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Recovery is a serious work

spacebean

Greenlighter
Joined
Jun 1, 2014
Messages
11
heads up it's kind of a long post. firstly, I'm not super addicted to anything, physical w/d's were VERY light for me. i'm saying this because despite that, it's fucking hard and I think I finally get what this is about. my heart goes out to you guys struggling and I wish you all luck. here's a little write up of how I slipped.


Day 20 clean and sober, or since I wanted to be. When I woke up to day 13 after dreaming so vividly of using, I went to score immediately. I was having crazy dreams of using constantly, sometimes waking up with extreme guilt or having a panic attack. This time it was somehow different, maybe because I had a free day. Unproductive free time is truly dangerous, not having any free time to work on yourself is dangerous, time is a fucking tightrope. I was high all of Saturday and barely slept. Sunday was going to be my day of recovery, back on track. After waking up I put on some clothes to do some exercise in, and when I reach for the skipping rope under the table, I find a bag of heroin I lost about a month ago. I bought two and I thought the second was empty, I was obviously really fucked up as I was trying to open it and it fell on the ground. I consider flushing it down the toilet, before realising that it’s a gesture so infuriatingly thankless that I would go buy one anyway, probably treat myself to a bag for throwing one out, the moral gymnastics of a heroin addled contortionist. I start exercising wondering how it will be to have a heroin high on top of the post-work out high. I do about 20 seconds of exercise before fucking that off and getting to the point – the heroin.

Okay now it’s Monday, time to get serious, back on track. I have uni classes to attend. Not the time to fuck around. It’s an uninspiring day, empty and grey, I feel every second while I wait for the sun to finally go down.
Tuesday, I’m back on track. As I’m leaving to go to a full day of uni, the post arrives - 50mg of clanozolam, a benzo notorious for its tendency to cause blackouts, that I ordered intending to give to a friend. It turned out the friend couldn’t take it and I had to figure out something else to do with it, but it had been in my hands for too long. After trying to find a reason to take it and not convincing myself of anything I’m exhausted and take 0.45mg. I feel great afterwards. I’m late to class, it flies. My memory of Tuesday is so hazy. I skip my last class to go score. I’m nodding out in my bed eating chocolate every time on the life -side of the nod. Lazy, hedonistic, sloth-like transitions between the two perfect states.
The first memory I have of Wednesday morning is going to score. I must have took the clanozolam as soon as I woke up. I cook the heroin in the train toilet on the way to uni and shoot up in a café toilet before walking into class. Nodding out in class, my lecturer asks me if I’m sick or tired, I tell her both. She says I should leave. On the way home, I walk past the student office. I go in and say that I really need to speak to a therapist, that’s all I remember. I don’t know if I told them what for, but I have an appointment. I get home and pour the clanozolam down the sink and throw away all of my drug related stuff.
It’s now Saturday night, 7 days after I slipped up. I’m starting to feel better. The clarity and stability is coming back. I feel almost Zen-like, but I’m not fucking myself over again thinking I’m out of the woods this time. I was over-confident before, didn’t avoid triggers. I’m glad I slipped up honestly, it was inevitable and could have been so much worse.
 
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