A terrible, bad, and horrible time

My mind is so confused and my body is in so much pain.  I don't really know how long I have been here even.  A week? A couple days? I am dripping with sweat.  My bedding is soaked and so are my clothes.  I cant hold still because of restless legs, and I can't move around because it hurts.....every single square inch of my body hurts....even my hair freaking hurts.  My heart speeds up and slows down...I am dizzy, and puking and shitting my brains out.  This has been going on for.....well, for however long I have been in here.  I have searched my belongings countless times.   There HAS to be an old syringe that they missed when checking me in ....and at this point I am willing to shoot water into my veins just to see if I can trick myself into feeling two seconds of relief.  It doesn't matter......there are no rigs....no matter how many times I look.  I did find one thing, though.  One thing that could put an end to this agony.  I had two small picture frames with pictures of my daughters in them.  If I smashed the glass, I could slit my wrists, or my face, or anything to ease my pain.  Doesn't matter if it actually kills me or not.......the pain of the glass cutting into my skin will relieve the pain everywhere else for a small moment. I am going to die.  My body needs heroin. The withdraw is too severe...I am not going to make it.  I grab one of the picture frames, look at my daughter....and quickly look away as the familiar "They are better off without you, you piece of shit" rings in my ear.  Smash the glass and start slicing my wrists.  I am on the floor rocking myself back and forth crying and screaming out loud when an RA comes into my room.  I don't know if a room mate was in there while this was going on or what, but some how someone was notified of what was happening. I ended up in the ER that night.  I was given tranquilizers and sent back the next day.  This was the first of three ER trips during my withdrawal.  I lost the privilege of having pictures or mirrors in my room after that.

The worst part of those first weeks in rehab was the process of reality seeping back into my brain.  The numbness of three years worth of heroin and opiates being shot into my veins was finally beginning to wear off.  My daughters were in my head 24/7.  I couldn't shake it.  I had nothing to take the edge off and help keep the thoughts away.  My girls were 15 and 13 at the time.  They were both so happy that I was getting help.  They had already written me letters telling me how they believed in me and that they couldn't wait until I was better so we could all be a family again.......so they could come home.  I didn't have the same positive outlook they had. I had failed them in so many ways. I was terrified of myself.....that I wouldn't stick with this....that the sickness and pain would make me fail them again.  My girls and I had always been inseparable.  I was one of those moms who befriended her daughters.  We had amazing relationships.  We had no secrets and no matter what was happening in my life....sober or not.....we stayed close.  My heart was aching along with every bone in my body.
  I begged for prescriptions.  I manipulated, and lied, and did everything I could think of to try to get something.....anything. My brain wasn't clear enough to realize that I was in a drug and alcohol rehab facility.  Every single person there has tried one way or another to convince the staff that they needed pills of some sort.  The answer was never yes. I was stuck.  I was so far into my withdraw now that getting kicked out and put in jail wasn't as inviting as it had seemed the first day.  I was just too weak and too sick.
The severe withdraw was over after about ten days. I was starting to be able to participate and go upstairs for meals and some classes.  I started meeting with my counselor here and there, although she kept it light and focused more on my immediate needs during the physical part of the process. I began phone calls with my girls every night.  This was a privilege. They were having a very hard time living with their dad. I had betrayed them as their mama in every way possible. I can barely stand to think about this, let alone write about it.  I will never forgive myself for what I did to my daughters.  When we lost our sweet Poppy, I did not stick around to comfort them or help them grieve.  I completely abandoned them at their most vulnerable time in their lives.  Their sister was gone and so was their mom. I was a horrible person.  I don't even really know what happened after my daughter passed away.  I went out on a run and never came back.  I cannot imagine the pain and the fear that my girls felt.....I don't think I could bear to feel the sorrow. This emotion is coming from me right now.  at that time I still wasn't capable of realizing the gravity of the situation. I just knew we were all very sad.   They supported me and showed me unconditional love....without any hesitation.  I remember hearing other patients talking to their children and crying because their kids wanted nothing to do with them.  I didn't deserve the love of my girls, I knew how blessed I was. They just wanted their mama back.
After eight months of not seeing them my mom and dad flew them up for Thanksgiving. I was allowed to see them for three hours that day....they came and

had Thanksgiving dinner with me at the facility. There are not enough words in the English language nor enough time to try to describe to you the feeling in my heart when I watched them pull in and start walking up towards the building. I wrapped my arms around them and just cried. I think my heart nearly burst.  I was sober.  I could see my girls.....really see them. I was so sorry. So so so fucking sorry. It was the best three hours of my life, thus far.  I knew without a doubt that I was going to do this now.  I was going to get my family back.
This is a picture from that awesome Thanksgiving Day visit.  Right to left: My beautiful 15 year old daughter, Collette, me, and my beautiful 13 year old daughter, Holly.

It took about 42 days before I could sleep and about 75 days before the fog in my head began to clear.  I woke up one morning and remember literally thinking that things looked different to me.  The relief of knowing that I actually kicked the physical part of heroin addiction was such a high in itself.  (Little did I know that things like Post acute withdrawal symptoms were in my future for at least another year)  I did it.  Oh my God.  Three years of being well or sick every single day and finally I had no heroin in my system and my body wasn't aching for it.  I was eating three meals a day and sleeping in a bed every night...all night long.  Showering regularly and brushing my teeth and hair.  It was the closest I had felt to being human in such a long time.  The "pink cloud" didn't last long.  I had no idea and I mean NO IDEA what I was in for next.