Ambitiously Destroyed by Impossible Perfection

Note: This entry was written yesterday, December 29, 2010.
Perfect=Impossible. So why do I continuously destroy myself in attempts to be perfect? It's so hard when I am consistently and ambitiously working to win my family and boyfriend's approval; yet still feel like they would be better off--and happier--without me. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and think of how much my death would positively impact their lives in the long run... I know they would be pretty shaken up; however, they would get over it. My boyfriend would move on and get a prettier, nicer, and most of all more sane (anyone else he would date would be more sane than me no matter what) girlfriend. Someday he'd marry that girl, and have little babies. My mom's life wouldn't change what-so-ever, because we're hardly in each other's lives. My brother would still graduate college, have a family, and based on his intelligence and potential be a very successful adult. My dad though, I have no idea what he'd do. He's definitely one of the main reasons I'm still breathing right now; as with my boyfriend. I live with my dad and boyfriend in a cheap--but still nice--townhouse, which is about a twenty minute walk to my school. My dad's older brother killed himself when he was younger and his mom recently passed away. His father (my grandfather) died before his brother's demise. I just couldn't add his only daughter to that list. I did succeed in one of my attempts to the point that I was hospitalized for a week; I took forty sleeping pills (Trazadone) and drank a fifth of tequila. My mom refused to call an ambulance when I realized I couldn't do that to my family. Thank god my grandma was on the phone and heard my pleas and called an ambulance. According to the doctors if my Grandma hadn't been on the phone I would've died. Sometimes I wish she didn't call, my Mom actually said that to me once: that she wished my grandma hadn't called. A different time she said that she had an abortion before she had my brother, then she said that if she hadn't have had it she wouldn't have had me because she only wanted two kids. She literally said she wished she wouldn't have had the abortion so I never would've been born and I'm right there beside her wishing that sometimes, even though she denies it now. However, if my Grandma wouldn't have called I never would've met my current boyfriend which would be a huge thing to miss. I don't regret that we met through drugs I care that we met. I love him more than anything on this Earth, I just wish he would give me a break sometimes. I feel like he won't acknowledge anything he does wrong but points out every little thing I do. It makes me hate myself more and more each time. I need to feel loved not hated, yet I don't know if I have truly felt loved by anyone; whether I know they do or not I've never truly felt it. My life has been so bizarre and misplaced that I never really could rely on anyone, and that's why I never let my guard down due to the fact I couldn't trust anyone. However, I let my boyfriend in and now I somewhat regret it. He has lied to me more than he has tried to tell me the flat out truth. I feel like heroin has killed him: he won't talk to me most of the time, I can barely see that I turn him on anymore I just try to believe him when he says I do... But most of the time I can't. Why would he want to look at me when he shows so much more interest in other girls. I just wish that once a month he gave me the look I've seen on his face so many times aimed at other girls. I wish I could be better. I wish I was less self-conscious, I wish I didn't hate myself, I wish I could just stop using, I wish I could be somewhat close to perfect, but most of all I wish I wasn't so alone.

One Moment can Change a Million After it

Yesterday, I used. However, today is going to be the start of the rest of my life. I need to get clean, there is no other choice. Heroin has withered away everything that was once me and I hope I can find myself again. The depression is overwhelming, and I know quitting will contribute to lessening that. I am almost positive I am bipolar. I am planning to see a psychiatrist; yet, the fear of my own diagnosis being proven true is paralyzing. I can no longer run from my problems, I must face them head on or else I will never go anywhere, except an early grave. Actually, I should make the appointment now. I will, today is a new day. I'll just take it one step at a time, and I'll persevere until my life get's better. One day equals a million possibilities.

Oh the Holidays...

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Let's see, I don't even know where to begin. I guess I should start at the very beginning of yesterday and work my way up. For some reason, the night before Christmas Eve, I had some woman's intuition and for once turned my phone off. Fast-Forward to seven a.m. Christmas Eve morning: unbeknown to me my mother called my father and subsequently bitched him out for no reason. Following, at approximately nine-thirty I was half awake and turned my phone back on; literally like two minutes later *ring, *ring, Drops of Jupiter sang out my phone. Yawning and still half awake I answer when my mom says "How dare you." At this point I'm like: oh shit she's messed up this early in the morning. Following, my Mom tells me how I am a horrible daughter who needs to be institutionalized--and let's face it this is close to the truth. After that she continued to make me feel like shit for no reason, especially when she said I ruined her, my father's, and grandmother's Christmas's. However, this was at nine-thirty in the morning; therefore, I hadn't even had the chance to do anything wrong, yet I was still in the situation. That night, after visiting my friend at the hospital who has a blood-clot (from heroin), I reluctantly went to my mom's to eat dinner and open presents; which has been the plan for months. But when do plans follow through with my family? Of course things went wrong: I literally expected it because that's how my mom is.We get there and I immediately know she's drunk; actually, I had known she was drunk since nine-thirty: so never-mind, haha. She kept trying to hand me presents and her husband kept telling her to wait. We were all starving, and I was definitely with her husband and step-daughter when she was told a million times to stop and wait until we ate and could relax. This resulted in her saying, "no Natalie, now you don't get to open presents anymore!" Wow, Mom you're so mature. Her husband ended up letting me open a few presents after dinner, but she then told me "that's enough you don't get anymore." One present I knew I was getting was Seven jeans (expensive), which she had money for due to her recent marriage. I knew because she needed to fold them so she knew where to hem them to. Well she ended up cutting them--you sew the ends up when you hem pants so you can adjust them if they're too short!--to a length above my ankles. Her husband was in denial, "ha that was an expensive mistake!" So I smoked crack and did heroin yesterday. That's my idiotic rationalization so I feel I deserve the escape. And that was only Christmas Eve! Fast-forward to today (Christmas), Everything went according to plan; my brother came to my dad, boyfriend, and I's apartment for breakfast, then we opened presents. My brother left to go back to my grandmother's (where he lives), and my Dad hopped in the shower. My boyfriend and I were supposed to go to my grandmothers and my Dad was just gonna meet us there. However, we called our drug-dealer and met him close to my grandmothers. We saved it for later and went to my Grandma's. At three-forty five, I called my mom (who of course didn't answer) and then called her husband trying to figure out where they were since dinner was supposed to be at three so my boyfriend and I could eat with my family then go to his mom's at five (who is pretty much my mom since I don't really have one). Her husband was amazed claiming my mom said that the time was flexible and didn't tell him the exact time, was currently passed out, and they were at home.* Mom showed up still drunk, but too late and we started opening presents without her. Following was my boyfriend and I's departure before dinner due to our inability to be punctual if we ate. Stress followed because my boyfriends friend called wanting a ride to get drugs, and he had a hundred dollars. My boyfriend and I fought because I said we had enough money to get our own drugs, it's Christmas, and I want to get clean so why affiliate myself with those kind of people. In the end he did it my way which was really nice and uncalled for. He usually needs it to be his way or else he'll make me suffer. My Dad came home smashed and yelled at me a lot for no reason. However, he finally took me to go get my refill on my anxiety medicine which I haven't had in a few days which has been pretty horrible. Like really horrible, actually; and really scary. I am calm and getting clean tomorrow. No ifs and or buts about it; if I don't, I don't know how much longer I can survive: physically, mentally, or period. I'm exhausted, I don't have anyone to talk to so that's why I wrote so much. If you're reading this, thanks for listening, you have no idea how much I need it. Sadly, seeing the stats go up on how many times people have viewed my posts is the only thing that makes me feel less alone. I am very grateful to blogger.com for giving me a healthy way to vent and escape, unlike heroin.

*My Mom's husband is completely in denial, and doesn't believe my mom's drinking,--or doing anything else for that matter--which she is.

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Done

I'm getting so tired of getting up in the morning. Right off when I woke up we went and picked up some friends and went to get stuff. Why can't I just stop? I would rather die than keep doing this shit because this isn't living it's existing. I think I should leave him, leave here, and figure out my life with a new start in a different state. However, I doubt I'll get the guts. I'm so stuck right now that it seems so much easier to just give up. We'll see.

Same Shit Different Day

God, I am so sick of using. That's what people that hate drug addicts don't understand, we hate drug addicts more than you do! We hate ourselves for the weakness we succumb to when picking up a rig (needle). Today, I had to drive my Dad to his doctor appointment and why was I late picking him back up? I had to go get high. I hate myself for my actions. However, I'm now not only trying to quit heroin, my mom got me an E-Cigarette which is an electronic cigarette so I'm trying to quit smoking too. I can't believe how deep I've dug myself in my seventeen years. I'm so young! Yet, I feel like my life is already over. Every morning I awake wishing I didn't; and heroin is the culprit. It's sucked the life out of me to the point that I wonder who's looking back at me in the mirror. I hope tomorrow can be my first day clean. If not I don't know if I'll ever be able to find myself again. Wow, we got a phone call I guess if we hook up a ride they'll hook us up with a shot. Gotta go, evil awaits.

Hope

Hope is an iffy thing. It seems like every breath I take the world takes it back. Sometimes, hope rears it's ugly head and then I ultimately get crushed, destroyed, and wonder if I can even keep trying. It holds hands with trust. A long time ago I realized that the only reason trust is a word is because it describes something nonexistent. Trusting people means they can hurt you so I simply stopped. I can't trust a single person in my family and life was easier not trusting anyone. Then, I met him. My current boyfriend of a year and some months I decided to trust. Why? No clue. I can't seem to stop putting my faith in him no matter how many countless times he's shown I shouldn't. It's not him I can't trust, it's the addict. We must get clean or else we will never work together. I love him more than I love quasidillas from Jalisco's (my favorite Mexican restaurant) and that's saying something haha. I also found out I'm probably getting fired which I'm not trying to think of because I want to be optimistic. And I am being optimistic because I'm finally going to be able to drive legally for the first time--which I'll catch you up on later. My car's ready to be picked up from the shop! Furthermore, all my Christmas shopping is done, and I'm wearing a very cute dress so I'm happy! I have some hope. I hope I don't get let down.

Resume Play

Stop. Rewind. Play. Pause. Fast-Forward.If only I could control my life with a remote. It is like last year I met him and hit 'stop,' I'll hit play later but for now I'm going to give up on living. With heroin I don't have to feel, I can just exist: cruise under the radar and put everything I don't want to worry about on 'pause.' I need to grow-up because heroin not only doesn't solve my problems it creates more. 'Pause,' I don't know if I'm strong enough to deal with what lead me down this path. 'Rewind' I can't do this it's too hard. No, 'fast-forward,' this is my life and I need to live it because so many people don't have that luxury. Starving people in Haiti would love to have one dollar. I spend forty on a gram? Pathetic. This is ridiculous I have opportunities so many don't have I should be grateful. Let's see how this goes. Alright, I'm ready: Resume Play.

Truth

Truth is painful. However; lies are brutal. I went a long time where trust didn't exist: without trusting people they can't hurt you. This worked and was a necessity for survival, yet, I had to let someone in at some point. That someone is who I am currently with... going with the earlier post about him "Christmas Shopping," that happened yes, but it's what else he did and didn't do. He did: get Xanex, lie straight to my face, and fight me instead of saying "I know I hurt you and I'm sorry." He didn't: Call withing the five hours he was gone yet he did call his drug dealer. So here we go again, I decide I need heroin. Let's see if I can make day one again tomorrow. Hopefully, there will be a day two. If only I had hope in forever.

Crossroads

So back to day one again. Day two didn't work out so well, with a little encouragement the junkie in me reached for the phone, dialed an oh so familiar number, and relapsed again. Will it ever stop? I hear it would take me five years of sobriety to return to who I used to be. But what if I don't want to return to the person I used to be? And I definitely do NOT want to be the person I am right now. So who am I? No one I guess. Life is a journey to find oneself, however, what if there is nothing to find? I know I am a good person, I just make mistakes, I'm human. Currently, the boyfriend is "Christmas Shopping," bullshit that would mean he's going out of his way to do something for someone else. So far, from the year and three months we have been dating, I discovered that someone can really just not give a shit about anyone around him. We'll see, I'm sure he will come home with loads of presents and nothing happened. But then again, this is my boyfriend we're talking about; not only does he not shop, he for one has never gotten me a present before, and two so far it has been almost three hours. Men do not shop that long especially when they don't possibly have enough money to buy more than one or two people presents. I don't think we can get clean together. I'm stuck at a crossroads and I doubt I'll choose the right path. Yet, what if the right path (being single) is the wrong path? I guess we'll find out.

Day Two

Day one karma took my voice, the rasp in it sounded like death. My bones ached and my eyes watered. My nose ran and my back grew tight, intense, and unbearable. I got a call the day before yesterday implying I very well possibly will be fired on Monday, and caught laryngitis which made it's appearance upon waking up yesterday. However; unlike normal, these things didn't feed the rationalization my mind creates in order to get my fix. Things were looking down--trust me I am a pessimist I can make a rainbow look sad-- yet compared to being addicted to heroin those things were nothing. It was like getting hit in the head with a brick, (impossible to ignore unless immediately knocked unconscious I guess, but seriously its something you can't miss) though I don't believe I have been hit in the head with a brick the realization that no matter which path I choose, any path without heroin makes me successful right now. I shouldn't be sad, I should grow up, grit my teeth, and stop being a self-pitying baby reaching for drugs so I don't have to face my own problems. I realized this, and even though I had so many excuses I could have chosen to put getting clean off one more day I didn't want to try to make up one. That hasn't happened to me since I made up an excuse to try heroin the second time! You see (whoever you are), it happened like this: first I tried--and loved--heroin, then I made an excuse to do it once more the next day, but never again. These two first times I smoked it, it wasn't until months later shooting it became an option; an option that I sadly decided was one I would take. After trying heroin again (but shooting it instead of smoking it this time) I made excuses to just do it once a month, no joke next thing I knew it was "no let's do it twice a month" then we wanted to do it "just twice a week," suddenly I was addicted to shooting heroin, the lowest of the low. My body is scarred from the dull needles I have succumbed to using when I couldn't use new ones; however, I never once shared a needle with anyone but my boyfriend. I would just reuse ones I had previously used. Literally from my toes to my neck I have track marks or we rationalize to sound better 'poke' marks. I have shot: My feet, upper and lower legs, stomach, arms (obviously), chest, armpits, neck, shoulder... Disgusting. I wrote a poem during the first heroin high I experienced, I've been writing poetry since I was eight as an escape. If only I knew at that time how far I would delve into this dance with the devil. If only I knew then that this dance wouldn't stop, no matter how many tears were shed because I wanted to.

Tomorrow For Sure

How many times have I said that I will quit tomorrow for sure? Let's see just about every day since I first realized, or admitted, that I was addicted to heroin.This morning I was ready, it was for sure happening; however, the sickness consumed me and took over my determined set of mind. I am weak, yet at one point considered strong. The result of my addiction; the thief of life. Why can't we overcome this? No, why won't we? I know we can and I know we're ready, although we aren't at the same time. Same shit, different day. He always says that. Oh how true it is:Sick-Hunt-Find-Shoot-Sick. What seems to be our (my boyfriend and I) never-ending cycle. However, tomorrow I will break that because I can afford something tomorrow to help with the withdraws 

Wish Me Luck!

Dope Sick

Today is supposed to be day one clean. I want to get high but I can't and I won't. I cannot live like this anymore and I know I can get through this no matter how much it feels like I can't. My stomach is battery acid, my mind deflated, my body hot and cold, I feel like I'm going to throw up and do something worse at the same time. I cannot function. Yesterday was supposed to be day one. The day before that and the day before that also. It doesn't seem like it's going to work. Yet it has too. This drug consumes everything good about someones life without them even realizing it. It tricks them into wanting the destruction because it offers a consolation prize: the ability to forget. Nothing is wrong when high, or so it appears, it's as if nothing happened when I was younger and nothing's happening now. It just is what it is. Slowly though the sickness seeps in mentally and physically. My body longs for the fix and my mind makes me think I will die without it. So that is how my daily routine begun, wake up, want heroin, get heroin, and then hate myself for doing heroin. Will today finally be day one? The sad thing is I don't know. Right now? Yes, today will be day one. Later? Who knows? However, I want to get clean more than anything I've wanted in my life. I have wanted it since I first realized I was addicted. I feel the need to use because I am depressed and am depressed because I use. Please, if anyone is reading this which I doubt, don't try it. The whole 'just say no' thing used to make me laugh. But bittersweet irony has me begging people not to enter the world I now find myself in. Just hide and close your eyes, but know that this drug is, and always will be, lurking around the corner.

Ressurrection

My name is Natalie, I am seventeen years old, I have straight A's in a program called Running Start where I take college courses instead of high school, and I'm addicted to heroin. Nice words like 'beautiful,' 'intelligent,' and 'funny' have been used to describe me. However, why do the ones like 'ugly,' 'stupid,' and 'annoying' scar and repeat throughout my mind when the compliments disappear? This is because I am the epitome of self-loathing. They say constant heroin use depletes the bodies ability to produce dopamine ultimately destroying one's ability to be happy. Although I haven't been happy since I was little--whether I was happy at all then-- and even then, flashes of memories imply otherwise. Lets start over: my picture perfect life in my three story house in Lynnwood with my brother, mother, and father came tumbling down when I overheard my mom on the phone, "the divorce is finalized." I was oblivious that they would ever part, whether I heard the screams from both parents aimed at each other to burn every night. VERY shortly after I was moving to Maple Valley with my mom to go live with her "friend." However, this "friend" was really her soon to be abusive boyfriend. I didn't see my dad for a long time and never got the chance to say goodbye to the already previously absent man. My escape from my mothers boyfriends place landed me at my grandparents and after this I moved around a lot switching schools and creating the gateway to my currently unstable mindset. I have always been depressed; I don't know how long or when it started, but this deeper than bone pain has seemed to always consume my innermost thoughts. In sixth grade at my grandparents I caught my brother smoking marijuana... This led to him having me try it in seventh grade shortly after moving into a little one floor rental home that my mom's boyfriend paid the rent of. It was just the three of us and if anyone else in my family would've foreseen the result of this they would've yanked me out of that environment without hesitation. You see, my mom was and still is an alcoholic; beginning with her loneliness living with my dad, escalating to an escape when she was being abused, and resulting in a dreadful lifestyle by the time I was twelve (seventh grade). My mom let my brother have parties and the cops consistently were called, and in order to be cool I started attending them shortly after taking my first weed hit on my grandmas back porch with my brother. That year I lost my most prized possession and probably the last thing I had: My virginity. No, it wasn't lost, it was stolen; after returning home late my brothers friend was up and I ended having some beers with him. Next thing I know, I'm crying in the fetal position in my room and I hear my brother screaming at him. Luckily, another friend who had been crashing at the house had awoken from my cries, saw what was happening, and ran to get my brothers help. This resulted in my escape after what must have been approximately thirty minutes, but seemed like hours. This was my end. I began using whatever I could get my hands on to get me high and enable a mental escape. I felt that the thief wouldn't have hurt me in that way if I was better, this might be unreasonable but it was how my young mind functioned and I developed the need of male approval. Low cut shirts on my early developed body attracted the wrong kind of attention, but it was attention nonetheless, and I begun my delve into promiscuity, sleeping with men to attempt at gaining their respect. However; I know now that really it was the opposite, they thought of me as a toy when I gave it up. Over the next few years through freshmen and sophomore year multiple rapes occurred; but when the first one happened many didn't believe me, thought I made it up because I was ashamed. So no one knew when the same thing happened with other men. Junior year was my collapse. I was thoroughly addicted to Oxy Cotton, I would smoke it off of foil. Upon meeting my current boyfriend we started using it together; although, we no longer achieved the high we once had because of our increasing tolerance. Then we found a cheaper drug that made us way more high: heroin. This substance took me farther into hell than I have ever been before. I have been resurrected back to my sane self, strive to escape heroins grasp, and am ready for recovery. Without escape, surely, I will die; by my own hand or a needle.