The Substance For You Saga Pt. 13
For part 12 go here- http://substanceforyou.com/substance-for-you-saga-pt-12/
Checking Back In
Halfway to Homeless Pt. 2
That night my dad and I checked me into the halfway house that I had stayed in before. I found out that the rules had only been doubled since the last time I stayed there. Just my luck!
I was allowed in only if I would keep my detox hidden from the other guys. I was also forced–through my insomniac manic depression–to abide by even more rules. Seriously? “This dude wasn’t joking around, army boots and all!” I whispered to my dad. “Shut it! You’re lucky kid,” my father slighted.
I woke up on Christmas day and started to detox with no Suboxone and no rehab. I was definitely 100% sober and I could feel 110% of the nausea creeping from the back of my throat.
How am I supposed to hide being dope sick from 20 other junkies? Yeah, 20 was the number of guys in the house now. Marty had five guys to a room, and put on a second story. The owner even bought the lot next door and doubled down the guys there too. The best part was that we weren’t supposed to make our prescence known to the “normal” neighbors. I don’t know how the fuck that was going to happen.
I was lucky to even get into a halfway house while still detoxing. The owner so graciously admits to partially remembering me. “Lucky me…” I got the sympathy vote for sure.
We were suppose to enter and be able to piss clean, but the weed would be in my system for another couple weeks, heroin one more day, and Xanax up to six days because of my newfound body fat percentage.
This was supposed to be a clean environment, but I clearly wasn’t the only one, not so clean. My bed-bunk mate was drinking mouthwash to celebrate the holiday, and a gentleman the age of my father was passed out in the recliner due to too much valium. The bunkmates had written, “I love beer and co#$” on his face while taking pictures. This sure was a hospitable way to spend my 2010 Christmas.
This was the last time I ever touched heroin, opiates, or alcohol, so the one terrible Christmas would turn out to be a blessing–and gift–to myself each and every year following.
Horribly enough I didn’t know what “In times of Illness” from Alcoholics Anonymous was, but I decided to cold turkey the psychotropic medication I was on too. This wasn’t a good choice, but what was a good choice up until this point in my life? Risking seizures was the least of my worries. My liver was damn near cerotic and I'd put on 115 pounds since rehab; which was a meager 19 months prior. I'd gone from 6 foot 3.5 inches and 155 pounds to 320 pounds. I doubled my weight. My body fat percentage was almost 60%. I was lucky not to have a heart attack at 20 years old, or a brain aneurism/blood clot at that!
This was the worst month of my life. I’d ruined every relationship I’d ever known to me and nearly killed myself in more then 10 different ways. I’d gone from an upper class over privileged white junkie who thought he knew everything about how the world worked–and was damn proud of it–to someone who was the lowest of low classes; I was now the scum of the Earth.
I had no home, no car, no job. My health wasn’t good and I only had one day sober. Not to mention that it was fucking Christmas. Yeah fucking Christmas.
If ever there were a time to start climbing from that two foot wide and six foot deep hole I’d dug for myself, the time was now. “Merry Christmas!”
I was half insane from the medication withdrawal and half insane from the drug and alcohol withdrawal. Seeing flashes of lights and hearing loud noises I prayed that this was the light to take me home, but it wasn’t. It was just the neurons in my brain telling me, “Dude you fucked up! Merry Christmas Brian.”
My detox didn’t last a typical three to five days like a Suboxone therapy would–because I had zero Suboxone and I wanted to do this with what I thought was the right way this time. I purposefully wanted to make this time the hardest time of my life. I got on my knees and asked for the pain to come. I didn’t ask for mercy. I prayed for God to bring wrath down upon me and show me the true consequences of my actions.
For once, I was on my knees praying. It wasn’t for forgiveness of myself, but for that of others, and to give the pain I’d created and masked with drugs down upon me this time.
I swore, I promised him this would be it, just let me feel it! Give me the sign that this was what I was meant for, in all of it’s punishment and fury. I deserved this detox and I knew it so I gripped on and grinded my teeth almost out of my skull. I wanted to take the rough and tough road back home because I knew that’s what would mold me for success this one, and very last time. I knew I could do it because I knew I couldn’t do any more of that dumb, dirty, horrid shit I was doing before. I WAS DONE!
I was vomiting in the bathroom. The guys at the halfway house were asking if I was okay?
“Yeah I’m just choking on…” as I hurled again. “I’ve got a piece of turkey from the Chili that Stanley made in my…” hurl again.
My skin was crawling immensely for a whole month and I knew there was no turning back. There was no giving into the temptation or all of this hard work I’d lived up for. I asked, prayed that it would be gone in a flash. I didn’t want to start from below ground zero anymore. I was working but it was coming very, very hard at first.
The bug crawling feeling went away a lot slower this time. I could tell there was something neurologically wrong with me from all of the drugs and medication I was coming off of. Who knew it would take this long? I thought I had restless leg syndrome, but I was still stuck in what experts call formication for nine whole months.
I couldn’t sleep from the fact that my legs felt like they were going numb. I couldn’t move them! As I was sleeping this terrifying feeling put me into breathing spasms and chronic night terrors. I would wake up gasping for air. The sleep apnea from being overweight heightened my blood pressure and closed off my airways.
I was dreaming about things that were in my past but they felt so real!
I was told that I had given myself PTSD induced night terrors from all of the horrible things I’d done starting at such a young age. The doctors recommended medication, but got pissed when I denied and refused to take it. I knew I could overcome this. I had to or I would die trying, right?
The medication I had the most trouble coming off of was Seroquel because of the way it reacted with dopamine in my brain. I was taking it because of the constant threats of suicide from drug abuse but all they gave me was… another drug. I wasn’t crazy though; I was just coming off of drugs. It all sounds ironic thinking back. This is the one key aspect that nearly all mental health and psychiatric facilitators fail to see. This is what creates mass pharmaceutical debates and I was stuck right in the middle of it! Let the dawning age of the mental health crisis begin… “Ready? FIGHT!”
For Part 14 go here- http://substanceforyou.com/substance-for-you-saga-pt-14/
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