Functional Junkie

Is it possible to be a functional junkie? I'd venture to say that while a junkie might muster up some sort of half witted functionality, it wouldn't stick.

On pills I could function. The madness showed up when my supply started to run low. Panic sets in before that actually happens,and for me, by the time I scrambled up a way to fund and score my pills; panic, guilt, and shame recycled through my body more than once. I'd be a wreck by the time I popped that little savior, and boy did that make the annihilation of the nasty, dope sick that had been emerging even that much sweeter. Trapped.

My last relapse was different. I can systematically list out the steps I took to get to relapse and the everyday things that were changing in me which ultimately led to what I believe was my demise. Many of my downward spiraling steps came from my degenerating thoughts about myself and my life, but there were things I know people around me could see. Unfortunately between myself and the people around me lie a disconnect wide enough that I'd crumble to bits in less than a year.

In essence I am only trying to say that in my opinion heroin addiction cannot live simultaneous with being functional in society. One's world becomes only about heroin. The physical need continuously rises, the financial burden steadily heavies, and the emotional turmoil gets out of control. 

Having said that, I think it is the only drug that I have not been able to function on. At least on a level; at which no one suspected I used. 

The Opiate Trap in Full Effect!

Today the reality of what the opiate trap is all about weighed hard on my willpower. The hatred for the rope that tightens firmly around my neck. Longing for the relief it provides. The death of  physical and emotional pain. 

I force myself to remember the times I was stuck on the street. Desperate to score hour after hour. the sad lonely ache that never left me. I am truly feeling for the addicts out there tonight. I am thinking about them, and hoping for their safety, peace, and that they might find way out of the trap. 

A reminder to share this blog with a loved one or through social media to help reach the addicts who need a first step!

It's Not That Simple

Drug addiction is not a simple problem. We are a world that stereotypes. It's easy to group certain types of people into a box. We can toss drug addicts together in a population of bad people who only care about themselves. How could a we shoot heroin, smoke crack, drop acid, if we loved our family? If we cared about our friends why would we do that to them. Do we not care enough about our own children enough to stay clean?

These are all questions I have been asked. I have been publicly accused of caring about nothing but myself and my next fix. Sometimes the rage that cranks through my body when I hear words such as those targeted at me enrage me to the point where I must choose to say nothing in defense of myself. For if I respond in any other way I might lose full control of myself. Consequently, that brands me even more selfish. Now I flat out don't give a damn enough to even justify an answer.

Here is my question. How on earth is that fact that these drug addicts are actual. real people escaping the minds of the perfect? When asked in Elementary School what I wanted to be when I grew up, I did not say, "A Junkie!"

I had no idea I was headed down that road. My very first 'addictive' behavior was a simple act of defiance against my mother. She herself was in so much pain that she drank into a stupor night after night. Telling me I was worthless. I'd never amount to anything. I looked like a whore. (at 11 years old) I hurt so badly, all day every day, that I could barely breathe sometimes. 

So lighting up a cigarette at 14 while she was passed out downstairs seemed like a way to channel the hurt. All I wanted was to feel. To feel loved. To NOT feel lonely. To make my mother happy. Which as a child I had no idea that was impossible. She didn't not lash out at me because I did anything wrong. If only I had known that then. She DID love me. She DIDNT mean those things. She herself was in PaiN. Would I be different? I love her so much, would I have made her proud?

Would I have gone down the same roads year after year? Hurting then numbing then guilt then hurt myself more to extinguish the guilt? Rinse and repeat. Worse every time. 

I am not the only person like this. Every. Single. Addict. Has. A. Story. A story filled with pain and suffering. I'd bet my life that most of us wanted better for ourselves. By the time we were old enough to understand what was happening, our destructive paths were already well on there ways.

Are you this person? Is someone you love this person? Do you need to understand someone like this? Please follow my blog on the right. Subscribe. Follow me on Google. Shoot me an email and comment. I want something good to come from my past, pain, and stories. I want something GREAT to come out of my recovery. 

Eenie-Meenie-Minie-Moe

Eenie meenie minie moe
Pick a vice to kill your soul
any vice will kill u slow!

Eenie-meenie-minie-moe

I never like to think of myself as a 'bad person'. Unfortunately drug users get that wrap. Even if a person won't say it to you- 9 times out of 10 I am willing to bet they are discouraged I am on drugs and unable to free myself from addiction. 


I am firm in the belief that drug addition rarely stands alone. It always runs hand in hand with something else. Eating disorders, depression, sex issues, anxiety, low self esteem, breaking the law, bad relationships, childhood trauma, rape. 

The list could go on. The frustration sometimes eats me up inside that some don't understand how much is involved in becoming an addict. Resulting in the difficult path necessary to quit. Some people just don't understand. I have to accept that. 

How Did I Get This Way?

Rewind a few decades. One does not become a junkie overnight. By junkie, I mean a lifestyle. A lifestyle associated with the numbing of pain by using any means necessary. 

For a long time I tried to blame my drug addiction on anything but me. My parents divorce, childhood trauma, nobody likes me, a poor girl in a rich city, the junkie baby daddy- you name it. The fact of the matter is that all those aspects of my life contributed to me becoming a junkie. When it comes down to it we all write our own story. What we as ourselves do willingly is considered our choice. Our choices all combined over time write our story. Nobody forced me to numb my pain the way I chose to numb my pain. Sadly I don't always feel as though I had a choice, or a support system, but I did choose. 

At age 16. Drinking all day at school and on my lunch breaks. I'd drink and puke. I would force myself to throw up. Bulimia. My first attempt to alleviate my pain. Almost as if the purging itself would purge my emotion. 

I quickly learned that not only did making myself vomit not alleviate the pain, but it made it worse. (duh) 

One of the hardest things I believe that we can face in life is the realization that we have severely screwed up by our own choice. By our own free will. It's a catch-22. Once you admit (to yourself) that you chose this, you want to block that realization out as well. 

and so it began....