Tag Archives: relationships

Living and Loving with Severe, Clinical Depression

I came across a brief article the other day that discussed how difficult it was to be in a relationship, to be in love, with another person while severely depressed. This is not a particularly new topic, but whenever I read an article about depression and love, it is talking about how hard it is to love someone who struggles with depression. This was talking about how hard it is to love someone when you struggle so severely to love or even like yourself.

Don’t get me wrong, I do not in any way think that it is easy to be in love with a person who has severe depression or bi-polar disorder or anxiety. We are a moody bunch to say the least. We push the very people away that we want in our lives more than anything. We pick fights for no reason, we cry and scream for hours at a time.

The struggle of a depressed person to be in love is almost insurmountable. I have been married for almost a decade. For 10 years, I have been with the same man and yet I still have trouble believing that he loves me.

It can be virtually impossible to believe that someone can stand to even be around you when you hate yourself with such a fierce disdain that it is palpable. There are days when I literally hate myself to the point where I would prefer to stay in bed, asleep, simply to not have to deal with myself.

My whole life has been spent pushing people away, and now I am in a position of trying to keep so done close, and it is terrifying. For one, I don’t really know how to NOT push someone away. I find myself doing something only to later realize how fucking stupid it was. I take shit way too seriously, I dwell on everything. Most of all, I second guess why someone would even like me at all. I worry that eventually I will convince him that I am such a terrible person after all. It’s almost like I am pulling off some massive con and any day now the jig is gonna be up.

I think that in a way we are set up to hVe difficulty in relationships. It is drilled into your head as a young person that you should not or cannot love another person until you love yourself. What if you hate yourself?

I also fear that perhaps I love my husband too much. Like maybe I love him far more than myself and will do things that are not healthy for myself. Would I even know if I were to engage in unhealthy relationship behavior.

I told my husband very early on in our relationship that I  often get sad, suicidaly sad. That a good deal of the time these crying fits will seemingly be brought on for no reason at all. It doesn’t always take something big to set me off. Funnily enough, I feel like being an addict has helped with this. I went through so much bullshit that it helped me to put some of the smaller things into perspective. Nothing seems so “life or death” to me anymore, except for life and death.

I still have my bouts of terrible sadness, however. I warned my husband, but I can tell that he had absolutely no idea what he was really getting into with me. What if I am not worth all of the trouble, all the shit that I put him through? I try to make up for all of this by being the most loyal person that I can think of. I give a lot of love. I may not show any love to myself, but I try to show it to him. That being said, if I am incapable of loving or even liking myself, how effectively can I show love to someone else?

I truly believe that  people like myself deserve love and are capable of giving love out. It is a challenge to be sure, but maybe anything that is worth it is.

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One Ex-junky, Stay At Home Mother Trying To Find Her Place in The World

Just me, whoever that is
Just me, whoever that is

I find that one of the most difficult things about truly recovering from a drug habit that extended for many years or decades, is to figure out who you are without the drugs. When you are getting high, there is a great deal of people in your life that will undoubtedly identify you as “the drug addict”. Whoever you were prior to their discovery of your drug use, whatever talents, faults, personality traits that you used to have go out the window and are replaced by the singular, all encompassing fact that you get high.
Unfortunately, after awhile perception tends to become reality. Especially if you spend the majority of your time doing activities that in some way relate to you using whatever your drug of choice is. Be it stealing, copping, getting high, hiding your drug use, whatever. You become (at least in your mind) “just an addict” if you are not careful.
It is similar to when people get into a relationship with another person and loose their identity outside of that relationship. For many of us, heroin or meth or crack, whatever, IS our significant other. We are in a dependent relationship. It is hard to maintain or friendships and relationships with people are not using. We often loose site of our hobbies and passions as well.
When we quit getting high and everything that goes with it, we are left with a huge void that we must fill. Many of our friends and family members that we were close with before what I call “the drug years”, have given up on us and want nothing to do with us. Either they have decided that they don’t want to be friends with someone who ever used hardcore drugs and needed said drugs to function in life, or maybe they had re-kindled the relationship before, in previous times of sobriety. Maybe they are done with the roller coster and assume that this will not last. Maybe they don’t understand that it takes the average addict nine attempts at getting clean before it sticks. For whatever reason, many of our sober friends are out of the picture.
Then you have the people that you used with, boosted with, copped with or from. Some of these people you may consider friends, most of them you probably don’t as it was just a relationship that was developed out of convenience. One of the first things that they imprint onto your brain at any rehab is to “change you people, places, and things”. The associates is no big deal, but the few real friendships that you may have developed over the course of your addiction are hard to let go of. People’s true colors come out, many people use any kindness or trust that you have as a weakness and use it to get over on you. When you find someone that you get high with and doesn’t ever fuck you over, even in the worst of the addictions, that is a rare and beautiful thing. Unfortunately, no matter how good of a friend they are, if you always use when with them, it is almost impossible to stay friends with them. You try, and at first it is cool, but inevitably, you want to get high when together because that is what you always did. If both people are clean, then you can hang out on rare occasions, but the friendship will never be as it was.
So at this point in time, you are freshly sober and virtually friendless. Obviously, this is not a good thing, you need a support system, someone to call when you feel like getting high. Some way, some person to listen when all the feelings hat you have kept dormat for years come to the surface. I suppose that this is why NA and AA are so wildly popular. I have discussed some of my personal issues with certain members of NA. For any of all of it’s faults, it is an excellent support system. It is an outlet. A way to talk and to have people listen and support you. It is very important to have people tell you that you are a decent person even if you did some awful things when getting high. It also extremely important, vital actually that you work out whatever issues that you had BEFORE you started to use drugs. Especially if you used as a way to self medicate some sort of pain, be it mental, emotional, or physical. Counselors, therapists and addiction specialists recommend that you go to a specialist for whatever the issue is that ails you. You are told that you should get prescriptions for this stuff. Illegally procuring these medication is a slippery slope. Especially for physical pain, it is how many people get addicted to hard drugs. They start buying percs on the street and then start to realize that it is much, much cheaper and foyer easier, to just buy heroin. Not to mention than a large percentage of recovering addicts are on parole or probation, and even if they are not, they probably have a rather lengthy criminal record. Getting busted with prescription medicines that are not your prescription is the same as possessing heroin or cocaine. The courts don’t care if you need it. They contend that if you truly needed it, then you would have a prescription written by a doctor.
You end up feeling kind of like a shell of a person. If you had been using for a particularly long time, you may have forgotten who you were before the drug sunk their claws into you. That is sort of where I am. I have had periods, some of them extended periods, of sobriety, but I started smoking weed at 15, doing E, coke, Special K etc. but 17, and buy 19, I was shooting heroin and cocaine, and smoking ready. I had my daughter at age 21. I am trying to figure out who I am without chemicals. I have over two years clean, and I still do not know. What I do know, is that I don’t want to be who I was while getting high.
In some ways I feel like I am having a mid-life crisis at the age of 30. I didn’t finish school, and As I was taking classes for being an Elementary school teacher, some of those credits are now useless. With my record, especially being as that I have a drug conviction (possession of a controlled deadly substance – not marijuana) I would never be allowed to be a teacher. Ironic, as my high school chemistry teacher was arrested for child pornography and for sexually assaulting students, another teacher at my high school was arrested for being apart of a drug ring that sold E, methamphetamine, and the date rape drug Roypnol, but no matter how much time passes, I who has never, ever hurt or neglected a child will never be allowed to work with children because of a single drug conviction, which is now a decade old. I would even understand making a person with a drug conviction who wanted to teach be subjected to weekly, multi-weekly or surprise drug tests, but the fact of the matter is that I can not become an elementary school teacher, I also can not go back to teaching preschool.
Personally, I really can not go back to waitressing or bar-tending. I need a career. I need a job where I can move up, get raises, have vacation pay, 401K, etc. My husband has a union job, so we have good health insurance, but a secondary insurance would not be a bad thing. I have this need to do something that matters in some small way. I need to feel like I am helping someone. I would love to do some sort of charity work, but I think that I will do addiction counseling.
I uses to have so many goals, hobbies, ambitions. For example, in high school, I taught myself to play guitar. I wrote songs, played Hole songs, etc. In one of my biggest regrets from my “drug years” I sold my Venus Vista guitar. It was a beautiful black and silver-ish, white-ish guitar that was designed by my idol Courtney Love. Actually, if you look up any pictures of Hole in concert between 1997 and like 2004 this is the guitar that Ms. love normally used. She tended to use the one in sea foam green, which is what Inreally wanted, but anyway. They stopped making the guitar and now it is very difficult to find, and very expensive when you do. It was a gift, given to me by the guy who raped me which is part of why I got rid of it (also I was ill), but I wish I still had it. My ex has my other guitar, and I haven’t played since I got rid of the Venus. I still write poetry, albeit not nearly as often.
I am a mother and a wife, and a damn good one, but that can’t be all that I am. I need to have some sort of identity. Sometimes, I feel that all I am is “mother/wife/recovering addict”. I have just had my two year anniversary of sobriety, but I need more than just being clean. Who am I? I’m not who I was before I started using. I have been through too much, seen too much to ever go back to that somewhat innocent, somewhat naive girl. I don’t want to be the person who was getting high, working to get high, stealing to get high, needing heroin to function, to work, to be a mom. I am stuck in a limbo trying to become a new person all together.

Soundtrack To My Life

I am a music junkie. Music, that was my first love. My first addiction. My original life plan was to go to New York University to study music business and become a music exec. I applied, and was accepted to NYU. I opted to go to the University of Maryland instead to stay near my high school sweetheart. We broke up after my freshman year of college. Soon after, I got into heroin and cocaine hard core. My life became drugs, and stealing for the better part of my twenties.

But the love for music has never left me. When I hear certain songs, they cut through me like a knife. They epitomize and vocalize emotions that I often don’t even know that I feel until I hear them in a song. One such song is, “My Mind’s Playing Tricks On Me”, the classic Ghetto Boys song. In Scarfaces’ verse he speaks of a tenacious, all consuming paranoia. “At night I can’t sleep, I toss and turn/…Four walls closin in, gettin bigger/I’m paranoid, sleepin’ with my finger on the trigger.” He goes on to describe the man who is after him, “When I’m awake I hear a call burn in’ rubber/ He owns a black hat like I own/ Ablack suit and a cane like I own.” The man IS Scarface. He is sabatoging himself. “It’s messed up/ When your mind is play in’ tricks on you.” Church, Face, church.

This verse, hell the whole fucking song describes me. My mind is constantly playing tricks on me. When I first got clean in December of 2006, I quit heroin and cocaine. At the time, I was living in hotels with my husband and a close friend.mi had four – yeah, you read that right, four- arrest warrants. So obviously A certain amount of paranoia would be natural for anyone in said predicament. Shooting massive speedballs all day, didn’t help. See, my favorite part of shooting up cocaine was the taste of it. When you shoot a drug you taste it as sort of reverse drinking it. Instead of starting at your mouth and going down, it starts at your heart and goes up to your mouth last. Not always, but most of the time, my husband would shoot up first, and then hit me. Every time I would tell him, “Don’t give me any coke. I am going to ask you for some, but don’t give it to me.” As soon as he would hit himself and taste the coke, he would like his lips. That would kick in the extreme desire for the same taste, so I would ask for the coke. And he would give it to me. As soon as it hit, I would regret that I didn’t just shoot dope until the coke wore off. I would sit and just stare under the door where the light came in. Looking to see if I saw feet. “Just because you’re paranoid/ Doesn’t mean they’re not after you.” – Nirvana, “Territorial Pissings”.  They were after me. Four warrants in three different jurisdictions, and I was going out break the law every day.

I knew people to do really crazy, insane things while on coke. We used to get high at this couple’s house. Well, it was not so much of a house. There was a row house that was three floors with an apartment on each level. They took over the basement, the area meant to be storage for the residence of the people who rented out the apartments. We usually hung out in the basement, but we were friends with everyone in the house. The house was hot as a firecracker too. The basement was the couple who let people come over to get high as long as they hit off the house. The first floor was basically a whore house. The second floor was similar to the basement, where you could pay the dude either ten dollars or a dime of dope or coke and get high there. And the third floor? A major crack dealer and his wife lived there. We stopped going there when a coke dealer we had that would come to the basement apartment and sell to us refused to come over because he kept hearing that house being talked about on the police scanner. So anyway, the wife would get really, really crazy after she did coke. Actually her name was Ceil. She told us that there was three personalities, Cecile, Ceil, and Ci-Ci, and you did not want Ci-Ci. One day, we pulled up to their place and Ci-Ci was standing put there, sweeping the sidewalk. She said that she wanted to watch for the people out to get her and didn’t want to look odd by just standing on the sidewalk. Yeah, cause sweeping the sidewalk with bug eyes looks totally normal. Another day, she pulled me aside and told me she figured out where the “people” came from. She showed me an air conditioning vent. You know a normal heating and AC vent, 7.5″ by 11.5″.

Ok, I know that it seems like I just went off on a tangent. My point was that I was not insanely, unjustifiably paranoid. There was people out to get me. I knew that doing coke did not in anyway increase my likelihood to be arrested on the warrants, but a also knew that it would suck major balls to get hemmed up while I was geeking balls.

So I got hemmed up on the warrants about three days before Christmas 2006 for the warrants. I sat for three weeks. One warrant got dropped because I was able to provide hospital papers showing that I was in the hospital on the date that I was supposed to be in court. The judge for my no-bail bench warrant released me on time served during my bail review. Later that night, I was picked up by the final jurisdiction where I had two warrants a bench warrant with a pre-set cash bail, and an arrest warrant in which the bail was to be set by the commissioner. I was picked up from the detention center that I was at on a Friday night to be transferred. I knew that this was my last stop. My mom had mis-read the information on the online case search page. For the arrest warrant it said that bail had not yet been set, she thought that it meant that I had no bail. I figured that on Monday, during the bail review, I could get a bail and bail out. I had just come from another detention center and was mentally prepared to sit for at least the weekend. There was probably nine of us in the cell, a single cell. This included a homeless woman who kept taking off the jumpsuit that she had been given, rocking back and forth, muttering  jibberish, alternating between whispers and screams. It took probably eight hours to see the commissioner. Everyone was bitching about how slow the shit was. “I take none of you all have never been through Central Bookings in Baltimore City, huh?” This was Montgomery County, so these were D.C. girls. “No. Why?”, they asked. I explained to them that it takes 24 to see the commissioner there. After which you go to a holding cell for another hour or two to go either to a property cell, where you sit for two hours where they run your name for warrants and gather together your property, or back downstairs where you sit for up to eight more hours to go upstairs where you can make your phone call to try to get someone to bail your ass out. This was fast as shit. Anyhow, I went to the commissioner thinking that I had a no bail and a $500 cash bail. He informed me about the cash bail (which is exactly what it sounds. Bail must be paid in cash. 100%). Then he told me that he was going to set my other bail at $2,500, 10% acceptable. I wanted to kiss him. I was going home that night!    As the CO came to take me the phone, I saw my name on the board with the word detainer on it. “Amy Albright (it was under my maiden name) Detainer – Baltimore County.” “No,no, no,” I pleaded. “No detainers for Baltimore County. It got quashed like two days ago.” “Not what the computer says.”, she told me. Lovely. When I signed for my bail release, I was prepared to see a couple of Baltimore County sherries waiting for me. I assumed that I was going to have to be transported to BCDC, get fingerprinted, have my name ran, then get released when they discovered that the warrant was no longer an active warrant. I was thrilled to see my mother and daughter, who was a little over a year old. We went to 5 Guys Burgers and Fries for the first real food I had had in weeks. My daughter cried and reached for my mom when I picked her up. Heart officially broken.

She was my motivation to stay clean. Her daddy, my husband was serving a year and a day, so I was all she had. It took her about two days to get re-adjusted to me. Even while totally sober, I would have these weird flashbacks. I would starts sweating, my heart beat would speed up. Paranoia would set in. It was like I had just shot a massive dime of straight coke. But I hadn’t. My mind was playing tricks on me.

After a few years of being clean, I relied on heroin. I never touched coke again. I have been clean off of coke and crack since that fateful December day in 2006.  I am too paranoid as it is, I certainly do not need any help.

I don’t think, like that my phones are tapped or that I am being watched. I do, however, know that when I get pulled over, the cops automatically accuse me of “Riding Dirty” ala Chamillionare.  They don’t look at the fact that my past arrest is from 2006. I am pretty sure that in 2026, pigs will treat me the same way. So yeah, when ai drive, I make everyone wear their seat belts. I am overly cautious. I don’t think that that is being paranoid. I think that it is being smart.

No, my “paranoia” comes more in the form of thinking that everyone is waiting to fuck me over. I constantly an self-sabatoging all of my relationships. I kill off the friendships before I get hurt.  I have been hurt so many fucking times, so badly, by so many people that was close to, that I trusted. I won’t let it happen again.

Like Scarface, the person who is out to get me, who is “trying to kill me”, looks suspiciously, a lot like me. “everybody says chill B/ But I can’t/ There’s somebody tryin’ to kill me.” Exactly. I can’t chill, because I can’t get out of my own head. I can’t stop trying to sabatoge myself.  Somehow, someway I need to stop allowing “My Mind’s Playing Tricks On Me”, to be the story of my life.

Lies We Tell, Lies We Accept

Recently, I was talking to an old friend. Someone whom with I have been friends since high school. This friend just also happened to be one of the people that I got high with for years as well. Since I have been clean, I don’t see him too much. Actually, the last time I saw this friend, he ripped me off for money. He needed money to get well and had a grocery store gift card. Since I have two kids, buying a discounted card for food will always come in handy. My husband and I met him and of course there was a story. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.” I gave him the benefit of the doubt as I have been close with him for fifteen years. He would drop the card off later and I would give him the rest of the money. Why would he fuck me for thirty dollars?

Well, he did. We as addicts, are able to become expert liars. We obtain such a fluency at deceiving that we are able to do it with out even thinking. They say that you are truly fluent in another language when you are able to actually think in that language. Us addicts, when we are using, we are able to think in lies. The come out with such fluidity that little to no thought is needed.

While I was using, I learned how to con everyone. You learn to play a role, to deceive. I became the quiet, rich girl when I was boosting to throw off suspicion. I was clean, when I was with my family. I never had a criminal record when I was at work. I easily morphed into who I needed to be in that current situation.

We lie to our families, our friends, our dealers, other addicts. The worst lies that we tell are to ourselves. Can we ever forgive ourselves for the lies that we tell, the pain that we cause? Can we forgive those who are close to us for the lies that have told to us?

While we hurt the people close to us, we hurt ourselves more. Most couples who use together are unable to continue a worthwhile relationship once they both get sober. Part of this is because they will often trigger each other to relapse. Part of this is because without the drugs, a good deal of the couple have little to nothing in common. Perhaps the largest issue is getting past all the lies and betrayals that the two have done to one another. I have seen couples do horrible things to each other. Boyfriends whoring out their girlfriends. Girls fucking every dealer that will let them. Both parties cheating on one another. It is hard enough to deal with this shit when ripped out of your mind, but sober it is usually too tough to bear.

At some point the lies catch up. Just because you don’t call someone out every time you are aware of the lies that are told to you doesn’t mean that you aren’t aware. I had a good feeling that my friend was lying about the gift cards, I was just hoping against hope that he wasn’t. A may be a lot if things, naive is not one of them.

It is interesting to note, however that the more adept we become at telling and discerning lies, the more we believe our own lies. Every dope head goes on and on, when they are high of course, about how we are going to get clean, tomorrow. Always tomorrow. We are going to do up all of these drugs and then we will get clean. Of course when we wake dope sick the next morning all of that changes. The need for drugs, the need to get well, to just not be sick takes over.

In order to really recover, to achieve lasting sobriety, is to stop lying to ourselves. We use these lies as an excuse to backslide. Before we even relapse, as soon as we start getting clean, we come up with reasons or excuses as to why we will fail. That way when we start using again, we are not heartbroken. How are we ever to succeed if we set ourselves up to fail? The answer is that we can’t.

We have to forgive ourselves for our lies. And stop the lies in order to achieve our ultimate goals of having and maintaining a healthy, substance free existence. In an earlier post I wrote about the need to let go. We have to forgive ourselves for the lies we have told, the sins we have committed. It is easy to want to throw ourselves in a self imposed purgatory, but for how long will this last? The refusal to let go of the past, the refusal to forgive ourselves ends up sending us back into a world of drug use.

That being said though, while it is important to forgive people who lie, do we ever forget? Can we ever trust someone who has repeatedly lied to us? Can we ever expect or people to forgive us for our past transgressions? If we can not or will not trust again, then should we feel worthy or deserving of peoples trust? I do not know, but I hope that the karmic retribution of forgiving ourselves and others transcends into making us, as recovering addicts, worthy of forgiveness. But first we must stop lying. Weather we are using or we are clean, we can not continually lie to,everyone around us (including the lies we tell ourselves) if we expect to ever get well.

Irrevocably Broken

Today is my one day of the week that I go to my methadone clinic to receive my take homes for the week. (Actually I should only be going once a month, but my insurance will only cover six take homes at a time.) On the way home, as I drove down the dark highway, a thick coating of fog blanketing the road, I started crying. Uncontrollably and inconsolably.

There is really no good reason for me to be so upset, which of course is all the more upsetting. I am “doing good”. I am clean going on two years. We finally were able to get a new car that we didn’t pay cash for. The monthly payments should help improve our credit (along with the cell phone, car insurance, and credit cards). My husband has a good job. A union job that has benefits. Best of all, I am earning back the respect of my mother again. Slowly, but it is happening. So why am I so fucking sad?

One reason I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders, is that before I started to get high, is that I was not just on the right track, I was ahead of schedule. I graduated from high school with a 4.5 tGPA. I had an almost full scholarship to the University of Maryland College a park as an honor student. My life was planned out. I was on a path for success. Then I started getting high.

Years of addiction, clean time, and relapse followed. Multiple arrests and convictions and probations ensued. Saying that I veered off of my path is an understatement. Granted, I am now back on the trail, and moving forward, but I wonder, did I travel so far backwards that I will never catch up to where I could be, or should be?

I look at the Facebook profiles for my high school friends and become painfully aware of how far ahead of me they all are. This is part of the reason that I didn’t go to my high school reunion. I am humiliated when I see the shocked looks on everyone’s face. I was the girl who went to the straight A breakfast every grading quarter. The girl who tutored other students in my classes. The girl who got into NYU, but went to UMCP for a boy of all things. And yet, I am the girl who let almost her whole graduating class surpass her. It brings up the inevitable, “But you are so smart? What happened?”

I want to go back to school. I have almost two years worth of credits. Some of those were classes that are only useful to a primary education degree, and are thus useless to me. One day, after I had made a comment on Facebook about how I should have become an English teacher like I was planning to because people’s poor grammar drives me crazy, an old friend of mine commented that it isn’t too late. I could still become an English teacher, she told me. Only, it is too late for that. With my criminal record, I could never be a teacher. So I must choose another carrier path. I have stated in previous blogs that I want to be a makeup artist. Other interests are being a social worker, or more recently a writer.

Choosing a career that requires me to go back to school presents a lot of little battles that I have to psych myself up for. One issue is that if you have ANY drug convictions, be they felonies or misdemeanors, you are inevitable of any sort of government financial aid. To me, this has to be one the absolute dumbest, hypocritical, cruel laws or rules in existence. Here everyone wants to preach about how drug addicts and/or criminals need to stop going down their paths of sin and rehabilitate themselves, but you want to offer them zero financial assistance. It makes no sense. Most drug addicts, both current and recovering, have horrible credit and probably very little money. We all fucked all that shit up a long time ago. As a society, they tell us to turn our lives around, but we are not offered the same aid as everyone else? Yeah, that’s fair.

When I last took many college classes, I was nineteen years old. I taught preschool full time (40 hours a week) and took a full course load at the community college. This was following a year at the University of Maryland College Park, where I lived in the dorms. I used drugs occasionally, but was far from having a habit. Now, ten years, two kids, and seven convictions later, going back to school is going to be very different. I am scared. Actually, I am scared to admit that I am scared, lol. School has always come easy for me. Too easy, really. With an above genius level IQ, I was used to just getting A’s with no real work. I went to college with zero study skills, because I had never needed them. I also have ADD. Once I got to college and there was 250 – 300 people to a class and no one taking attendance, I found it impossible to force myself to go to class. I could not sit through a two hour lecture class and I was used to passing with out work anyway. Not just passing, excelling. If I had a lot of trouble going to class back then, I know that with two kids and a million responsibilities, it will be even harder. Online classes are even worse for me. I will keep putting them off because I don’t HAVE to go to a physical building and my kids will make it almost impossible to do them anyway. I never had to write papers with any real distractions (just the ones inside of my mind). Now I have kids, dogs, a husband, and real life responsibilities to clutter my mind, my time. I am almost afraid to even try because I am terrified to fail.

I am afraid that I went in reverse for so long, that catching up is an impossibility. I know that I face an incredibly steep, uphill battle. The percentages of people who are able to successfully recover from heroin is slim, I am all too aware of this. I am not delusional, I know that I will never be “cured”. Not of my addictions, and not of my depression/anxiety/PTSD/ADD.  The best that I can hope for with diseases such as these, are to be in remission for the rest of my life. And it fucking terrifies me. The fact that all of these demons are brewing just under the lid, waiting to boil over is a paralyzingly real possibility. Leaving the clinic, I was hit the extremely copious feeling that this could be all for nothing.

Recovering from addiction, and depression for that matter, is exhausting. Sometimes I worry that I can not do this forever. It is so much work. I get overwhelmed which in turn pushes me down the long, vacuum powered black hole that is my depression. When I start to get depressed, overwhelmed and frustrated, I am hit with rip tide of doom. Yes, I am aware of how corny and melodramatic this sounds, but it is true, I am pulled under by forceful waves of doom. All of the sudden, it will just hit me like a wrecking ball hitting a brick wall. I will instantly feel that my life as I know it is over. That nothing good is yet to come. Just blackness and stress and tears.

Many times I feel like I am irrevocably broken. There is a strong possibility that I can not be fixed. With any luck, I may be able to keep my diseases in remission, keep them in check, but there is not a super glue out there strong enough to glue me back together. My flaws and past make me who I am, and that’s cool. I am proud that I came through the battlefield alive, but you better believe that I am far from unscathed. I pray that with time, my wounds will start to close, my scars will start to fade. I look to a path of enlightenment and inner peace. It is more than likely impossible to jump back on to the road that I was previously set to drive down and speed up enough to make it to the mile marker that I would have been at if I had not detoured. I suppose that I need to get on a new highway. Possibly even one that is not even done being built. Maybe I have to build it as I go. I just pray for the strength to continue to go forward. For as long as I don’t go backwards, maybe inching ahead, no matter how slowly, is alright. Maybe in life success is really defined as not being beaten down and halted by the hurdles and obstacles that life throws at you.