Sunday, July 17, 2016

Numb

I have said before that heroin probably saved my life. I still believe that. I know that doesn't make sense to the uniformed. How is it this substance that grabs the user by the throat and leads them around could possibly have a positive impact? Well, it was certainly true in my case. There comes the point in the life of a suicidal person where there are only sparse alternatives. For me, drugs were the very last one. The crippling depression I had experienced since I was an adolescent was pulling me under like a rip current. I no longer could paddle my way to the sandy beach. The more I tried, the more I felt the undertow. The cold blackness pulled at me until I felt as if I was walking around in life, merely gasping for air.

Heroin, for all the myriad of drawbacks, provided a brief salve for my mental wounds. I didn't go STRAIGHT to heroin, of course. I had to work my way around the other opioids first. Eventually, those had become less and less effective. Never the less, they call them "pain killers" for a reason. They soothed my pain. The pain that I had deep inside of me. That pain told me I was worthless. That pain told me no one loved me. That pain told me day after days in a variety of ways that the world would be better off if I was not in it. So- there it was. The heroin was a triumph of sorts. It gave me the way to navigate all the fucked up things my mind told me. Instead of battling my demons, I was chasing my tail. The struggle to maintain a drug habit is a sudoku of sorts. You are constantly trying to find the right combination to unlock the puzzle of life. It is a puzzle you can never finish once you start playing. The only way I could win was to walk away.

Someone asked me this week how I could have compassion for active drug users. I guess it is because I understand them. I am them. I ate all the candy then evolved into my final form. We found the same joy, felt the same pain, and travel the same path. It bonds us. The fraternal order of the spoon so to speak. We made a blood oath to the same master only to see it change faces.

I love you all. I hope you are having a good Sunday. XOXO Tracey.

5 comments:

  1. Beautiful writing

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  2. Hi, Tracey. I am an active addict, mother, nurse, and wife. My poison is Dilaudid and H. Of course, I'm difficult. I can't even like what I most readily have access to: Oxycodone and hydrocodone. I am a "functional addict." When I'm sick, I lash out at my husband. I hate who I am and what I have asked of others. I have hurt my parents, husband, friends, and it is only a matter of time before I hurt my son. I have had coworkers, friends, family, and bosses lie and cover for me.

    Even now, I am counting down for when a "random" drug test is over on Thursday so I can score on Friday, if I make it that long. I will pass the test and shoot myself into oblivion after a week long break. The worst of the physical illness is gone, but I'm still hooked.

    I hurt so much. I love my husband and son so much, but I can't quit. Any bliss of a nod is cut off by the sadness of missing out. I can't stop, and I know that means minutes are going to slip through my fingers like grains of sand.

    I know it's sobriety or death. And every day is a march closer to something.

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    1. That is a ton of stuff going on. You might like my book- it might kick something off in there. I am pulling for you. The family needs you

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  3. What happened to Oreo from the black tar heroin documentary glad to see you're doing well I hope he's doing well too I lived in the Bay Area when I was 18 I lived in Martinez California and I was born in San Francisco California I now live in Seattle been here 6 years now I was about 18 or 19 in 1995

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    1. The last I heard from his mom he was clean and married but someone came on my blog and said he died of car accident. Not sure if that is true or not.

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