Relapse is a part of life, My life at least...

So I haven't posted in this blog in several months.  There are a few reasons for that, the most obvious reason being that I relapsed.  Since my relapse a lot has changed in my life and also in my approach to my own personal recovery.  I have been unsure as to whether or not I wanted to continue writing this, and if I did want to continue in which direction I wanted the blog to go.   I haven't come up with any definitive answers, but I have decided that having a creative outlet is very important to my mental health, and I don't see why this blog shouldn't be that outlet.

I relapsed because I was spending too much time listening to other people and not enough time listening to myself.  I felt bad about being on methadone and being in AA.  Some people made comments, but mostly it was disparaging things that I read online on other recovery blogs and such.  This prompted me to stop taking my methadone without detoxing.  That was a really stupid idea.  Within a week I started to get really really dopesick and ridiculously depressed.  I felt like the sunshine had been sucked out of the fucking air, everything I saw was grey and pointless.  Historically when I have felt like this I have dealt with it in one way, I self destruct.  I remember when I relapsed I bought $20 worth of heroin and brought it back to my apartment.  I sat and stared at the bag for a little while before cooking it up.  Then I held the needle in my hand for some time before I actually did the shot.  I remember looking at the shot and thinking 'I haven't relapsed yet' ... then I did it anyways.  Later on after the high had worn off I called my sponsor in tears and told her what happened.  She said that she had expected me to relapse and that it wasn't a surprise.  Initially she invited me over to her house to hang out and talk but then changed her mind, probably because she has a nice house and didn't trust me to be there while I was in junkie mindset.  After that I didn't talk to her for a couple days and she didn't call me.  She said later that she was trying to give me space, but I didn't need space, I needed support.  I stopped going to AA meetings and started hanging out on Haight street a lot smoking weed and drinking with street kids.  Then I started selling meth, shortly thereafter heroin, and then I started using my own supply every now and then.  Of course I got strung out again.  That's the way the story goes.

Since then I have started a relationship with a boy named Dave.  We have been together for about ten months.  He is also an addict but we are both trying to get our shit together. He lives with me.  He is a very talented artist with a million other skills who treats me with respect and kindness.  He knows about my fucked up past and doesn't judge me for it.  I have never felt so safe around anyone in my entire life.  We have our issues but we are working on them.  He brings out a kinder, more trusting side to me that I thought was lost years ago.   Right now we are both on methadone again.  I haven't been to an AA meeting since I relapsed.  I don't plan on getting back into that scene.  Right now I am focusing on my mental health and my financial situation trying to improve both.  I started taking psych meds two months ago.  I am in counseling and I am working on applying for SSI for my bipolar disorder and PTSD.  My depression has been really bad the past few months and I've had a hard time leaving the apartment, sometimes even getting out of bed is a chore.  Sometimes I don't feel like a real person, I feel numb and like my mind is completely blank, that's another reason I want to start writing again.

My birthday was June 20th and I turned 26.  Three days later my father died.  He had been battling liver cancer for almost five years.  My father told me that one of his last wishes was to see me safe and to know that I would be okay.  I am trying to keep this in the forefront of my mind.  I miss my dad a lot.  I don't have much else to say about that right now.

Me and my Dad in Arkansas a couple years ago.

 



I am going to try and write in this at least once a week.  I'm going to try to write more honestly than before and to write for my own benefit as opposed to worrying about how what I write might be perceived.  I do want to help other people with my story but I think I need to focus more on helping myself right now, because shit has been really fucked up.  I don't want to give up on life but I can feel myself slipping away more and more each day.  This is my way of trying to grab ahold of something.  More later, thanks for reading.

<3 Zenith Chasing

Drained.

I spent all of today at the hospital for my worsening Hep C symptoms.  In the past month my fatigue has gotten really out of control.  Initially I attributed it to withdrawals but it hasn't gotten any better overall. I will sleep all day if I don't somehow drag my ass out of bed.  I've gotten pretty good at making it to the clinic before it closes at 2pm but some days I don't even manage that.  Last week I spent two whole days in bed and yesterday I did the same thing, sleeping all the way up to noon today.  I have blown off seven classes for my pre-trial diversion using the excuse that I have until the end of October to finish them, but at this rate I never will.  Even the threat of jail will not motivate me to wake up before noon.  I usually wake up naturally several times throughout the night and also when the sun comes up, it's getting out of bed that's the issue, I can't seem to stay awake.  I inevitably go back to sleep and then sleep past whatever it is I had to wake up for.  If I get out of bed the first time I wake up I'm okay, but it's much easier said then done.  I know this could be my depression but it is also a symptom of Hep C and my continual exhaustion feels more physical than mental.  In addition to the hypersomnia, last week when I was sick from something I ate I noticed there was blood in my vomit.  This morning I shit blood.  Lots of bright red blood.  After doing some searches online I decided to go to the hospital.

Urgent care at general hospital is directly underneath my methadone clinic.  I went there after I dosed and began the lengthy and redundant process of working my way through numerous hospital workers telling them my issues over and over again.  Someone came in to draw my blood and proceeded to stick me numerous times in dead veins, drawing no blood and hurting me, this woman refused to listen to me when I told her I have no veins on the inside of my elbow.  Those veins have been dead for years.  After butchering my arm she realized she was probably wrong and maybe I knew what the hell I was talking about.  They sent me to the ER to get my blood drawn by a more qualified technician.  At the ER I had my blood drawn again  by a slightly more competent person, but they still failed to give me the IV that had been ordered to improve my hydration.  After another multiple stabbing ordeal, a really hot med student who looked like Olivia Wilde came in and stuck her finger up my ass.  The rectal exam was positive for blood, duh, that's why I was there in the first place.  Olivia pulled a plastic speculum out of a cabinet and informed me she needed to check me for hemorrhoids and then I would go up to the OR to be prepped for a colonoscopy.  Um... No.  I left against medical advice and went home.  Not a very fun day.  Now I am scared that I am delaying the inevitable and will have to go back to get things stuck up my ass again, or that something might be really wrong with me, and it is really fucking with my head.  I fucking hate hospitals.  I wish I had thought about this kind of shit before nonchalantly infecting myself with Hep C back when I was 18, back when taking someones dirty rinse sounded like a great idea.

I am still struggling with the most basic shit.  I just don't know how to live life properly.  I just did my laundry the other day for the first time since I moved into my building.  I have lived here for almost a year.  I cannot for the life of me maintain a normal sleep cycle.  I don't have the energy to shower most days, I just recently started wearing deoderant again and brushing my teeth every day.  What the fuck is wrong with me?  Why is every little thing I do such an enormous task?  Everything I do leaves me feeling drained and exhausted and I just want to sleep forever while the world falls down around me.  I should really do something about my depression.  I think I am going to try to get back on psych meds, I have to do something, this is no way to live.

M gave me my last first step writing assignment, it was to write about what my life would look like if it became manageable and how I would like my life to change through my sobriety.  I'm going to share what I wrote with you guys.

Ways in which I would like my life to become manageable

• I want to feel financially secure and not have to worry about being able to afford necessities.  I don't want to have to depend on my parents or ask them for anything, I want to be financially independent and feel like I have a safety net to fall back on.
• I want to live in an environment in which I feel safe and comfortable.
• I want to feel sane and in control of my emotions and my actions.  I want to feel like I am safe and to no longer be controlled by my fears.
• I want to have friends who truly care about me and who support me and have my best interest at heart.  Friends who will not give up on me or allow me to hurt or destroy myself.
• I would like for my dog to be happy and feel secure and comfortable in her environment.
• I want to feel happy and have enough energy to wake up early and be productive throughout the day.
• I would like to have a job or some sort of creative outlet that gives my life structure and meaning.

That's all I've got for you right now maybe once my mood improves I will be able to write more, but I feel like my depression is tainting everything right now.
More later.  Stay strong everyone.