior not related to such subject matter was completely acceptable.

At age 7, my impassivity began to rear its face. I recall desperately almost to the point of begging wanting a drink that I knew had intoxicating properties (oh, delicious licor de minte), my grandmother had in her RV while socializing with the grown-up extended family members. All she allowed was literally a single droplet or two of the beverage. I wanted more. I was not satisfied. More. More. More. But that request was of course rejected and the anger I felt in the school for the deaf grew to the point where I just had to leave the place. That could be considered the genesis of substance abuse there for me.

I transferred out of the school for the deaf after measuring my intelligence, which was exceptional enough that the staff strongly advised my parents to transfer me to mainstream education for deaf education was (and still is) so poor that the average literacy of an adult is at the fourth grade level. I one of the first deaf people in the history of the state of Georgia to do such. Overwhelming at first but I had gotten acclimated to this strange environment soon enough and found myself more satisfied in this environment. Elementary school was nothing eventful; Kids at that age appear to lack the judgment, no matter how ridiculous, intolerant, and arbitrary it would be to treat me any differently. Therefore, I had a preconceived notion in my mind that life would be going along smoothly, especially in regards to my educational career.

True horror came at age 11. This was around the time I was transitioning to middle school. Kids start to a lot more socially aware and a lot more prejudiced at those who are different at that age. I was clearly different in many ways other than my hearing loss, I was pretty obviously ethnic being half-Arab, and I began to displace my extroverted personality with painful shyness as instinct for avoidance of this hostile environment. I was constantly being insulted, even lightly assaulted, not merely for just stupid reasons, but no reason at all. I secluded myself to the point where I no longer had any friends whatsoever in the school. Middle school was the 3rd level of Hell. I developed extremely deep suicidal depression, my parents suspected something was wrong and set up appointments for psychotherapy. All I remember was completely lying about being suicidal for I knew there would be potentially serious consequences (possible institutionalization). This depression continued to worsen and worsen for years. I started developing very "eccentric" behavior, so to speak, and my interpreters, both of which coincidentally had close relatives with bipolar were undoubtedly sure that I fit the criteria and were vocal about their concerns, of which I dismissed.

Age 13. I do not remember which came first since they were so close in time proximity, but this would constitute my first experiences with intoxication. One, I recall visiting Mayan ruins on a cruise ship and was shown coca leaves, which I promptly chewed up, having no clue it had psychoactive properties. First real psychoactive experience. My level of use was zero otherwise. I didn’t really touch drugs again till about 15. Then DXM takes center stage at that age. It was cheap and easy to get for a kid with no contacts. I thought I’d use responsibly but in retrospect that was far from the truth. These were pills with assloads of chemicals and I was taking an SSRI with it along with 900mg for my first fucking time. I loved it, honestly. Did it again and again. Then I started using the internet more, getting to know the wrong people, and especially trying to intellectualize my use by using my extensive research on drugs to justify abuse, as if that really mattered. I got to be such pharmacology intellectual that my own psychiatrist told me that I deserve to write prescriptions to myself because I know more than even he does. But what did it matter? I only focused on the positives and not the negatives, I was too fucking invincible.

This same age, I suddenly had what I thought was an epiphany, though in foresight it was my second episode of hypomania. That wonderful euphoria that had since dissipated returned and I didn’t feel like doing drugs any longer (I tend to abuse most when, from least to most likely: depressed, manic, mixed). I stopped my medication, I was cured apparently. Things started going wrong after a few months. I started seeing and hearing things that were not there. It was so chaotic that it’d be as if trying to explain a Pollack painting in detail to a blind man. When all this insanity was over, I went online, learned to make a noose with a bathrobe belt, and hanged myself. The material of the robe caused it to slip along with faulty tying, so obviously I survived. Went straight to the juvenile ward at the institution for 14 days until I was declared so hopeless that nothing could be done and I was discharged.

Around 15 or 16 would be when I truly got the whole package of dependency, I stole my mother’s Vicodin 7.5/500, popped a couple and had the top 5 most euphoric experiences of my life: first orgasm, first time ever trying a narcotic, falling in love… A sad list in a way. The first time I popped that 15mg of hydrocodone I knew I was fucking addicted. I knew there was NO way in hell I could abstain from this. I HAD to feel like this forever, who gives a shit if I die or get sick or whatever, I NEEDED it. More than food, I weighed 112 pounds at 5’10’’. It was amongst the most frightening experiences of my life. I find it to be a catalyst for polysubstance addiction which I won’t even bother to go in detail because I did SO many fucking drugs SO often.

My mother is a Registered Nurse. My dad, a Pediatrician. Given their occupation, guess part of the reason, despite their best efforts, how I managed to get absolutely asinine amounts of chemicals for years? Not to say they handed it to me at all, hell no, but even now as I’m trying to recover, drugs are fucking all around me. Drugs I can’t get rid of. Does that mean I didn’t do illicit drugs though? Hell no. I got so deep in the drug trade that it was scaring the shit out of me. The DEA were baiting me trying to see if I was stupid enough to fall for their traps, I saw fucking white vans like as in a stereotypical spy movie parked outside my house all the time, it was all completely ridiculous because I later found out I was a major supplier for this specific area and the DEA was on my ass. Fucking neighborhood watch. I kept dealing for a real short while because the money was so good ($350 a fucking week for a teenager) but I’ve called it quits to cover my ass.

In January 2009, I intentionally took a massive overdose (200-300 pills of all dangerous drugs with a bottle of tequila) because the depression was unbearable, just unbearable. I barely lived and went into a coma for days. I was transferred to the psych ward in the hospital. It is not an experience I am comfortable talking about.

Continue drugs.

My mother reported another overdose (unintentional) that same month. I learned about that at rehab just a couple weeks ago, no memory of it at all. I’ve even found narcan vials lying around just in case.

Continue drugs.

I was committed to the adult psych ward again in February for reasons I cannot even remember anymore. I’ve been there 5 times and have been psychotic so often that I just have very poor recall. I was there for 2 months or so, so I’m fairly sure I just had a psychotic break based on the fact I remember nothing and stayed there forever. I remember thinking I was Jesus Christ and my roommate wanted to kill me, that’s about it.

Continue drugs.

In June, I took 600mg Temazepam which I had now had a full blown addiction to. That sounds like a dose that’d kill an elephant, this is basically as strong as roofies and it only takes 15mg to knock people out, 60mg for extremely addictive recreation. I was unaware huge overdoses of benzodiazepines could cause profound aggression so I wielded a decorative sword and started to swing it at everyone if they wouldn’t give me any fucking Valium. The cops were called as I rushed to my room psychotically trying to amputate myself but finding the blade too dull to do the job, so I dropped the sword and attempted to jump out the window, smoking a final cigarette while looking down, too high to realize 4 fucking squad cars were gonna be there in less than 2 minutes and 2 ambulances awaiting any casualties. I remember waking up in a hospital gown and being escorted to the ambulance again, this time the destination was the same psych ward for adults. There’s not much to say about Cottage C, there’s nothing to do…

Continue drugs… and take it to the extreme.

I had ODed 7 times in 2009 alone for it was time to turn to the needle. I was injecting so much for a few reasons: my tolerance was so high I felt nothing whatsoever at this point unless I slammed it, and even then the high was 15 seconds. Veins collapsed in the crook of my arm, moved to my forearm, collapsed there too, moved to my hands, collapsed. Repeated it on the other arm and hit a fucking artery, got deep vein thrombosis, AND blood poisoning. That basically means HUGE chance of death when you see a rush of blood shooting the plunger out of the barrel. I knew I was gonna die and if I lived it’d be an amputation to live with. This was profoundly traumatic. But by some miracle the only problem I have is that I’ve now lost the feeling in my left arm as well as a most likely permanent scar at site of injection.

That should have been a reality check but I tried injecting in my leg regardless, ended up hitting a nerve (and had the "nerve" to keep injecting anyway) and almost getting that amputated too. It got to the point where I was fucking injecting in my jugular vein. I no longer gave a shit if I lived or died, then again, that ship had already sailed by ages ago. That’s how meaningless life was to me.

So I do the same old boring pattern of binge/intoxication, seeking, withdrawal until Halloween Eve, I get violently drunk and destroy property. My mother said jail or Ridgeview. I chose Ridgeview obviously (in retrospect, I would have picked jail instead). That is another story. Now I’m out and I feel like this is my last chance. All paths are more appealing than the masochistic comfort of returning backwards to what you once knew, what made you love it, however temporary, in all its deceit to bow down to its will and allow yourself amongst the greatest punishment of mankind. Addiction.
 
If your looking for the reason, youll never know what the the reason is why you use. There pprobibly isnt a reason.
 
I've become addicted to altering my consciousness because I am highly intelligent and, as such, am uncannily efficient at manipulating my perception of the damage my use/abuse causes me. I can find justification for using drugs in reaction to most any event in my life. I do not regret the vast number and variety of things I have experienced; rather, I feel hopeless to stop in lieu of my overactive, sheisty mind. It's upsetting and unsettling - every.single.day. ...vaya
^This. I use to further wall myself away from others. I sit solemy atop barren castle only aiding my delusions of grandeur. Oh.....where has the time gone. Where have I gone?
 
i'm not addicted. i don't have any control over my thoughts or emotions while baseline. i have dyslexia (w/dyspraxia). stimulation allows me to express my thoughts & control my behavior. the dyspraxia means that i don't have a good sense of coordination, planning & executing skills, space or direction

as a kid, i wrote backwards & walked into walls. i went through a few years of developmental exercises (crawling, chair spinning, routines) which helped a lot. i still have little sense of time, distance, direction, space, planning+executing plans.. things like driving and following directions take a lot of effort. like i'll get lost 10 times before i know how to get somewhere, or someone will talk to me and i just hear noise.. i forget to bathe, eat, spend hours/days just sitting there in a daze

i've never been hyper. i've had low energy all my life. some days i can't get out of bed. i'm always tired. probably cause i'm trying so hard to focus to get anything done. then make myself impsulsive, cause if i think about some action i just obsess over it & get frustrated. then i'm immobilized

so i can choose that life or the life of stimulation (drugs) and therapy, facing whatever aftermath awaits me. maybe having a shitty life is better than having no life. who knows.. i certainly don't have any answers. all i can do is try to function & build a life or say fuck it and give up
 
Theres always an underlying issue. Things aren't always forefront and may take time to unearth.

Well Everyone has underlying issues. Yet not everyone takes the drug route to cover their issues. No one is perfect, and everyone has problems in life, hundreds of them. How are you gonna pin point what problem caused your addiction out of 100s of problems. Thats insanity if you think you can.

I beleive the longer you search for the reason you got into your addiction, the longer your gonna stay in your addiction. This comes from experience. I work at a rehab, and Ive yet to meet someone who found the reason why they became addicted..

Theres only one reason, thats bad decisions... Period. This comes from my personal experience and line of work.
 
I am addicted to nicotine because.. well, I have no idea really!
I am addicted to amphetamines because my brain fancys euphoria and stimulation, I am addicted to benzodiazepines because I am also addicted to amphetamine, and consequently, suffer anxiety and insomnia which is sometimes crippling.
Addiction, feels bad, man.
 
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