As a rule of thumb, I generally don’t write any entries based on any negative parts of my past. For entirely WAY too long I carried every incident where I had felt that I’d been a victim, mistreated, wronged to my very core upon my shoulder. I never forgot and I never forgave, especially myself. One by one those memories chipped away at me, ate away at my soul. I was left broken, a mere shell of my former self. Once confident, cocky, and happy I was left close to suicidal, addicted to drugs, and riddled with anxiety.
Miraculously, I am stronger than ever. I broke free of the chains that held me down for all that time. Ironically I had failed to realize, I was the one holding the key. Slowly I learned how to forgive those who wronged me, especially myself. I taught myself how to let it all go. The past does not define me. I refuse to let. I live in the here and now.
I now realize lamenting over everything that has caused my heart to hurt only pulled me down. Negative emotions feed on each other and they grow and grow. They take over and you can no longer feel the sun light or any shred of a happy existance.
Sometimes I’ll come across a journal entry where some one addicted to some substance or another wants to attempt to clean themselves up and document the experience. These types of blogs peak my interest. It’s something I can strongly relate to. I’ll silently cheer the writer on from the side lines, but as I follow the entries through withdrawal, I quickly realize they aren’t ready. The tone of the entries mimic a bad break up in an intense hot and cold relationship. They’ll focus on WHY they took drugs and how that made them feel. That type of self therapy just isn’t going to cut it. By constantly reminding yourself of how you felt in the past and the escape your vices gave you, you are only reinforcing why you need to continue living as an addict.
I’m willing to break my own rule in the hopes that it can help just one person! So here goes, my story, but before I dive into the nitty gritty I’d like to explain that I am choosing to leave out some info. It’s necessary.
I was kind of a latch key kid for reasons no one could avoid. I was raised by my older brother and older sister, both of whom I idolized. They partied, they drank, they smoke pot, they took acid, etc. Before I had entered six grade I already couldn’t wait to start partying like they did. Life at home wasn’t much fun, but a party was a party!
I actually was a pretty tame girl up til my college years. I smoked pot, but that was about it. I actually wasn’t a big drinker. I was some one who could happily nurse one drink all night. My father was a severe alcoholic while my mother wasn’t completely abstinent. I guess my DNA was more like hers. Sure I tried to drink, but when push came to shove, I simply wasn’t any sort of binge drinker.
College gave me a chance to spread my wings. I met The Man, my best friend, the love of my life. The thing about The Man is, he was a deeply scarred soul and he DID like to party and he DID like drugs.
First there was ecstasy, a drug true to its name. It put me in a total euphoric state from the tips of my toes up to the split ends of my hair. Through circumstances I won’t get into, it was easily available to me at a discount price. It wasn’t long before I was dropping X every morning and rolling my way through classes.
The thing about ecstasy is that while it does make you high and happy, it’s all about biology. The drug makes your body release large intense levels of serotonin (the happy endorphin) all at one time. Over time your body has a harder time regulating your serotonin levels on a day to day basis. You become depressed, anxious, and paranoid. Your tolerance level to the drug increases and you have to take more and more just to make it work.
I’d love to write this entry in one long blog, but I have to run an errand. I’ll continue on in my next entry.