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I sit here at my apartment all alone. Just me and the four walls. I am
back on the Vicodin again, Soma too.
It all started as a teenager. I tried every drug put in front of me. I
quit using at age 17. I went back to school at night and made up 10th and
11th grade. I then graduated with my senior class with honors. I remember
my senior year was very lonely. No friends, since the people that were
left remember me as the promiscuous girl with a drug problem.
After graduation, I enter a community college and got a job at a well
known auto parts store. That's where I met my future husband. We got
married and had our first child one year later. A beautiful baby girl. I
was the "perfect mother and wife." However, my husband knew my past and
never let me forget it. I tried so hard to please him to no avail. He
verbal abused me for years and in our tenth year, physical abuse began.
Even though, I did not drink or drug, I blamed my past drug use for the
way my husband treated me. You know the drill, if I had not used all those
drugs and had such a bad reputation none of this would be happening to me.
After all, I was PTA treasurer, Girl Scout Leader, President of the United
Methodist Women's group at my church, cheerleader coach, loyal wife
(although I was accused daily of being unfaithful). No matter how hard I
tried I still felt like shit inside.
In 1989, we got a divorce. Can you believe it? I got the courage to get
out. Well, after six months, to the bars I went. My first beer led me down
the road to hell from that day on. My disease I did not even know I had
was growing all that time I was clean. I quickly went to liquor, then
Vicodin, Xanax and eventually snorting coke.
Then one day I smoked crack.
From 1989 until now I have struggled with addiction. I remarried one year
after my divorce. Oh by the way, I was sexually abuse by my maternal
grandfather from age 5-12, never told anyone. Age 12 was my first drink.
Anyway, I remarried to what I thought was the answer to all my problems. I
found out a year later, my new husband was gay. Did I leave him? Hell no.
I used more drugs than ever. I was going to change him into a heterosexual
even if I died in the process. I did a lot of things that disgust me
during that marriage. Eventually in 1999 we separated for the last time.
There were many separations in between. Last I heard he got married again,
(last year). Poor woman, I say. 1989 was my first trip to rehab. 28 day
program to detox from Vicodin. I got out and picked Vicodin right back up.
I was taking 50 Vicodin es in a 12 hour period while I worked. The next 12
hours I just don't remember. I would wake up in the clothes I wore to work
the day before. I just did not get the cliché, one is too many and a
thousand never enough. I detoxed at home so many times, I can't count.
Only to think I could take one. During 1989, I was in six rehabs. I was
either working or in rehab that whole year. Other than the two years I
managed to stay clean, that has been my life. Work, take medical leave, go
to rehab, go to NA/AA, start using again. This vicious cycle is still
happening as I write this. I have been to so many 12 step meetings, had
sponsors, etc. I would quit the Vicodin but pick up crack, back and forth.
My life really got bad in 2001. Crack took over my life. I got fired for
the first time, got evicted from my apartment and spent every dime I had.
I got credit line increases while my credit was still good. I spent $5k in
4 days on crack just to let you know how bad this got. I always had some
guy from the program just as sick as me during that time. Eager to help me
smoke the crack.
In Nov 2002, I had no where to live, totaled my car on crack and went to
live with my parents. My father was dying of cancer at the time. I managed
to stay clean a few weeks, but the morphine my father had to take was too
much for me, so I started back. Then came the crack again. My father died
on August 7, 2003, at 2:59 am. Believe it or not, I was not high when he
passed. I managed to get thru the funeral, never really feeling the grief.
A few months before my dad died, I had landed another great job in my
profession. I thought everything was OK now. I got the material stuff
back, got another addict live in boyfriend without a job. I smoked cracked
several times before my dad died in August. I decided I cannot continue on
crack so I stopped after a 3 day binge only to get back on Vicodin. I was
addicted again to Vicodin. Within a few weeks I was already at 30 a day
and still working. However, the Vicodin did not have the same effect on me
it did years before. I just could not do my job. So into rehab again.
Another medical leave with pay. How many times did I do that number.
Detoxed from Vicodin, swearing to never use again. I always managed to
stay in NA/AA meetings even if I was using. I know I am jumping around,
but my mind is very messed up. I got off the Vicodin only to smoke crack
soon after. It was pretty much crack for quite awhile, but I did not lose
my job since I took another medical leave for depression. I did not leave
my apartment for days. By now, no boyfriend at all. I isolated and wanted
to die. By 2004, I was in such a depressed state of mind, I tried to
commit suicide. I had been smoking crack for days until I could not smoke
anymore. I decided I would rather just die and if there really is a God,
go be with my father. I took about 30 Klonapin.
My doors were locked and the phones off. God woke me up two days later. I
could not even die right. I went to an AA meeting that day and picked up a
white chip. That did not last even two weeks, before crack again. This
time I ended up in the Cardiac Care Unit for six days. So I am still on a
medical leave. At the insistence of the doctor, I went into yet another
rehab for six weeks. I did this hoping to stay clean, but the insurance
would not approve inpatient, so I did outpatient three days a week. I had
to drug test every Tuesday. What's up with that? I knew when I was to be
tested. This was a joke. I did not smoke crack, but I took Vicodin again
and benzo's. It was never mentioned. A money thing is all I can figure.
Anyway, I was coined out after six weeks and went back to work part time
per my doctors advice. I still get paid 100%, since I am salaried. I have
not smoked crack since June but the Vicodin is heavily out of control
again. I cannot go to work now even part-time without Vicodin. I am too
ashamed to go back to NA/AA.
This has progressed to the point that my family would rather just not
speak to me or see me, I have no friends at all. I go to work and come
home. That is it. I rarely eat. I feel like there is no hope for me now.
This is just part of the story, I would be here for days if I told
everything.
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