A High Class Junkie

Rehab life.  I don't quite know how to describe it.  It worked for me.  Thank God. Back then there were some wonderful and amazing people behind the scenes and up front.  This group of counselors and higher ups knew what was up.  They were in it for the win.  For us.  They fought hard to help us attain our sobriety, and to help us address our underlying issues head on and teach us the skills to maintain when we were to be out on our own. It wasn't sugar coated and it wasn't easy.  My counselor saved my life.  Without a doubt....100%.
We lived a very routined life inside those walls.  Up at 7. (6:30 if you wanted a morning smoke) Those of us who were true smokers  would get up at 6:30 a.m. and bundle up (it was winter in Oregon) and go  outside in the freezing cold and dark and choke down cigarettes to start our day out. I remember putting boots on, jackets, and wrapping ourselves up in our bed comforters.  Then shower and upstairs for breakfast.  After breakfast we had chores to do (clearing tables, sweeping, mopping, the works)  and then beds made, rooms cleaned. Opening meditation where we sat in a circle and read out of the book "Just for Today". We had to go around the circle and share our thoughts on the quote from  the book. I didn't share for the first few months. While we were doing that the staff checked and marked off our chores. If they were not complete you had to immidiately go fix them or you missed the next smoke break. Smoke breaks, to me, were the only thing that felt....like myself.  (In the beginning) We had a smoking area with picnic tables and had 15 minutes to suck down as many cigarettes as we could and just be relaxed.  We all talked shit about the staff and/or the other clients and acted all hood.....like our old selves, more or less.  Then it was back in for DBT class. (Or CBT, depending on the day.)  These classes were lead by my counselor and they were hardcore. We learned alot about what drugs did to our brains, and we discussed alot about our lives out on the streets.   I looked forward to these classes.  Even in the beginning when I was confused and angry I loved learning all that I could.  I loved the human services side.   Learning  psychology and what the fuck I had been and was up too and why. After that we had time in our rooms to reflect and then lunch.   After lunch we could smoke again.  Then we had a class taught by the male counselor (post accute withdrawal syndrome) or we had a parenting class depending on the day.   Then yoga or a smoking cessation class.   Then room time.   Then dinner.  After dinner on certain nights we would go off campus to a meeting or we would stay in and hold a meeting.  Then bed, then lights out.  On weekends we got visitors and guest speakers on Saturdays and on Sundays we either got a movie day or an outside field trip.  It switched each weekend between guys and girls...who got to do what.   In the beginning this was very difficult for me.  I did what I wanted when I wanted for years and it was hard to adapt.  They allowed you a "black out" period in the beginning for those of us who needed to detox before we could function.   So many days in blackout got very difficult as well. It was either sit in your room day and night alone and become more and more depressed or get up and start going with the flow.
I've spoken about Matt, mine and Gers drug dealer on the outside.  Well, when I got to rehab, Matt was also a client there at the time.  We had gone so hard for so long our little gang at the block had started getting into lots of trouble and going down hill.   That was very hard for me to have him there at first.   He was my dealer.  I wanted to buy drugs from him.   One day in CBT class my councelor had us roll play.   Matt was the dealer and I was the junkie.  Matt was supposed to act out trying to get me to buy some blues from him and I was supposed to be strong, use my skills, and turn him down.  It was just a game.....no big deal.   Right?  Wrong.   As soon as we started acting and he said to me. "I've got some blues I need to get rid of, I'll sell them to you for $25." My heart started pounding and I started sweating.  Dude, get a grip. It's not real.  I said "No, man, I got clean, Im doing good....please don't offer them to me anymore.". He pushed (like he was supposed too) I told him I had just got my girls back, and haven't used in a year and I just can't.....really, please, respect that.   He said "$20....it's no big deal, Miss, you can do a couple without having any problem.  It's been so long, it's not like it will turn you back into a junkie.". It was so real....because it WAS real.  I was fresh off the streets and I was facing my real dealer who was offering me drugs....a rush....a needle in the vein.  I don't even know how to describe this.  I really don't.  I got out of breath and started feeling dizzy.  I burst into tears and had to take a seat very quickly.  I couldn't get a grip.  Other clients had been holding their breath ...... These were extremely triggering excersizes.   We were taught to use thought stoppers.    A thought stopper is something or someone you picture in your head as your reason for saying no to drugs.  Mine was always the same.  The look on my girls faces when I let them down. In a big way.   I had that hard wired into my brain.    This first test was a fail.    I couldn't get through it to the point of walking away from Matt.   I wish I could accurately describe addiction to those of you who have never experienced it.  Or for those of you who think it's bullshit.  But there's no way for me to explain something like that. You have to feel it, know it, and live it to know the fierceness of it.  I love my daughter's with all my heart, yet I continuously chose drugs over them.  Daily.  Not because I didn't love them or because I loved them less than you love your kids.  But because the pain (both physical and mental) of not having heroin was so overwhelming that I couldn't make any other decision.  I tried many times, as you will see further down in my story, but I failed.   Pain of that magnitude clouds your judgement.  To put it mildly. No excuses.  Reality. I survived the death of my daughter because of heroin.   Period.

Back on the outside.....

I was shooting up pills several times a day at this point. I loved it.  It was fun. It was a rush. It kept my grieving mind and broken heart very occupied. I did school work, played with the girls, and got high. I was getting money from financial aid every couple of months. I had bought my car outright so all I really had was rent and electric to pay.  When I first moved into our house I had budgeted bills, gas, our personal needs and on paper there was plenty. But over time things began to get tight.  I would have money set aside for bills or things the girls needed and would eventually get into it to buy pills. I knew that things were getting a little edgy. I had a sinking feeling when I would spend money...but as soon as I got high the feeling went away.   It was a cycle.....but I was still surviving so ...whatever.  My friend Ashley came to stay with me and the girls one weekend.  I was hiding my habit from her.  Well, the shooting up part. I took her to the block and told her I was getting pills to snort.  It was a very different time with her.  She was quieter than normal and was trying to spend time with the girls over me. I think I was beginning to look like a mess but I didn't realize it. She knew I was grieving and just tried to be supportive and loving. Our relationship constantly changed.  I was so in love with her when I was married to the girls dad. (And always will be). Everytime we saw each other our relationship depended on who or if we were seeing other people.  Sometimes we would stay a weekend with each other and sleep together, be in love, and miss each other so much.  Other times we would be close but keep it at more of a friend level.  She dated a guy for quite a while who did not like our open relationship.  I understood and respected my boundaries. ****  I will always always always love you, Ashley. ****
At the end of our visit, she was getting ready to go home (3 hours away) and Ger called me.  He said he was close to my city and wanted me to drive to come see him for the night. My adrenaline kicked into high gear.   The fun we had before he left....the high....the sex.....oh my God....yes!  I'll be there as soon as I can possibly get out the fucking door!   I threw a couple things into a bag and asked Ashley if she would stay one more night with my girls. She was hesitant but I begged her. I knew she was hurt.....and very worried about me but I didn't allow myself to dwell on it. Practically before she even said yes, I was pulling out of the garage.  I stopped back by the block to grab some pills on my way.  It was dry.  No one around.....no drugs. I called back ups and found some percs.  Whatever.   I drove two and a half hours and finally arrived at the hotel he was staying at. I didn't care that I had hurt Ashley.  This high that I felt when I was with Ger was worth everything to me.  Even friendships.   The act of being with Ger was to forget about my pain.  It took me to heights beyond reality.  The addiction to Ger was stronger than my addiction to pills.   Or, it was a very close tie, at least......a packaged deal.   When I arrived I found the room number and knocked on the door.   Ger answered and when he saw me he picked me up and wrapped his arms around me.  I just died.   He was everything to me.  He was so intense and that mixed with the numbness of the high was all my brain wanted.  It was beyond intoxicating.   He introduced me to the rush.   Basically he introduced me to something that gave me the ability to stop picturing my dead daughter. What more could a mother who just watched her child die ask for?
We had a great time together. We did our percs and spent the night glorifying each other. He had to get up early the next morning and head out of town to a new job so we soaked up every minute.   He introduced me to the guys and girls he had been working with. The Dynamics with one of the girls was.....weird. I knew he had been sleeping with her.   I didn't mind (on the outside) life is short.  I was kind to her and was just happy to be by his side for a moment.   I wanted any piece of Ger I could have so I took it.   The next morning I was sad to leave but I was okay.   "Have fun baby!  I'll see you when I see you!".  I drove home in silence ..... Stopped by the block and got some oxys.  See? I was fine. I did a load on the way home and more when I got home.   I was totally fine.  When I got there, Ashley had allready gone home.  I knew our relationship was damaged.  But I felt good....high....so I just let it go instead of calling her to try to mend things.  My phone rang while I was in the bathroom trying to forget.  It was Ger!   "Hey baby".    He said he missed me so much and after our night together he realized that he loved me.  My heart stopped.   HE REALIZED THAT HE LOVED ME?! He said he couldn't stand to be away from me another night and was coming home today.  "Get ready baby because Im getting my last paycheck and have a hookup allready in play to spend it all on Dilaudid. Im coming home to rock your world!   Meet me at the block in four hours".  I hadn't expected that.  This was going to be the best day ever. Oh my God!  I was allready so high and now Ger AND Dilaudid.  Hell ya!  Four hours later I was sitting in my car at the block and the boys drove up. He jumped out and picked me up and said "You're mine now.  You're MY Ole lady".   I died......again.   We got in his friend, Jack's car and went to get the Dilaudid.   We drove to the park and Ger took me into the restroom and locked the door. He did a fat load and then got one ready for me.  He asked me how much I wanted. I wanted as much as he had.   He wasn't so sure but I told him I had been doing it alot and could handle it.  So he prepared it for me.  He put the needle in my veins and Drew back my blood.  He drank my blood.  I was so turned on. Holy shit.....he is so fucking ......I don't know what.   He gave me my shot and then fucked me right there in the bathroom.  Then......I don't remember anything until I was somehow out of the bathroom and laying on a curb alone puking my brains out. I heard Ger talking to someone and then I heard him say, "Baby?  .... Baby?". I said "Im here....Im sick".  He ran over and started yelling at his friend. "Why aren't you watching her?! She's my girlfriend now and if I tell you to fucking watch her, WATCH HER!" (I was thinking "he's so gangster")  He came to me and sat down and layed my head in his lap. He told me that he would take care of me from now on and that everything was okay. I couldn't stop puking over and over and over. I had so much going on in my head, but I was so fucked up I couldn't figure out what I was exactly thinking....or even doing. I felt excited that Ger was back....and wanted to be with just me.   But I also had a sense of dread....I couldn't place it.....but laying on the ground in a parking lot sick like that...in front of strangers made me feel......less than.  I felt like a low life.  I remember thinking "What do I look like to people right now?.....am I cool or am I disgusting? Do they know Im fucked off? I don't care if they do.  I love pills.  I love drugs and I won't hide it." Once I finally stopped after what seemed like a very long time......we went in the bathroom and did another load.  Later on I drove him to my house and he stayed with me.   Our house.  This was the beginning of our lives together.  I couldn't have been more happy.
Each day was an adventure.   The girls loved him and he loved them. Their friends would come over and we were the cool/fun parents.   It was a hot summer and too hot for the girls to sleep upstairs so we moved their mattresses and ours into the living room.  It was one HUGE bed.  We all slept on them together.  Friends included.  It was all about fun.  Nothing else.   One of the first nights after he moved in he tattooed his name in a heart on my shoulder.  (Big) We thought it would be cool to make the arrow going through the heart into a syringe tip, so, we did.
We had a great summer.  We let the girls have parties....and two of their friends lived with us for the whole summer. They would "sneak" beers and we would act like we didn't know.    We moved the mattresses to the yard and camped outside most nights.  I loved waking up early in the morning with the sun coming up snuggled up with Ger, or Collette, or Holly and falling asleep looking up at the stars every night.  I loved my family.  There was no structure.  Just fun.  I thought I was a good mom. And I was in alot of ways but I now know that I was also lacking in a lot of ways. Which just hurts me to the core. My girls were/are so amazing and Im so thankful that we were close even when things weren't right.  One night they had a pretty big party and Ger and I had our friends over too.  It was for the girls and my birthdays. (They are all in the same month). Ger and I were loaded as fuck and the kids were in the yard playing spin the bottle. My girlfriends and I dressed in all black and army crawled around the edge of the yard to sneak up and see what they were doing and scare them.   We were all drinking so it sounded like a funny idea at the time.  We thought we were hilarious. The kids thought we were not hilarious watching them play spin the bottle.  Haha!  Ger went up into the the girls rooms (with the pull down stair case) before all the kids went upstairs and scared the shit out of them all.  We loved hanging with the kids and giving them a good time.  They were drinking beer on the roof  ....... And we let them.  These were the Dynamics of our home.
 Every so often we started having nights that weren't so fun. (Ger and I). Not because we would fight or anything but because once in a while we wouldn't be able to get pills.  Those nights Ger would be super sick.   I was getting to that point but not quite......until one night.  We knew we were going to have to go without.....I don't know if it was a money thing or a no one had anything thing. But it was happening.  We layed on the bed and Ger moaned and tossed and turned and then all of a sudden my stomach started hurting ....like severe.  I was sweating and my legs hurt like hell.  My heart started fluttering and I felt like I couldn't breath.  Oh FUCK.  Im sick.  Im fucking pill sick.  The realization  that Ger had not been being dramatic and that this was severe pain scared the fuck out of me. I got this horribly sinking, paniced feeling.   A deeply sad feeling.  I told him how sick I was and he said "You're a junkie, babe". Not in a mean way.....but in a way that was matter of fact. I knew I was.  I liked it.  I loved my life style.  Why wouldn't everyone want to be a junkie? Who wouldn't love the rush and the high? But now this......my legs hurt so fucking bad.....all I could do was pace back and forth in the living room.  Oh my God man.  Fuck.  He walked me through it as much as he could with him being as sick as he was. He told me to take a hot bath, and to try to go to sleep immidiately after getting out, while my body was still hot from the hot water.  The heat from the bath worked like a heating pad for a short moment and helped with the pain.  If I was lucky I could do that and sleep for maybe ten minutes each time. We took turns running hot baths and alternating all night.  I kept telling him that there's got to be something we can do.  He assured me no, there was not.  Nothing other than shooting some opiotes would help. Period.  That was the longest night ever. We were both up pacing, panicing, texting everyone we knew that could possibly bring us something.  Nothing.   Oh my God it was a bad night.  The next day when we were able to go get our fix something had changed.  It wasn't enough.  There was no rush.  Um.....I need more.  I wasn't high.  I was well.  Being well means you aren't sick, but you aren't high.  No aches....no pain.  But....no rush....no nodding off. No smile. K....this isn't gonna work for me.  We have to get more.  What can we pawn?  What can we do?  That was the first time we took some of my stuff from the house to the pawn shop.  I had a sick feeling inside.   When had this turned from fun to actual work?   Ger told me that from this point on I either stop....or I will forever be chasing that rush.   We talked about stopping.  (He talked about stopping...I was NOT on board) But it was going to be painful.   Like more painful than the awful night we had just had.  Fuck that.   FUCK THAT! We had a few weeks until I was going to get my next school check. We will just sell everything and buy it all back when I get the check. I'll ask my parents to borrow money for gas or something.  And I WILL find that rush....that high again. I told Ger that we both needed to get jobs so we could support a bigger habit.  So that was the plan. As long as I had pills every morning before work it would be fun I figured.  I could not let go of this.....this was everything to me. It was all I could think about. It was confusing and it pissed me off. This had been so fun for several months.  Why was it changing?  As I said, I knew I was a junkie. I had a nice home, and two amazing daughter's, a car, and was going to college, and I was a junkie.   Didn't seem SO terribly bad......I was a high class junkie, right?  I had nice clothes and always fixed my hair and wore make up.  I was better than all the other druggies and tweakers.  So fuck it.
I remember very clearly having some very real feelings about all of this.  I knew Ger should have already been working and providing for our family.  And I knew he wasn't because he was a junkie.  I knew we weren't normal.  I remember looking around the house and thinking if I wasn't a junkie I would have more things.  I had nice things, but I hadn't fully furnished the house at that point and I wondered if I ever would.  I was uneasy about Gers love for me. I knew he loved me.....but I also knew that he loved drugs.  I knew there was a line drawn .... A line he couldn't cross because he was held back by his love/need for pills.  I knew we were in this together......to a degree.  If we were both sick and we had the chance to get well , would we share?  Or would we take care of ourselves first? I didn't know how to put any of this into words and I didn't even know what exactly this was.  But I knew that I was scared.  Scared of two things.   1.  Stopping this.  And 2.  Continuing this. If I stopped I wouldn't have any fun.  (I truly thought that).  If I continued, I won't ever have any money , but I would have fun and I would feel happy everytime I put a needle in my arm.  So happy.   Plus, my legs wouldn't hurt.  Plus Ger and I love each other hard when we are on pills.  And that feels good.  I had to keep running.  There was no way I was going to stop.  No fucking way.  The rush is out there.   That's what I want.  It's out there and I am going to find it.