And here we are...

I went to detox, frail, cold, but with a lot of hope. From throwing up for twenty four hours I truly understood the velocity and stronghold my addiction has on me physically, but those nights spent mentally battling it were much worse. The nurses ignored my pleas of help when I had vomit on the ground, in my hair, and just about everywhere but I held through. I got out and relapsed. I went to outpatient but upon some people seeing me taking my prescription anxiety meds during the group break, they told me I had to go to inpatient. I didn't want to go so Dad called the cops saying I was suicidal and they hospitalized me, I agreed to go to inpatient. But, not Lakeside. I would never have agreed had I known it would be like that. Two physical fights and some other harassment caused me to run away from Lakeside, not once but twice. The first time I'm amazed that I actually was stupid enough to go back. I'm out and couch hopping. All these events have just aided my instability directing me back to the needle. I have failed, and am now somewhere I don't want to be, but try try again.

Second Chance at Life

I am proud to say that yesterday I finished detox!!! It's not like it was court-ordered or anything, my parents didn't force me, and I told them I needed it. The downfall was my mother's interaction with my detox. I begged her to check into detox with me, but she wouldn't, and instead lied to the detox saying that I snuck drugs in--when I didn't. Suboxin is a drug that helps with withdrawals, this is what my boyfriend took while I was checked into detox. Therefore, he didn't throw up for twenty-four hours the second day clean, like I did. The pain was, and still is, pretty intense. I thought I was dying and wouldn't get over it: yet, I SUCCEEDED and am now feeling so much better! Life has new meaning and I'm trying to recover faith in a higher power. The track mark scars are valuable; seeing how I destroyed myself will show me the horror I caused myself, and remind me of the pain of withdrawals and use in general. I miss the old me before I started 'partying' at age twelve. But, I realize now you cannot look to the past or present for answers. We must live in the moment or we will crumble. The thing that I never realized was that not only can you look to past bad events and dwell on them, you can't focus on the good parts of your past. This is because when we dwell on the past--negative or positive--it takes away the beautiful present. Shit happens, we need to live and let go, because if we don't focus on the present than we will be victims of the past. I always hung onto the bad things that occurred after my parents divorce (when I was eight), but also dwelling on how good it was before the divorce. Missing the past or looking for the future, we become stuck, lost waiting around for life to happen. I'm now going to survive my present and live one day at a time.

Recovery at a Distance

I'm not sure where I've been, but I haven't blogged in a long time. I was living in nothingness, heroins strong-hold. I have always believed I was independent, didn't need any help, and was a "big girl." Oh, how wrong I was, and thank God I have realized that. I have finally gone to my family about my addiction and admitted that I cannot do it on my own. I thought they would hate me, yell and scream like every other day; no, they were happy. They knew I wasn't okay, no other seventeen year old girl they've seen has been this depressed... I know there are people that have it worse off than me but I just can't seem to handle the smallest things until they suffocate and overwhelm. When I told my grandma I decided I was going to go to detox, on the other end there was deadening silence and I thought 'shit, what did I just get myself into?' However, suddenly she says "oh thank God, honey, I'm so proud of you!" I am planning to attend an NA (or maybe it's AA--either works) at noon today. I feel like things will finally work out. I don't think I've written since I got fired, that sent me in a downward spiral. I got my dream job... and because of my use I left an hour early (with  permission) and had ONE sick day (with permission, they actually told me they didn't want me there if I was sick). This is the only reason I would've gotten fired but yeah, they will not give me a reason because Washington is a no-fault no-reason state: pretty much you're boss can tell you to grab your stuff and fuck off without so much as a hint at why. The thing is, they told me just to not come in, let me go back and forth for THREE weeks thinking 'oh shit I'm gonna get fired,' but more so thinking 'if they were going to fire me they would've done it by now! They wouldn't just make me sit around.' Yeah, it's pretty screwed up but it's my own fault I used it as an excuse to keep using, and now without work I can go to detox. It's hard when it seems like the rug keeps getting yanked out from under me, but I must look forward to a brighter day. I have been living in the past, and now I realize how damaging that is. Not only can I not dwell on past negative experiences, but past positive experiences are just as harmful. Living in the present let's you believe in the future and all that it can hold. Hanging onto how bad things were or even how good things were can ruin our acceptance of what we have now. Wish me luck, I'm diving in head first.

Repetion

Drugs turn lives into one huge vicious circle. Wake up attempting to resist "today will be the day I get clean!" Next, withdrawals eat away at the soul, the craving sets in whispering promises of perfection and invisibility. However, these are just devilish lies. Subsequently, the hunt emerges and no matter what, drugs are obtained, always hand in hand with the pain. The difficulty of finding a vein is hushed by the rush of euphoric bliss. All of it is a lie, because it is followed with sickness. The end of the cycle is drug induced sleep, hard to achieve without. The next day, the cycle repeats. This life becomes an endless bite of repetition, making it not a life at all; making this world including yourself nothing, depleting everything to just existing: not living. I haven't written lately because I have been following this cycle of disappointing madness. I want to stop. I need to stop. I can't stop. I can stop. If anyone is reading this and is either addicted, experimenting with, or has/will be offered heroin: Don't. Just quit, or don't ever try it. After I tried it once I was hooked. It tricks you by promising everything you want in the world and then takes everything you have. I have lost all my friends, and ruined most of the relationships with my family members, the ones that haven't been ruined have been damaged beyond repair. I dream that when I get clean all the things I had before like money, friends, some happiness, and life will return to me. However, I know that many of those things will never return because I've made it that way. I've made my bed so now I have to sit in it. The only way that I can fix what's happened is on my own, but heroin has made me weak when I used to be strong. In order to go down the right road I need to get out of this circle. This cycle won't allow happiness; therefore, escape is undeniably the only way to free myself from this death promise.

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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