Once is too many but a thousand is never enough...
I don't know what time it is when I wake, drenched in sweat, my skin crawling, alternating chills, gut wrenching nausea. I'm holding back bile rising in the back of my throat. My insides are twisting, churning, burning. My skin is ice cold and fiery hot at the same time. Every bone in my pathetic, tattered body is aching as if I'd been kicked down a flight of stairs and then kicked some more. I'm wishing I never woke up. Keeping my eyes shut, I pray, beg for the sweet release of unconscious bliss. It does not come. I feel the consequences of my choices weighted heavily in the pit of my stomach. I can't move, the agony is too much. I give in. With what little strength I have, I grasp desperately for my phone and dial the devil. He answers, waiting for my call, ready to welcome me back into his dark embrace.
I never believed this would happen to me. I thought I could date the devil and not fall in love. I could never have been more wrong. He seduced me into his deathly grip, with pure perfect bliss, until I could not walk away. If I tried to leave him, he would turn on me in the cruelest of ways, making me suffer until I returned to him, defeated and half dead. I tried to walk away many times, but always ended up back in his arms. The devil is the cruelest of lovers.
I am a heroin addict.
My life, my existence, has become a complete facade, a show I put on for my family and friends, and oh what an amazing actress I have become. I would win an academy award for my performance. I am an exemplary student, somehow still able to pull A's and B's in my college classes while being strung out every day for the last nine months. At work, I am one of their most valuable employees, always cheerful, upbeat, and hardworking. No one knows about my devilish affair.
It was a dark and depressing time in my life when I met the devil. I was battling the depression and suicidal thoughts that have plagued me since a young age. I was alone and desperate after getting out of a two and a half year long physically and mentally abusive relationship. I was always the damaged girl with daddy issues that wound up with the wrong guy. True to myself, I, once again, ended up with the wrong guy. His dark, mysterious personality drew me in. His sadness was beautiful, like mine. The beauty that emerges from tragedy is like no other beauty in this world. It is powerful, attractive, and repelling at the same time. He would be the one to introduce me to the devil itself.
I begged him to make the pain stop. At first, he refused, swore he'd never let me use. I cried, pleaded, and threatened him with my life. I wanted to fill the hole in my heart, not only fill it, but not even feel it. Eventually, he gave in and at two o clock in the morning, on a friend's couch in Ocean Beach, I gave myself over to the numb nothingness. It was too good. I imagined myself a beautiful disaster and I didn't care about anything anymore. I thought I was in control. I thought I could beat the devil, but he swept me right off my feet. I never considered myself an addict, the people who lost control. I swore I would never be one of them. Then it happened, once turned into twice and twice turned thrice and once was too many but a thousand was never enough.
So here I am now, strung out, scared, defeated. The last of my stash consumed earlier this evening to keep me well at work. I could call the devil, I know he is waiting, but I resist. I know what tomorrow will bring. I will be punished for my actions, in the worst way imaginable, withdrawals. I have been truly, deathly ill a few times in my life, but nothing compares to the living h*** of heroin withdrawals. Unless you have personally experienced this waking nightmare, you have no idea and nothing compares to it.
First I will sleep, for a very long time. I will not be able to keep myself awake no matter what I do. That is the first symptom. That is the easy part, you feel nothing and you are unconscious, it is waking up after your long sleep that one fears. I will want to die when I wake up. I may very well beg for death, but it won't come. This is my punishment, I deserve it. When I wake, my body will be aflame and frozen at the same time. Shivering in my cold sweat, unable to lay still, writhing in pain. My body will begin the purge, bile will rise in my throat, burning and stinging its way up. My intestines twist and churn like I've been poisoned, I will stumble to the toilet just in time to empty anything and everything in me. My limbs will pop and crack with every movement, feeling like every bone in my body has been dislocated. I'll drag myself back to bed, unable to sleep now, fully conscious of every wave of shuddering withdrawal.
I feel everything.
My feelings are back, with a vengeance. For every time I numbed myself and ran from them, they waited to make their vicious return with a hundred times their normal force.
All of this torture, this dreadful, sickening experience will be all mine for the next five days. It won't be over after that either, it could take months to get the neurotransmitters in my brain back to normal. The devil doesn't let you go without a good fight.
I'm hoping, praying that I can do this. I want to be free. I want to be sober. I want to make it through this. I have to. I cannot let my mother down. I don't care about letting anyone else down in the entire world, but not her. She has no idea, I am too good at appearing sober when actually my entire world is melting around me as we speak. You would never know.
I'm praying to God to release my from the devil's grasp. Praying for forgiveness. Take me back. I am sorry, I am so sorry for running from the problems that now pale in comparison to the seriousness and gravity of my new, life threatening, dilemma. My own will power and God's grace are my only hope. No insurance, no money for rehab. No one to ask for help. My mother would disown me, she wouldn't help me, she'd wash her hands of me. We've always had a strained relationship and this would be the final straw for her.
God help me.