Drugs

I've never met an intoxicated person I liked.

I have liked several addicts who weren't using though.

I'd say I hate drunks the most, but really any form of intoxication is unattractive to me.

Addiction aside, I always hated the idea of a "DD", designated driver. I can approve of the planned safety, but I think being drunk is tasteless, unhealthy and unsafe. I told myself long ago I'd never be a DD.... And sadly I have been, but unplanned. I do regret having to take care of "friends" who couldn't be a responsible adults. I'd rather people waste away in their own poor choices. I may be a babysitter, but that is for children- not willfully intoxicated adults.

But so many ARE in addiction. This blog is a venting word-vomit of sorts to try and figure out why I hate addicts so much. Maybe it's because the substances they so recklessly use to self diagnosis their own misery away, doesn't do anything for me? I'm not attracted to it. So is it jealously? Surely I can't be jealous of someone who doesn't know their limit and expect to be taken care by others who do?

Over a decade in the mental health community has taught me that drugs ruin people. The incoherent conversations, lack of eye contact, mumbling and slurring of words, fumbling, wobbling walking and falling over, simply isn't attractive to me. Neither is what goes on around them.... How they treat and use others, wasting their money/time/life away on their choice of drug.... What goes on inside an addicts mind? I will never fully know. I will never be dependent on substances, because my brain and body doesn't like them. My brain and body isn't wired like theirs.

People tell me I just haven't found the right drug. They could be right, but I have little interest in finding out.

During one of my inpatient BHU stays at Meritus, my local hospital, I spent the weekend with the man I bought heroin from with the intent of him assisting me in my suicide... And by bought, I mean gave money to, and never picked up or thought I'd see or hear from again. (And for the readers informed pleasure, I haven't used any drugs besides weed.... And I only used it three times. All three times were terrible. Intense migraines and nausea. Weed is not for me. As for other substances, I drink the occasional glass of wine, maybe once a month. That's about it.)

But wait, I bought heroin? How did I meet this dude? Let's back up a minute. On Thursday, January 11th 2018 I was extremely suicidal getting off work in the early morning. I messaged a few friends and the one that replied called the police as welfare check up. When the police tried to find me, the GPS pinged my cell phone, found me driving on interstate 70, and attempted to pull me over. I didn't, and so a 10 mile(ish) police chase at 65MPH began. They closed the interstate, made a speed trap, pulled a spike strip across the road and popped my tires. To which I preferred a body bag to jail, and gunned it to the nearest tree. Sadly, my attempt failed. But I did go to the hospital.

So what does this have to do with me buying heroin? I'm getting there.... I was hospitalized for roughly 30 days inpatient at Brooke Lane and another two weeks outpatient in their PHP program. When I was released from inpatient, I made a Facebook post letting everyone know what happend. As I had been gone and no one had heard from me in a month. I got a lot of feed back from people I have never heard support from. This was the beginning of being fully transparent about my mental illnesses. One message was from this dude that I had no idea how he became my friend on Facebook; I didn't even know him. He reached out and offered condolences, I believe he thought I was in rehab after an over dose, as I did not give particulars at the time of that post of my suicide attempt. I thought he was hitting on me, none the less, he told me I could reach out any time to talk. I didn't. But he kept messaging me. Over and Over....

That's when I shared my story more and told him I wasn't an addict, but wish I knew a painless way to kill myself, he suggest "dope".

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Back to the BHU. I was wheeled in on a stupid wheel chair, because they think you can't walk on your own while mostly naked, in those open back hospital gowns. Looking like hell, angry to be having another hospital visit, when I caught his eye. From across the room, there sat the big tall ginger dude I gave $500 in cash less than a month ago, 1/5 payment for my assisted suicide attempt, with his arm over the back of the couch running his fingers through his curly hair. We made eye contact and he stared back, my face flushing in confusion, anger... embarrassment when he recognized me, too.

The last we spoke was when he reached out to me a week prior, just wanting to talk and vent. He told me that he too was suicidal and wanted to use what he bought the other day. That "it had just been sitting on his shelf, eating at him". I was in a bad place and I turned him away in anger because he tried to guilt me that "he was counting on the rest of the money I promised him" for my suicide, despite me calling it off and not showing up. He wasn't a good person, I knew that, but he was a familiar face.... I also had a crush on him.

A Screen shot I captured of our Facebook encrypted message of him telling me what he wanted the rest of the money for.

1) Gingers, get me every time. 2) He was the only person who has actually took me up on my offer to help me kill myself and he said he'd stay with me. His offer really meant a lot to me, even if it was for selfish reasons, you know?

No, of course you don't know what it is like to be over joyed someone would help you with the one thing that would set your free from a painful life. (death) Most people don't wish for death.

I was just released 5 days ago from this BHU and there were still other familiar faces that had not yet been released. The prescription that the Shrink sent me away with didn't work at the pharmacy... I have no idea why. Who would have thought a stupid SSRI (cymbalta) was so fucking hard to get ahold of?! So I just took myself impatient again to have him fix it or prescribe a medicine that my insurance would cover. Way faster than making an appointment with my own doctor.

When the idiots nursing staff let me get out of the wheel chair, I got dressed in my complimentary bright orangey-yellow jail attire in my room, took a peek at the old room I was just in down the hall and sure enough, his name was on it. I joined him and others who were talking about my entrance, on the couch. "Well hello there, friend! What brings you back so soon?" said the coo'ing grey-hair woman, who's raspy voice could pass for a 75 year old man. Chain smoker for life, I thought to myself; I saw her arm patch... She grinned with her several missing teeth telling me she missed me. She was sitting beside him, and she threw her arm around his shoulder, as she told me she made a new friend, I grinned nervously and said there was complications with my medicine I wanted to iron out, but asked if he shared with her how we met.

That's when I found out that he OD'ed and was sent to ICU and then when I was discharged Monday, he took my room. He OD'ed on the drug money I gave him. But I realize that an addict always finds a way to get their fix, so it didn't really matter where the money came from, he wasn't above, lying, cheating or stealing for his love of heroin. Most aren't.

When I left again that Monday, I gave him my number on a piece of paper to call me when he got out of rehab. He found me on Facebook again a month and half later, and we became friends for a short while after he got clean. We vented to each other, I went to an AA meeting with him. Took him to a concert, we went out to eat, and I offered him many rides. Oh, and yeah, we fucked. I also met some of his loser recovering addict friends. *sighs* Not going into deep discussion about them today, however despite never using the drugs they did, because of my several mental illnesses I was able to bond with them over our emotional and mental health struggles. Their illnesses were often directly corresponded with their addiction though.

They thought I was in denial about being an addict. Until they got to know me more, spent time in my home, observed my life style habits and other friends... Practically straight edge through and through. Mental illness goes hand in hand with addiction. AA/NA was teaching them that "everyone was addicted to something whether you have accepted it or not", I guess it helped them feel more accepted, and they too believed I would one day fall victim to substance dependency, or finally admit that I too was an addict. They were constantly confused why I never tried or liked drugs or alcohol, when we struggled with so many similar struggles. Mean while I was constantly confused what their choice-of-drug even offered them but a short term band-aid to an ever growing, infected wound. And our friendship ended, I wasn't enough like them anyways.

#CantRelate

This one made me laugh, but anyone who knows me, knows that I am an advocate in SUPPORT of suicide.

I feel like my hate towards such a large community has to be misplaced. Doesn't it? This community searches for who's fault it is, to point fingers and place blame. I do it too, often. Is something deep rooted and repressed? I was taught growing up in a cult that just being around someone who did drugs is how satan could control and change me. I was taught in Elementary school by my Uncle Forrest who came to my 5th grade class as the teacher of the D.A.R.E Program (Drug Abuse Resistance Education) that just one drink, one cigarette would hook me.

Little did I know that program was really bad and not successful.

"If you were one of millions of children who completed the Drug Abuse Resistance Education program, or D.A.R.E., between 1983 and 2009, you may be surprised to learn that scientists have repeatedly shown that the program did not work. Despite being the nation’s most popular substance-abuse prevention program, D.A.R.E. did not make you less likely to become a drug addict or even to refuse that first beer from your friends." Link to article here.

If just ONE drink, one smoke. ONE CHOICE lead to a life time of hurt and anguish, why am I not an alcoholic? Because it's not just one choice... It's hundreds. It's your genetics, it's how your brain is wired. It could have been me, but it wasn't. It's not one simple scenario that they think elementary students won't understand, so they just try and scare them away from it instead. Those same kids are often by products of addict parents/guardians.

But in childhood I wasn't raised around substances like my fellow peers. The only person I ever knew that was "family" who did any kind of smoking/drugs was an uncle who would show up at my great grandmothers, we called her "nanny", and would sit in a lawn chair under the buck eye tree, smoking and chatting. Nanny died when I was nine though. The smell of Pall Mall's cigarettes are a child hood memory that remind me that Ocean City, MD beach trips, though. Any time I smell them I think "childhood beach". Cheap Ocean Shitty! This was right before they banned "smoking area's in restaurants, otherwise we didn't eat out at establishments that even had an option for smoking. Vacation locations though, we couldn't escape that. I literally wasn't raised around anyone with substance abuse though. Plenty of other abuse, but hey, you can be sober and a piece of shit too!

The only other person related to family I had a bad example of alcohol with was my mothers 3rd husband.

2/26/2010 at 8:19pm I wrote "Lynn's drunk! Yeye! Not. (he rolled his jeep) Quinn Started to cry." I remember Lynn going to talk to him in the stair well, the one that lead to Quinn's bed room, and Lynn trying to talk about how sorry he was, and him trying to give him a man-to-man talk. Not the time man// not the time.

My mother loved gifts, receiving and giving. The jeep Lynn totaled in his drunking state he originally bought for himself on her birthday. She cried all day. During the night of the his careless actions, my mom had us pack our belongings, apparently we were going to a hotel. We were getting out. I was thrilled! I remember waiting in the chilly fall air of the inside of my moms van. Where was everyone else? But, she gave in, and stayed. Stupid bitch. And she made me bring everything back in and unpack.

Recalling happy moments with anyone in active addiction... is slim! Maybe that is while it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. But the more I meet those who leave addiction, it goes one of two ways... empathy, or hatred.

I've got much more educating to do for myself to understand these difficult topics more fully, but I think that's all for now.