Paper Thin Skin

As a recovering addict, I am often asked why I did the things I did when I was addicted. People want to know “My story.” I don’t have nearly enough time to sit here and type my life story and all the experiences that led to my drug abuse, but I will attempt to name a few aspects in hope to show that no matter what happens in your life, addiction can be overcome.

I have always been a rebellious, non-conformist individual. It’s easy to say that I started using marijuana in middle school. just to be doing something that not everyone else was doing. I continued this in to high school, which only led to alcohol, pills, acid, mushrooms, and the obvious cocaine. I used mostly in the beginning because I wanted to be rebellious. I wanted to “live life on the edge.” I am an artist and I have always seen the world in many ways that others don’t. I believe I used drugs to deal with this as well.

Tragedy stuck my life at an early age. At the delicate age; 15. My favorite aunt was murdered in a drug deal gone bad while our family was on vacation. I couldn’t believe that murder was actually a term that became relevant in my life. Not even a year after this horrible tragedy, death stuck yet again. My father passed away of a brain aneurysm in his sleep one night. I was only 16. He was fine one day, gone the next. After these two incidents, I really lost control of myself. I believe this is really when I became a true addict. I was so young, and I did not know how to deal with the horrible, excruciating pain that tore my heart to shreds. I did what I had already known to do, I used drugs and I drank. Except this time, I used in complete access. I didn’t care. I ended up getting alcohol poisoning a few times the year following my father’s death. I used anything I could get my hands on. I just wanted an escape from reality. Drugs and alcohol were the only things that I found could do that- at least for a little while.

I experienced quit a few other deaths of friends in high school which also impacted my use. Death was becoming a heavy blanket that draped over my shoulders heavily. I started to and eventually lost all faith in any God or higher power. The only thing I believed in was drugs and alcohol.

Now, besides the many horrible deaths that I had to deal with at such an early age, I found myself in an abusive relationship by the age of 20. Honestly, I am still battling demons from this relationship, so I am not going to go in to it in detail. Let’s just say I now have a pretty good case of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) because of it. I was hit on a regular basis, verbally abused to the point of attempted suicide, and pimped out for drugs. The man in this relationship is absolutely meaningless to me now, but some of the things that he did to me are still deeply ingrained in my mind. I jump when I hear a loud noise, I cringe when people yell, I am working very hard at finding my true self again out of all of this. This relationship was where I developed my serious crack addiction that lasted for years.

After over 5 years of pure hell, I was able to escape this relationship. It took me a great while to even be a “normal” person. I was scared of everything and everyone. Eventually I got somewhat better. In the meantime I continued to use crack continuously. I did some horrible things to get money or the drug. The things I did are so bad that I am choosing not to list them. Just use your imagination, and I am sure you can figure out at least a few of the things I did. After my first attempt and failure at rehab I assumed I would always be an addict, and I really couldn’t do much about it.

I continued along my self-destructive path very quickly. I eventually started shooting up heroin. I had a lot of negative experiences surrounding this drug as well. I overdosed the day I left rehab for the second time. At the time, I wish they would’ve just let me die. That’s really all I wanted. I hated life. I hated myself. I hated my past and I couldn’t see any future. I was sick of hurting my family. I was sick of hurting inside. It came to a point that no matter how many drugs I did or how much alcohol I drank, I just couldn’t numb the pain and emptiness I felt in my soul, I couldn’t even dull it.

Shortly after my overdose and my return to use almost immediately, I began planning my suicide. I was going to overdose. I was going to do it where I wouldn’t be found in time by anyone, and I knew I would go peacefully. When I thought of it, my overdose was actually a very good feeling until I was revived. I felt selfish in some ways that I was going to kill myself and put my family through my death, but in the end I would conclude they would be better off in the end.

I guess God didn’t’ like my plan, and he has other plans for me because I ended up going to a methadone clinic (with support from my mom.) I didn’t think it would work for a second, but I decided to give it a try. At first, I was right, it sucked. I was just taking another drug to replace the heroin and I wasn’t even getting high! Then, one day, I met someone at the clinic. He was the Director of Nursing. His name is Ron. He went to give me my dose of methadone and he could see that I wasn’t well (I had missed a few days and was sick.) He immediately came to me personally and talked to me like no one ever has. He didn’t talk down to me like most drug counselors or even just “normal” everyday people. He had an unbelievable passion for helping others and I was in awe. From that day on, I talked to him regularly until I eventually began to detox. In the end, we eventually ended up in a relationship. We are still in it to this day. He literally saved my life.

Now, I left SO much out of my “recovery story” that it’s really not even detailed enough to draw any conclusions about how I am, or must have felt throughout and now in the addiction process. I barely scrapped the surface. Just tonight, I had someone tell me that because it is so hard for me to deal with some of my demons, I have paper thin skin. Not only did I take great offense to this, I made it a point from now on to show just how thick my skin is. This can be a bad thing though. I don’t want thick, hard skin; which I should have from the things I have dealt with. I also don’t want paper thin skin, or I will never win any of my battles. I guess I need to find a happy medium. How to do that, I don’t know? What I do know is that I definitely have not had the hardest life by far. At the same time, I have been through some things that I honestly think others wouldn’t be able to handle. The paper skin reference is wrong. If anything my skin is too thick and I won’t let others in.

I guess my point is that God has kept me here for a reason. I have no clue what it is. I get frustrated many days because I have no clue. Other days I feel like I am on the right path. Regardless, I know that eventually, no matter how long it takes, I will prove to everyone that I can get through all of this. The past and the future. My skin is not made of paper, it is simply an iron shield that I am wearing to battle. May the best man win.