Addiction Hurts Just Like Any Other Disease

Birds on wires

There are times when we need to go back to remember how we arrived to, today. Tonight I traveled back to a night that I lived through. On Friday, August 19, 2005 I had written a very convoluted email to my employer essentially giving notice that I quit. That evening turned into night.

Early that Saturday morning I wrote:

3AM Saturday morning

Go play a game he says. But what game do I play. The game of writing comes to mind. I don’t like feeling anxiety and I don’t particularly like the feeling of my heart pounding so hard that it’s going to come out of my chest.

I don’t want to work for blank blank. Maybe he and Eric are right. I should be on meds. Fuck that. I will be ok.

I am having the worst hot flash right now. My feet have been frozen for days and sweating and cold.

However I have had extreme moments of clarity. So clear about where I am and dreams of what I want to do…

I went on to write:

Living with shame, self doubt and anxiety on a daily basis is, in fact slowly killing me.
…inside I’m a thirteen year old girl unable to say no to her mother.

…continuing later with:

When one takes a drug to cope with reality one does not see what is real. Only when one is honest with oneself can one see. Why does clarity come at 3AM in the morning? What causes things to just make since? How is it possible. How is it possible to quit one’s job during an anxiety attack?

On Sunday August 21, 2005 I wrote:

Early morning on day two, 9:15

Yesterday was my first day to regulate my use of G. I was up to taking perhaps 40 caps a day. And I don’t want to die. I want to live to see gorgeous mornings like today. I feel warmth of sun beams caressing my buttocks to feet. I’m clad in a huge white cotton sweater and 3/4 length black stretch pants.

At this time yesterday I was pacing in the apartment and took 4 maybe 10 caps of G unable to shut my mind down nor to accept the many racing thoughts in it. At 12:30 I awoke on the futon somewhat calm knowing I was lucky to be alive. My heart had been beating so fast that night I had begged for death watching myself from afar.

Eric arose at 1:30 and I tried to put on a brave face. I had brushed the dog, and broke down and told him the truth.

When you are addicted… I’m at a loss for words right now. The memory of that weekend has been present in my mind lately. Maybe the weather is stirring it up? Maybe it is because those dates are drawing near? I guess those three days will forever be remembered by me. I think a part of me died that weekend. It makes me so sad, because I can’t comprehend how I got there, in the first place. If it, were not for Eric helping me those first two nights and days of self detoxing at home I would not be here right now. The above are brief entries I wrote in haste during those days. They do not even begin to describe the physical and mental anguish I felt while beginning to taper off G. I knew, and Eric knew if I cut cold turkey I could die from the detox so tapering was the only option. I would not leave my home. I could not eat nor could I sleep. My skin broke out in a hundred pimples and began crawling with sensitivity. All my senses hurt.

I am so sorry Eric that you had to see me that way. I love you.

On Monday morning we went to the doctor for help. I have a journal entry for that day also, which in time I may read and then post. I hope this gives people some insight that addiction is real and that it hurts just like any other disease. And like any other disease you need time to heal, time to remember and then be in the present.

*The painting at the top I painted for Eric a few weeks later in mid September 2005.

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2 thoughts on “Addiction Hurts Just Like Any Other Disease

  1. Dearest Jessica, you are such a sweet soul. Your words ring true with your struggle,and show the beautiful soul behind the pain. Such bravery in sharing this pain, yet also much healing is shared. It is hope for the lost, and we all get lost. Your emergence out of the mire is proof that we are never alone, and we must never give up. Just like in that anonymous poem “Footprints”. From a kindred heart, who has looked back at the “footprints in the sand”. You are very specail Jessica, our sufferings are never wasted. Stella

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