April 3rd, 2019
When I made the choice to go back out and use, that was the easy part. I didn’t even have to convince myself that my kid would be better off with his foster family and me gone, out of his life. I already had come to believe everything that my disease had been telling me. I just wanted to use. And though self-sabotage was a giant part of my relapse, I really just wanted to use to cope with feelings. Feelings of inadequacy, self-loathing, fear, and all the other things I was feeling.
The hard decision involved leaving Narcotics Anonymous and knowing it would be a million times harder to come walking (crawling) back into the rooms, yet again. So I decided that I wouldn’t come back on my own. I am very grateful that my higher power pushed someone to step in.
I believe that I was extremely close to death when my higher power and my father intervened. “Wake up. You have five minutes to get your sh*t packed.” Those were the words that I hope I’ll never forget coming from my dad.
Of course… after five plus days awake and about three hours of sleep in total, my reaction was super volatile. The amount of hatred, anger, and pain that was seeping out of me must have been the most hurtful thing my father had to endure, next to watching me walk back into the abusive and toxic relationship that I had continued to put myself back into with my ex-boyfriend. (And I am only talking about the recent pain that I had been putting him through.)
Throughout the last four (out of at least twelve) months of my using, I had been begging for something or someone to intervene. I knew that I needed help but I had no idea how to get that help. I had already disappointed everyone that I loved and cared about, and I had also disappointed myself.
A few days later, staying on a recovering friends couch, trying to get a scholarship to an inpatient program, I was in a safer place. I had food and a roof over my head. Those two things alone meant the world to me. There were no scholarships available and I was terrified to contact my family to ask for help paying for treatment. My clean friend contacted them. The treatment center contacted them, as well. I would be going inpatient for two weeks and I would pay a small chunk of the costs. I was relieved, grateful, and actually kind of excited.
I stayed with my friend for six days and by day five, knowing that I was going inpatient the next day, I started panicking. I wanted to use. Try as I might, I could not find a safe place to stay and use drugs, so I stayed where I was and turned in the next day.
I walked into treatment feeling so many things, but too tired to really register any of them. Now I know that I was disgusted, completely sickened by myself and my actions throughout my using. I was physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually broken down. Physically, I believe that I was dying. Mentally I was not in reality, I was exhausted and unstable. Emotionally, I was a mess and I couldn’t even begin to untangle the feelings that were inside of me. Spiritually, I had no hope, no faith, and no trust in anything except the drugs I wanted and needed to continue my destruction, because that was my goal up until that time.
From the time that I walked into the doors to the time it took me to rest and kind of acclimate, which was probably about two days, I began to be honest. In meetings, I would share. I think that people realized how broken my spirit was, how much I hadn’t had hope. I was beginning to feel hope, though, because somehow I had made it back to where I needed to be.
It was a really painful process to make my way back to the rooms of Narcotics Anonymous and I do not want to go through those feelings again. I am trying to do the things that worked for me before, but better than before. So I go to meetings, have a sponsor and am working steps. This time I am taking my time and trying to be as thorough as possible when answering the questions on steps two and three, because I feel that I kind of just wrote on them before and did not actually live those steps. Today, I am going over step one a second time, to remind myself of how bad it was. It really is so easy to forget how miserable and empty I felt when I begin to feel socially acceptable in life, again.
It’s not easy making a comeback. It wasn’t easy using, either. It was the most toxic and horrible experience I have had using so far. I have to continue to remind myself that it can always, I mean ALWAYS, get even worse.