I can't think of a subject. I'm just not creative right now.
It's something I need to talk about and have never before and I don't even give a damn if anyone's reading this or not I just need to say it somewhere.
I have a very serious drug problem.
Nothing like heroin or meth or pot or anything like that.
Nothing illegal.
I joke a lot about being a pill-popper. I do. I'll admit that. What I don't admit is that it's so much worse than I ever thought I could deal with. I was the kind of person that would take Advil for every headache, something for every pain. My theory was always that if there was a pill that could deal with it, why should I have to? I may have taken the maximum dose, but at least I was following the label.
I can pinpoint almost the exact moment I fell into the habit:
It was late April of 2008. Around the 22nd, I'd say. My first dog, Gloria, had been put down. I was crying so much I had a horrible headache and reached for the Tylenol. I've always had a high tolerance for drugs like that, so I always took the maximum dose.
I was so upset and drained and tired I just didn't pay attention to how many pills I took. It wasn't a crazy amount, but it was more than the maximum.
Yes, I had an overdose later (nothing serious, I didn't even throw up. Just a stomach ache, a bearable one.) but all I could think about days later was that, while under the effects of the pills, I felt so much better. I wasn't happy, but I was calmer. I stopped crying and could finally sleep. My thoughts weren't racing. It was quiet in my head for the first time in a long time. It was peaceful.
So for the text two weeks after Gloria's death I continuted to take more than the maximum dose. Not that much more, because I was terrified of having a serious overdose.
It was just so easy.
I have a lot of problems. And I mean a lot. I don't say that in an "Oh, pity me, my life is hard!" way. I know for a fact there are people who have it worse. That's not the point. I have an anxiety disorder that rips through me in many aspects of my life. I love my family dearly, but my immediate family members have a slew of mental and personality disorders that are all untreated because no one will get help. I used to, but I gave up when it became too difficult to convince my parents just how much help I needed. I was just sick of them arguing with me over it. Every session I tried to get to was an argument because they only thought I needed to see someone every now and then and not on a weekly basis that my therapist and I both agreed was what I needed. And this was before the drug problem.
The fighting in my family is shattering. My sister isn't suicidal, but she's just wanted to not exist anymore since she was nine. Nine. I was/am in that boat as well. Please don't say my family would benifit greatly from therapy. We've been to many and had a social worker called to try and deal with it. It doesn't work. No one in my family cares enough.
It never gets physical and there's no one person to blame, everyone's pretty much equal in that respect. We do love each other, we just don't get along to say the least.
Don't ask me to talk to my parents about this. I've had full-on breakdowns in front of them. I've gotten very close to killing myself and told them minutes later. Things are a bit better for a few days but then it's back to the beginning.
I have a problem when it comes to imagination. If you haven't figured out my this point, I have a highly addictive personality.
I sit in my room and get lost in my head for hours. You know those self-inserts I talk about? They aren't healthy. I've known that for a very long time. I don't care about improving my life because of them. I hated being me and I hated being here so I just take off. That's why I'm so obsessed with fandoms. They're more than just an escape for me. They mean more to me than my life. And I really don't care.
Things got worse over the years and now my "strong resistance to painkillers" is like giving children's Tylenol to a fucking rhino. Doctors remark that it's almost unheard of to need so much morphine to knock out a 5'2 19-year-old girl. I can take a handful of Advil before they work, and I do. Still, I've only ever had the one overdose.
When I had my surgery awhile back I was given T3's. Those are extremely powerful painkillers, and the first time I've had strong perscription painkillers. I went through my first few bottles fast and then asked for stronger ones because those ones stopped working. I went through that bottle even faster.
Two and a half weeks ago I found out I had Scoliosis when I had an especially awful spasm in which the muscles, nerves and tissue in my spinal colum siezed up and I was in so much pain I was screaming. I was put on percocets and super powerful muscle relaxers.
Percocets are very close to being the most powerful painkiller doctors can legally perscribe.
They don't work on me. At all.
The mucsle relaxers, however, do. Do you know how alluring it is for someone like me? I have a bottle of pills that are each a tiny bit bigger than a birth control tablet and all I have to do is take one and I'll be asleep in roughly fifteen minutes. It'll keep me out for a good twelve hours.
My dad was warning me to be careful because people get addicted to that stuff. I laughed it off because I couldn't tell him that I already was.
I've only had problems with my back muscles once since the first three days since I got those pills. I'm only taking them when I don't think over-the-counter won't do it for me.
I haven't hit rock bottom yet, I know that much. I'm capable of feeling okay or even happy without them. It's once I get down there (which with my living situation is actually a lot) I can't get back up without them.
I don't know why I'm posting this. I don't know if anyone will read it. I guess I just needed someone to know.
I can't get over things myself. No matter what's wrong or how dark things are, I start to feel better after taking them.
The worst part is that I don't think I care enough to stop.
I have a very serious drug problem.
Nothing like heroin or meth or pot or anything like that.
Nothing illegal.
I joke a lot about being a pill-popper. I do. I'll admit that. What I don't admit is that it's so much worse than I ever thought I could deal with. I was the kind of person that would take Advil for every headache, something for every pain. My theory was always that if there was a pill that could deal with it, why should I have to? I may have taken the maximum dose, but at least I was following the label.
I can pinpoint almost the exact moment I fell into the habit:
It was late April of 2008. Around the 22nd, I'd say. My first dog, Gloria, had been put down. I was crying so much I had a horrible headache and reached for the Tylenol. I've always had a high tolerance for drugs like that, so I always took the maximum dose.
I was so upset and drained and tired I just didn't pay attention to how many pills I took. It wasn't a crazy amount, but it was more than the maximum.
Yes, I had an overdose later (nothing serious, I didn't even throw up. Just a stomach ache, a bearable one.) but all I could think about days later was that, while under the effects of the pills, I felt so much better. I wasn't happy, but I was calmer. I stopped crying and could finally sleep. My thoughts weren't racing. It was quiet in my head for the first time in a long time. It was peaceful.
So for the text two weeks after Gloria's death I continuted to take more than the maximum dose. Not that much more, because I was terrified of having a serious overdose.
It was just so easy.
I have a lot of problems. And I mean a lot. I don't say that in an "Oh, pity me, my life is hard!" way. I know for a fact there are people who have it worse. That's not the point. I have an anxiety disorder that rips through me in many aspects of my life. I love my family dearly, but my immediate family members have a slew of mental and personality disorders that are all untreated because no one will get help. I used to, but I gave up when it became too difficult to convince my parents just how much help I needed. I was just sick of them arguing with me over it. Every session I tried to get to was an argument because they only thought I needed to see someone every now and then and not on a weekly basis that my therapist and I both agreed was what I needed. And this was before the drug problem.
The fighting in my family is shattering. My sister isn't suicidal, but she's just wanted to not exist anymore since she was nine. Nine. I was/am in that boat as well. Please don't say my family would benifit greatly from therapy. We've been to many and had a social worker called to try and deal with it. It doesn't work. No one in my family cares enough.
It never gets physical and there's no one person to blame, everyone's pretty much equal in that respect. We do love each other, we just don't get along to say the least.
Don't ask me to talk to my parents about this. I've had full-on breakdowns in front of them. I've gotten very close to killing myself and told them minutes later. Things are a bit better for a few days but then it's back to the beginning.
I have a problem when it comes to imagination. If you haven't figured out my this point, I have a highly addictive personality.
I sit in my room and get lost in my head for hours. You know those self-inserts I talk about? They aren't healthy. I've known that for a very long time. I don't care about improving my life because of them. I hated being me and I hated being here so I just take off. That's why I'm so obsessed with fandoms. They're more than just an escape for me. They mean more to me than my life. And I really don't care.
Things got worse over the years and now my "strong resistance to painkillers" is like giving children's Tylenol to a fucking rhino. Doctors remark that it's almost unheard of to need so much morphine to knock out a 5'2 19-year-old girl. I can take a handful of Advil before they work, and I do. Still, I've only ever had the one overdose.
When I had my surgery awhile back I was given T3's. Those are extremely powerful painkillers, and the first time I've had strong perscription painkillers. I went through my first few bottles fast and then asked for stronger ones because those ones stopped working. I went through that bottle even faster.
Two and a half weeks ago I found out I had Scoliosis when I had an especially awful spasm in which the muscles, nerves and tissue in my spinal colum siezed up and I was in so much pain I was screaming. I was put on percocets and super powerful muscle relaxers.
Percocets are very close to being the most powerful painkiller doctors can legally perscribe.
They don't work on me. At all.
The mucsle relaxers, however, do. Do you know how alluring it is for someone like me? I have a bottle of pills that are each a tiny bit bigger than a birth control tablet and all I have to do is take one and I'll be asleep in roughly fifteen minutes. It'll keep me out for a good twelve hours.
My dad was warning me to be careful because people get addicted to that stuff. I laughed it off because I couldn't tell him that I already was.
I've only had problems with my back muscles once since the first three days since I got those pills. I'm only taking them when I don't think over-the-counter won't do it for me.
I haven't hit rock bottom yet, I know that much. I'm capable of feeling okay or even happy without them. It's once I get down there (which with my living situation is actually a lot) I can't get back up without them.
I don't know why I'm posting this. I don't know if anyone will read it. I guess I just needed someone to know.
I can't get over things myself. No matter what's wrong or how dark things are, I start to feel better after taking them.
The worst part is that I don't think I care enough to stop.