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The Substance For You Saga Pt. 10

abuse addiction agitation alcoholics anonymous bill w candy depression LIfestyle meetings narcotics saga substance the walking dead zombie

The Substance For You Saga Pt. 10

For part 9 go here-

Mental Health + Mass Pharmaceuticals

The Walking Zombie

Pretty soon the pink cloud wore off and I didn’t feel a sense of cure anymore. I started to feel a massive wave of an agitated depression swoop over me. It was like I wanted to die, but the only thing I was truly scared of was dying itself. It was totally irrational and—I thought—immoral of me, but I couldn’t control it!

I remember sitting at the end of my driveway for hours on end talking to myself and having auditory hallucinations. I was so anxious that I couldn’t control myself! And I so depressed that the uncontrollability was in the back of my mind at all times. “Ain’t that the truth?” I told myself… “Yup,” I answered.

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I didn’t lash out or act on any negative thoughts but what I did do is start to become more and more mentally unstable. My therapist said that I had a passive aggressive mindset. I was ready to cut her up too but I didn’t.

Passive aggressive my ass, right? Or no? I contemplated suicide and didn’t tell people, except myself, but both sides of myself debated the pros and cons. I would always say to my psychiatrist “I FEEL SO NERVOUS!” as she upped my depressant medication causing me to get more depressed, while it didn’t help the anxiety part of my instability either.

The more tired the medication made me, the more agitated I became, and more suicidal I felt. It was contradictory with something that was supposed to calm me down actually revved me up. All of this overloaded energy was only seen on the inside, though. Apparently not seen at all by anyone else that means, “Right?” agreeing with myself again.

The worst part about it was that my family, friends (that I had left), and doctor said I had a good poker face, no one could tell I was constantly thinking about killing myself. The other half of me thought another pill "they" could give me would help. But, the other side thought that was the culprit of my devilish behavior. But I subscribed to the prescribed mentality that was slowly killing me. It made my anxiety worse causing me to stare at people with confusion of what to say, “Excuse me, did you say something? Ah never mind…”

I would walk with my hands trembling and with a drool coming from my lips. I would sit down at a self-help table waiting until the complete end to talk because the anxiety gave me the urge to throw up. I felt like I had a million things to say but when it came my turn to talk, I tried, and nothing came out. I couldn’t get a word out of my mouth and when I did say something I'd developed a nasty stutter. This stutter was caused by the confusion came from my mental block (the medication).

It felt like my mind had been clogged. The rest of the world called this the death stare, not the death star, although a space cadet was a true nickname I lived up to… STIGMA! I was what people at my Narcotics Anonymous meetings called, “The Walking Zombie.” Talk about a stigma right? Weren’t these groups supposed to help?  Only if the show “The Walking Dead” was out by then I’m sure that would have been a more suitable nickname! “AHAHA You’re funny!” Yup talking to myself again…

I battled mass pharmaceuticals and mental health issues for a long time and felt my only cure was more meetings, although the stigmas I felt from Narcotics Anonymous due to mental health and mass pharmaceuticals was probably hurting me more than helping. I told many people that “I’m sick and my daily dose of medicine is meetings so I don’t break out in drugs!” Although switching from illicit drugs to socially acceptable ones wasn’t much of betterment for me right now.

I remember the insurance bills, damn, exactly what the pharmaceutical industry wanted, and then they had me hooked.

I would fall asleep at meetings and everyone thought I was still high, although I wasn't on narcotics. “Ah what’s the point anymore,” I would keep telling myself after leaving a meeting. “Yeah, you’re still talking to yourself,” I said, to… well, myself. It was certainly hard to make friends when you couldn’t utter a sentence to anyone than yourself. “What happened to being the life of the party, jackhole?” I asked myself. “Welcome to the pity party…”

This self-defeating behavior went on for a while, especially when the doctor kept diagnosing me with a different illness each time we met. We met once a week. I started to feel triggered at every turn and corner, while the meetings were full of war stories. I would go home and watch my favorite movie, “Candy” with Heath Ledger. Yeah, this was his TRUE last movie before he died on an underground Aussie film festival.

Candy was about his addiction to heroin and his codependent love “Candy” (Abbie Cornish). Pretty soon after I re-watched it thirty times and saw needle to vein over and over again I couldn’t bare it anymore. I went to the pharmacy that would always give me needles if I told them I was diabetic and purchased some. The only thing was that I didn’t get any dope with the needles; I just wanted to feel the rush of that needle entering my arm and seeing the blood mix with… well… water.

I would inject myself with water just to get a rush of seeing vein to needle and blood to syringe. It just wasn’t the same, so I gave it up. I gave it up especially when I spilt my guts at a meeting about this, and someone who said they were a nurse, said this could be more health hazardous then dope itself… “Why?” I asked myself talking to no one but me again.

The meetings weren’t working much for me anymore and I wasn’t working the steps in a proper way either. Every time I went to work on the steps with my sponsor I would have to get the sentences in the step working guide re-read to me since my brain was so clogged from mental health medication. Simply, I didn’t understand how or what I was changing!

There was no point to working the steps, although I was living the life of a dry drunk for nearly 19 months. It was one of the worst experiences of my life, well, besides the times I was on dope. “I thought it was supposed to get better?” I asked myself. “Liars!” the other me told myself.

Pretty soon I developed a “tolerance” to meetings, although I didn’t really participate, so I can see the anguish that I was building. I would go and listen at meetings so much where it would leave my thoughts running rampant. With the medication I was on I didn’t know how to speak a full sentence (truthfully). So, I gained a tolerance to meeting attendance and not talking so I started to go from one meeting a day to three meetings a day.

I was always told if you weren’t moving forward, or if you’re even just standing still, then you’re always going backwards. I don’t know if this is good advice but with not doing anything to better myself at meetings, I was stuck. Being stuck was worse than moving in reverse, because then I’d at least have drugs, I thought...

Soon to happen, who knows the future of a dry drunk… well, Billcourtesy of saga The Substance For You Saga Pt. 10 youWereRight W. did. He proved me right every single time. I was soon to find my way back to the thing that got me here; drugs. This was contributing to me not being able to hold a job or go back to school, yet, and I developed an addiction to tables and hearing war stories. Instead of the war stories triggering me they now caused me to feel a slight adrenaline rush, and I could tell that NA was not the place for me anymore. It was a whole new high all in itself.

This cycle went on for about 19 months, until I decided one day that all the meetings I went to had overdosed my tolerance. With this in mind I had then stopped going to meetings all together. Mid relapse I had the key to a church where I was holding a meeting. “Who in their right mind would give you a key?” contemplating my actions. “SHUT UP!” as I tried to silence myself.

I had to give back the church key at about one week into my very last relapse with drugs and alcohol. The addiction had most certainly progressed and was close to killing me at this point; if the mental illness didn’t first.

It’s said that a relapse begins before the first use. This was my case. I was bound to relapse, but when? It was coming soon. It was so close! I could feel it, almost like the syringe dropping on me again…

Find out how the next step in my life faired for me in Part 11… "PART 11"

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