I wake up with some dirt still in my system from the night before and start thinking to myself that it's not going to be so bad... My mind can handle anything right? Unless, it's itself playing tricks on, well, itself. Then I'm fucked.
So you bet your sweet ass I was wrong!
I don't really care what you're detoxing from either. Whether it be mental health medication or illicit substances, or even overeating--which I love to do! --it's all the same to me. It's an absolute shit show. I'm usually on my knees crying like a little fucking baby, with milk in my beard because of it coming back up not down.
As soon as I realize, that I don't realize what's going on anymore, the night terrors from the night before start playing back and forth in my head. And no matter how many times I've tried detoxing myself, the night terrors are always the first to come back. And dammit if I could catch those Hell Hounds I would. But I'm plague by the poison I've put in these godforsaken veins.
I can feel excruciating horror swoop over me, as I know that this is just the beginning of my detox. The worst is yet to come. Or so "they" say, and I really don't give two damns about who "they" are, either. You've never walked a mile in these fucking shoes! You just haven't! Okay?
And as the terror swoops over me, it's mostly a flash back from the night before. I can't really remember what the night terrors are about, either. But, I'm paralyzed in this dream and have a night full of starring at myself from the ceiling. The situation is too surreal to describe, but if I had to put it into words it would be almost like an out of body experience coupled with paranoid schizophrenic tendencies that are able to control my actions without hesitation; that now continues while I begin to panic.
The panic starts to set in, and I can't call this generalized anxiety either because I'm now on the brink of either killing myself or someone else from the disillusionment towards any sense of reality, that has been so terrifyingly taken away from me! And sitting alone in a house full of snap, crackles, and pops doesn't help the situation. But, nothing but time will help. And who knows when my time is up?
Usually at this time I pick up the phone and call mommy or daddy in the midst of needing a "talk down." Though, it's confusing to me to tell them what's going on. But, it's especially confusing to them because I can't say that I'm not only on drugs but am having a mental breakdown at 18 years old.
As I begin to talk I realize that there's a whole in my pants and lose focus. Not to mention I've lost track of how many times I've detoxed to finally see a "last one." It seems that I can only pay attention to what seems to be my voice, although I couldn't tell because I feel that I sounded like a completely different person. Or that could be the ghost in my closet finally talking to an unnumbed Brian...
And it wasn't like I was talking to myself--although the voices were there too--it was like I could hear my body's sounds and movements from the outside looking in; as some sort of fucked up out of body experience.
As I've touched on the voices I realize that I haven't eaten, afraid that if I do it'll either cure me or fail me. I'm not sure what's worse because right now I'm craving more than ever, and need whatever reason I can to just go back to "it."
I feel like I'm stuck in some Edgar Allen Poe horror novel, as I can hear the Raven screaming Nevermore. My throat is so fucking dry, the Mohave Desert would be jealous. I can't say anything back while my eyes swell up and I begin to cry like a two year old. Irrational to how crazed I really do look. The straight jacket is inevitable...
I have no rational control over what I'm going through, and part of me thinks it's all in my head; but the pain reminds me that it's all so very real, too. And even with the pain, the mental state that I'm in heightens any chance of whatever "this" fuckery is to get better!
And then... there's a sudden burst of Euphoria as I pass the liquor store on the corner and dopamine starts rushing to my brain. I ask myself if I'm cured, and as the car is vrooming at 45 miles per hour the moment of joy fades and I'm thrown back into hell all over again. Only for it to start all over again while I pass by the CVS I'd buy needles from, wishing that a drop of dope was imminent, but a drop in sanity was all I'd get!
The worst part of all of this is that I'm only 24 hours in... I've got another 6-8 days of the rough detox shit to go. Then there is the 18 months of waiting for my brain to truly renormalize itself after addiction.
All I can say today is thank God I'm 6.5 years clean and sober, in recovery. Because getting clean and sober is one thing, and we can make it five days. The problem with most addictions is staying stopped, knowing that I'd gone through more hell than any one person has ten times over for even the first 3.5 years of my recovery.
Today I'm in a good spot... but when I'm detoxing I feel nothing more than the pain I've put myself in and the pain something only a true sense of dis-ease could cause.
So remember even if you're just a couple of days clean and sober to cherish that because you're already making it through some of the harder parts. And it may take years to get to where you "want to be." But, if we go back to using we have got to go through the most horrific parts of the pain and suffering all over again. We know addiction will be waiting for that fuck up.
So if you get one thing from this blog, it's to stay stopped, no matter what! It does get better, and we do recover!