"the truth is really fuckin' out there" - addiction notes - Part 1

By polio vaccine · Nov 17, 2014 · ·
  1. when i was five years old i found a human jawbone on the beach. i had run up ahead of my parents, so i was alone to witness little black ants eating the gums. i noticed gold fillings, which quashed any ideas of it belonging to an animal.

    i ran back down the beach and told my folks i'd found something. i made them run after me back up the sand, but when we got to the spot the thing was gone. taken back by the morning tide. they assured me, or rather themselves, that it had been "all in my head," as if that could reassure me somehow, because if that were so then why would i do that to myself?

    in any case, i came to see the human body as material and i no longer identified with my own body. i also found the human body - especially its processes; eating, excreting, the like - fairly revolting. to this day i am arbitrarily perturbed by that little discovery, and i feel as if i mention it too much, so i feel it's a safe wager to call it some kind of trauma.

    i first began using heroin when i was 17. i had spent my adolescence experimenting with stimulants and psychedelics, seeing those drugs as having "value," intellectually and spiritually, and thus developmentally, even evolutionarily..... whereas sedatives such as opiates, benzos, alcohol, were passe, were for cretins. from the mindset i was in, the experience of those drugs actually bored me, and i was unable to accomplish any sense of euphoria on even high doses of vicodin or oxy. i had a few glimpses of comfort on opiates... IV fentanyl at the dentist for example... my best experience was actually with poppy seed tea..... but for the large part, i had no attraction to them.

    in fact, during adolescence, my biggest drug of abuse (outside of pot, the mainstay) was cough syrup. i was extremely attracted to the dxm experience... i saw that others who tried it through me didn't appreciate it or get anything from it, but i sure did. maybe it was just dedication. in any case, i experienced my first psychotic break, in which space aliens (greys) manifested in my room and told me that to travel i had to be obscured from the sensory perceptions of all living things, and further i had to be obscured from electromagnetic fields, an ability which was momentarily granted me by dxm/aliens if i would only climb into a metal container. so i found an oil drum in a dump about two hours' walk from my house and crouched in there, struggling to hallucinate, or as i thought of it, escape the present time loop. after some point of it not working i realized what was wrong - i was crazy - and i went home... but my dxm use did not stop.

    emotionally i was a mess because my relationship with my parents was strained at best - because, really, their relationship with one another was the same way. though i was closer with my dad by far, and when he annoyed me, i wouldn't let him know it. at the time, i didn't realize how inappropriate it was for him to be so sensitive to me as a friend, rather than a son. at some point around age 15 or 16 we consolidated this dynamic when he caught me smoking pot and, in an attempt to be a progressive parent, shared his own pot smoking with me and elected that we would smoke together, and that i could smoke in the house, provided i stayed away from white powders and injectables. at the time, it was an easy deal to make, because i could envision no reality in which i would be duped by the caveman pleasures of things like cocaine or heroin.... not when i had lsd, dxm, ketamine, mushrooms, dmt, speed... all - i narrowly believed at the time - conduits to the eternal fire, while the more "self-indulgent" drugs (as i described them) were obviously nothing but trouble and brought wholly deserved woe to anyone dumb enough to fuck with em. that being said, that very perspective was why i afforded myself the occasional experiment with opiates... and, in the back of my mind somewhere, i was curious what people felt when they felt so good they pursued it at the expense of all other priorities... i was sure that i hadn't ever gotten the desired effect, and i wanted to see what people were talking about.

    i went off to film school in new york and the cough syrup use somehow ceased - a change of scenery is good, no doubt. also, the introduction of the best lsd connection i've ever had, to this day, is another reason. i was still psychotic, had anyone noticed, but apart from a few short-term girlfriends who noticed by dumping me (i had a vague sense i was crazy, but i was enjoying it), nobody really did. i was in a context where "eccentricity" was not only tolerated, but celebrated. for awhile i began selling lsd, it was lucrative, and you can bet i was taking too much. ideas about "cosmic coincidence control" and the galactic arbiters of the universe resurfaced. to this day i still believe in synchronicity over cause and effect, which i understand is not entirely rational, but i see it as post-rational and quantum, and anyway confirmed by my further experiences. but i was nonetheless terribly psychotic, interacting with thought constructs and hardly sleeping, suffering more and more socially unacceptable consequences for my drug use (ambien blackouts leading to nudity and fire-setting, destruction of an expensive tv set, some truly unhinged and indecipherable creative output), and finally....

    ....i met a girl - frankly a girl i'd had my eye on from the start - who seemed to be my "soul mate," if such a term can have meaning. we had many things in common, and she was a skilled screenwriter - maybe the only peer i could ever truly learn from creatively. at the time, i did not really see her for being a sociopath, and maybe she wasn't quite then. in any case, i was more than a little demented by that time myself, and when she introduced heroin into the relationship, it did not so much as occur to me to shy away.

    ....and the first few uses were underwhelming... it was deceptive. i felt vaguely more comfortable, but i still preferred pot. it seemed like a totally unnecessary addition to the human body, and for what little comfort - not even euphoria, just comfort - it produced, the known side effects seemed to make the decision to use it flatly insane. but still, i knew in the back of my mind i wasn't getting that classical effect, and i wondered why...? even injecting it did not thrill me the way i figured it would. it was nice, sure, but it had nothing on a good lsd high...

    ....but slowly, as i continued to take acid, and map the cosmic infrastructure of controlled events, i found myself feeling uncomfortable in the quiet moments.... those times when the laughter stops and the people leave... when the pot runs out or the class runs long.... suddenly my philosophy was no match for the flatly physical sensation of anxiety, and i could not just "make the most" of discomfort anymore... i had come to experiencing discomfort which was too much for that. my skin would feel electrified. i would feel an awful sense of impending dread....

    ....it came to the point that, on friday mornings, i stopped making it to my literature class, because for whatever quirk of the roommates' schedules, nobody was around on those snow-blown mornings, and without the bustle of other people, of coffee brewing, of last night's dishes clattering around as they are washed in the sink... without all that, i found i couldn't move. i felt like something would get me... some sensation worse than death. i feared that, without other human beings to "plug into" and outlet my excess energy, i would "wake up" so much that my body - or my psyche - could no longer handle it. at the time i referred to this experience as anxiety and depression, or a nervous breakdown, but these days i am grasping to find a more accurate description.

    in any case, my new girlfriend would also give me a ring asking if i wanted to "start the weekend early" each friday morning... she was enjoying the dope more than i was, and i foolishly indulged her in it. when i was plugged into that experience, i could move, and so i did, anything to get out of that crushing, wintry dorm room, even if it meant crunching thru the actual gritty winter out in the streets.

    we would meet up, and make the call. arrange for some bags. at first it was a casual thing, but after awhile it came to where we would begin to walk to the ATM, each struggling to stifle the glee, then notice each other doing so, give it up, and both burst out laughing as we'd go full sprint for the cash and then to the cop spot. i was enjoying it and i thought i was "in love." i came to see my old goals as having been silly. who was i to go telling stories to the masses? what did i have to tell people? what did anyone?

    and one fateful day, i sniffed a bag (in spite of trying IV early on, we stuck to sniffing for about the first year) and i thought, "wow.... i figured out why people like this shit. i don't feel high, necessarily. i don't feel whacked out. i feel, if anything, more sober than i am any other time. i feel eminently normal. if i felt like this all the time, i wouldn't have so much trouble making it through a whole day of class, or a whole shift at work, without ducking out every spare opportunity to pot-smoke my seething brain into submission long enough to scrape my way thru the experience and flee. i wouldn't have to flee.... this must be what normal people feel like...." that dubious revelation was the seed of my change of heart, which was a long time in making, and is turning out to be quite a lengthy thing to undo as well (as of present)....

    ....from that point on, i became more and more interested in "taking the edge off," i.e. reducing the overstimulated sensation i had incurred with all my psychedelic use and psychosis. i also began to see my hyperstimulated self as being more deluded and indulgent than i'd originally thought, and in fact, i wound up feeling that i needed to "scale it back" somewhat in order to access ideas or perceptions which were more roundly near to "true." all the extra expenditure of energy seemed only to result in extra waste. basically, what happened is that my philosophy of things did a 180. slowly but surely, i became geared towards the absolute opposite priorities.

    those moments of peaking on acid or speed, which i'd once relished, glamorized, fantasized and written about, now made me vaguely nauseous to remember. the whole experience with psychedelics and uppers can be summed up in the idea of getting sick from eating too much candy. that's how i felt by the end.... like i was sugar sick, and craving raw fruits and vegetables in a way i never thought i would... only, instead of raw fruits and vegetables, it was heroin....

    ....i wound up dropping out of school, really primarily so that my folks wouldn't waste any more money on sending a heroin addict to art college. i was becoming more and more deeply involved with my codependent junky girlfriend, and beginning to spend less time with friends. friends were also becoming aware of my heroin use, and were generally not amused.

    having always been an animal lover, and seeing art and film as things which could always be hobbies without necessitating (or even necessarily benefiting from) formal education, i engineered an idea with my junky girlfriend to attend a two-year school to be a veterinary technician.... basically a vet's assistant. we arranged to do it in sacramento, california because.... well... it was on the opposite side of the country, and we hated our parents. our time in sacramento was short-lived, however, because before too long we got involved with meth, and managed to quit while we were ahead and run back to mom and dad with our tails between our legs.... tho the psychosis experienced during that time is a saga in itself, and it only exacerbated my craving for heroin upon our return to the east coast... this all occurred before classes even started at our vet tech school.

    ...so now, rattled by speed and futilely attempting to tamp down psychotic symptoms with pot and alcohol, i returned to my hometown and attended a local state school, where my girlfriend joined me in the dorms. it was in those dorms, where i spent more and more of my time with her, that we eventually came across connection for what was, at the time, the best heroin we'd ever had. this was also the period when, for some reason i still cannot explain, we began to start injecting.

    that school year finished out - barely - and i am not exaggerating when i say that i do not remember any teachers' names, classmates' names, any faces at all really, or even all the classes that i took. a few stray moments stand out, and the rest of that whole period recedes into a uniform memory of white. at some point during that period, i had gone into a local flower shop, literally minutes from my (parents') house, and had begun buying the dried poppy pods which were cheaply available there. the lady who owned the shop read me like a book and offered to order the jumbo pods next time - "they're the same price!" she cheerfully encouraged. she would also front me pods when i was broke, and would try to get me to try lotus pods, which at the time i was not aware of and so did not understand.

    so i was using pods almost as often as heroin, since heroin was costly and pods could be gotten locally on the cuff. i would simply walk down the road to the flower shop, buy a bouquet and break off 6-9 jumbo heads on my way down the hill to the coffee shop, where i'd ask for a cup of hot water, which was free. i'd crush up the pod heads and toss them in, then continue on my walk to whatever friend's house i was going to smoke pot at. when i say "i" i should really say "we," because during this time my junky girlfriend and i were joined at the hip... in fact, we had been since we met. slowly the classic "sid and nancy" traits began emerging.

    this period ended right when the school year ended... we were fronted some product to sell, my girl used up a whole bunch and put us into debt, which forced us to sell in some stupid risky ways, which is how we wound up making a deal with an informant, at tompkins square park in manhattan, the dumbest place to possibly be doing this shit - you'd be better off at union square, it's known and it's hot. so that's the arrest at age 19 i was just talking about. they got us both, and they hit me with three C felonies - direct sale, felony possession, and intent. i did some time at rikers and then went straight to an inpatient dual diagnosis rehab/psych place when i got out.

    this next, cleaner period was good for me, even if it was horribly uncomfortable, because i did realize that i had been bona fide psychotic several times before, and that my good IQ scores said nothing of my sanity. i gained some insight into some old, bad behaviors, and i came out of the whole thing very motivated to stay away from smack. on the day i had been home between jail and rehab, i dropped three hits of that really god acid i mentioned, using the experience to program myself away from heroin and the things i had grown to like about it. i still feel that was a very useful part of the whole experience, and other times i've gotten clean and used acid at the tail end have only confirmed that perception.

    anyway, that period was clean and progressive for me, and i found myself better able to maintain stability in my life than i ever had before. i was under "intensive outpatient probation," which meant a curfew and random home visits, complete with drug tests, and it was a good while before i eventually succumbed to my girl's probings about seeking it out on weekends, when we'd each have enough time away from drug tests to use one day a week.... even that early on, i had a sense that i didn't really want to use just once a week.... but when it came to the point where she was going to do it, with or without me, i found it very hard to leave myself out. however, after a few of these weekends, each followed by a full week of paranoia over my drug test results, i grew fed up with the arrangement and opted out, by ratting on myself to my rehab and my folks, before my tolerance could grow and i got in real trouble.

    because i'd volunteered the info - and since i had, my girl was forced to cop to it and pretend she had come clean as well, when in reality it was part of my first stab at breaking up with her - the courts were lenient with me. instead of packing me off upstate like they could have, they let me beg my way into another inpatient experience, which i did, passed xmas there, and then continued with their outpatient when i left and moved to queens, to serve probation within the five boroughs.

    that began the longest clean period of my life, tho i lapsed in my breakup and took back my girl. she stayed clean too, however, and seemed to be enjoying it, actually. i was back in school - this time to be an english teacher, a degree i could be a little more proud of, in spite of my love of film. i was paying my dues and regaining my friends and things seemed on the up and up.

    but there was a difference... i was rx'd suboxone when i got out of inpatient, and it was not exactly a choice because my court-mandated outpatient would have written me a non-compliant assessment had i refused it. their reasoning was that i'd already tried it without help, and i'd failed, so now i really had no second chances and i couldn't afford even one more slip - not with my case, not with my judge. so i agreed... i figured it would be better than methadone.

    it was definitely less sedating than methadone, but after six months on it, i was getting sick by the end of each day, and i felt it had gone past serving its use to me, so i began to taper off it. my rehab didn't want me to, but i was sick of sickness, and ready to be opiate free... in fact, desperate to be so.

    it was another six months of tapering, during which all my wonderful confidence and progress just crumbled, because the process was so agonizingly protracted and painful.... i would have taken cold turkey junk withdrawal over that sub taper, any fucking time. it seemed the residual effects... the dysphoric anxious "rushing" sensations of high blood pressure, the nauseating, brain-boiling feeling of sound and image growing steadily more intense, seeping into your soft core, echoing thru your inner dialogue in a jagged framerate of overstimulated thought.... it was all much longer-lasting than with smack. tho i did use suboxone here and there after that period, i always remained deathly afraid of it. i wound up ending the taper, but remaining in such a state of misery that i never recovered from it before i relapsed, some weeks later, right around xmas - a year from the xmas i passed in rehab.

    this time, the psychic hold was much stronger. i looked forward to scoring in the morning.... i made no attempt to minimize my use, only to sustain a habit.... i loved to covet those little envelopes of well-being, and to feel them in my pocket like finite, precious tricks kept up my sleeve. it was also around this time i began reading william s. burroughs, which gave my imagination altogether too much fuel to adapt my identity to heroin. not to mention, i was starting to realize what all the song lyrics were about from all my favorite musicians... i had known about lou reed and kurt cobain, but guys like bob dylan, or the pixies, or andrew bird, or mississippi john hurt, had all been subtler, and i hadn't realized just how many artists in my library were addicts.... it was absolutely fucking all of them.

    i came to see heroin as a zen exercise - a prototype for binary existence - a form of near-sentient organism, parasite, or possibly demigod - a consciousness composed of many bodies - a mystical djinn - an arcane relationship of sacrifice - a christ-making martyrdom utensil - complete with stigmata - "i said, yknow they refused jesus too - he said, yer not him!" - bob dylan.... i began to see a purpose in all my junkyism, just like i had years ago with dxm, and acid, and once again i was blind to the absurdity of it all. i believed that god used human beings to accumulate experience and memory, so that group consciousness (god) could experience living.... and as such, the more fun you had, the more you were favored by "god"/"godmind," and so paradoxically the most demented and liberated junky moments i ever beheld were some of god's favorites. i was one of god's favorite movies, because i got god as high as i got, by proxy. in fact, unlike myself, who was made of flesh, god couldn't get high without me, or guys like me. this is roughly the line i was thinking on. i was also making all my money at this point by playing my battery powered keyboard in the subways. i am quite a good jazz pianist and improviser and this netted me a stupid sum of cash each day... i wound up supporting my habit and my girl's both, supplemented by other little instances of dealing and hustling, but primarily hanging on my subway piano compositions. i worked out a very reliable system, but i still wound up jailed for various transit offenses all too often... i was still on probation at this point, by the way...

    ...for the next couple years, my girl and i got worse and worse, shaking off all our friends and acquaintances and floundering in school, moving deeper and cheaper into the hood every year, using more and more. by the end, we were absolutely entrenched in the low lifestyle of the area of brooklyn (bushwick) we'd landed. we didn't just have a place in the hood, we were living there. at some point along the way, i had become the quintessential, stereotypical junky. i didn't even fucking mind. for the first time i fit in with a crowd. for the first time, i said "we."

    at some point i realized i wasn't in love with this girl, and maybe never really was, but at least hadn't been for a long time. i realized i had felt trapped with her for a number of reasons - not the least of which being i was co-addicted with her and mandated to live with her by the terms of my probation. so it wasn't until i was finally arrested (stop-and-frisked, actually) with suboxone in my wallet (never mind my prescription for the stuff, which was also present!) that i violated my probation, was sent back to rikers to max out my term, got sick to hell, got clean, got out, came back and got caught up in the bullshit again. but this time, my legals were gone....

    .....so when shit really hit the fan, we shot up the rent and, instead of just hassling me this time, my landlord called my folks, i took the chance to spill the beans and beg to come home and try again to kick the shit. which i did. as soon as i began to feel better, i dumped my junky girlfriend. she went absolutely cuckoo as a result....

    .....i took up with a much nicer, straighter girl, and found work in a factory. the manual labor felt good, and pretty soon i moved in with this new girl, found myself owning a car, having money, maintaining responsibilities, having a sex drive again, and most of all, actually being in love with the person i was with.

    it had seemed like there was no return from that point, but when cravings reared their ugly head several months out, i knew i stood to lose more than ever by fucking up. there were still eyes on my money - this new girl of mine was not completely new, she'd known of me peripherally cus we both grew up in the same small town to which i'd just returned - she'd always had a bit of a crush on me, so when she heard i was back and straight, she put herself in front of me. i was in precisely the place to respond to that, and we found we really hit it off. but that didn't mean she wouldn't ask questions if my entire paycheck disappeared, and i acted funny for three days and crabby for another three.

    in other words, i attempted to mitigate the repercussions of relapse by "only" relapsing on poppy seed tea, what i considered my "first" opiate, all those years ago, as a bored teenager looking for one more way to tune out his folks' battling downstairs. i figured it was cheaper, i wasn't going to go to jail if a cop saw me buying it, it was milder or at least more difficult to make very strong, and it just plain wouldn't look quite so bad if i did get caught.

    so i did it.... i did a little reading first, and found that the knowledge base had been refined since i was a teen. i included lemon juice and used the 2liter shake-n-strain method, after assessing a bunch of reports. i was anxious to mollify the irritating cravings, but frightened to fuck with my progress.

    i first did it on a lunch break at work. work was easy... too goddamn easy. i completely forgot to watch the clock, or look forward to cigarette breaks with a kind of quiet desperation, as was my usual. i also found i could actually begin to talk with my coworkers.

    i made myself a vow not to go over three times a week, as an absolute maximum, with even once a week being a bit much compared with total opiate abstinence - all the while knowing how stupid it is to bother with making yourself vows about your addiction. but that is, after all, why i chose the tea.... coming from a place of no tolerance, heroin would have made me happy, but it would have been overkill, because opium was enough. and with the tea, availability was limited only by proximity to grocery stores, and the ability to scare up the measly sum required for a dose. without discussing price too overtly, let me just say that to pay for a week's worth of daily seed tea usage, it costs about the same as 3.5g of good pot.

    at one point, my girl and i had saved up enough money to go on a vacation.... which we planned for colorado. at this point i had been keeping myself to once or twice a week, but i would feel the lack about two days out of the week, and would simply muscle through. at first that cycle was invigorating, but it did become exhausting, and i was still motivated to avoid physical dependence altogether.

    the time to leave on the trip arrived, and the hop down was a little more painful than i'd anticipated. by the end of the trip i was happier than i'd been in a long time, but at the start of the ten day trip i had been rather quiet and antisocial.

    so i could see myself developing a problem with the tea. but it was so sustainable i found it hard to care. especially once i read about CFO, and realized i would never have so much of a problem with travel ever again.... also, i did remain abstinent from the tea for several months after the vacation, and while i was highly motivated towards a stable life, i was pretty fucking far from achieving it. my emotions were a mess, as per usual, and i was experiencing new things i never had before.... anxiety, and panic attacks, were becoming more of an issue for me, where they'd never much been before.

    skipping ahead to now, about two years later, i've come nearer to my goal of stability than i've ever been before, but i've also become frequently dependent on the seed tea in order to keep employment in really dire emotional times, and ultimately i'd like to just deal with those emotions once and for all, instead of requiring so much "medicine." tho, medicine it is.... the symptoms do vanish... and side effects are tolerable...

    at one point some of my old seed tea bottles were discovered, and i explained what they were and how i'd been using them. a little later, my girl and i had a serious talk about the role of opiates in my life, and she herself said she felt that it was a bit pointless to completely deprive me of them when they obviously improved my life, and my experience of life. she said that seeing me on the seed tea was not at all like seeing me on heroin... she could not "feel" the difference in me, which was a very important distinction for the both of us. also, the seed tea did not disable me sexually, as i knew heroin would. i did not nod out on the tea (unless i made an excessive dose)... there were other arguments as to why it was milder than heroin, in spite of being predominantly morphine.

    i made a point of explaining the stuff honestly and thoroughly, and even offering it to my girl to try (she did) so she could see what i was using. she had - has - no objection to me using the seeds to basically mitigate the symptoms of my mental illness and hold down a job. she is not in a rush to make me get off, or get on suboxone, or get on psych drugs for that matter. sometimes when i wake up in the night, thrashing and sweating from some nightmare, she wakes up too and says, "oh babe, don't worry, we'll get you some seeds first thing in the morning... god you look so miserable..."

    even my physician doesn't seem to mind me using the tea, since he suspects i am schizophrenic but does not feel it is appropriate to medicate me (or anyone else with high functionality in spite of mental disorder) with antipsychotics. he understands that this long lasting, freely available opiate allays my audio-visual and sleep disturbances, not to mention prevents both panic attacks and the development of mania, and so he does not exactly encourage me to quit. he is very vociferous about his desire that i should quit smoking cigarettes, but he is wary of leaving me with my depression, anxiety and trauma, without my tea, and without anything else to take its place. since he is unsure of an appropriate alternative, he has assigned my next course of action to be a trip to the neurologist. but i am already thinking in the direction of a gabapentin script.

    anyway, this brings us up to date. i am no longer a raging street addict, sleeping in caked blood and human (and feline) filth... i am now clean and well-fed, i take vitamins and i work hard. i don't have much of a social life, but i am at least presentable to others, and i do have family and a serious girlfriend, which is quite social enough for me. i have come a long way from where i was five or six years ago, but i am still an addict. in some ways, i am a worse one, because i hold even less hope or motivation for getting truly clean before i die than i ever have before. this idea does not even bother me anymore - not anywhere near so much as the prospect of living how i lived before.

    i have created this journal because there are times i want to reach out, but i am hesitant, because the more i fill in backstory to my issues, the more i realize it's really quite an epic i'm writing, and i often just delete it before i'm half done. but if i simply put down the backstory first, in one singular introductory post, i figure it can be a decent reference point for any personal gripes and queries i may make down the line.

    basically, this is my journal. everybody has their own and this is mine. only here do i dare spend so much time and type on discussing my meager self.

    this is where i'll come when i am feeling isolated with these issues, and no one i know in the meatworld is capable of having a truly intelligent conversation on the topic of addiction, for their simple lack of empathy or experience.

    essentially, this thread will turn out to be the life & issues of just one more shadow-bound american opium eater. at least now i've said all this and can simply refer back to it, instead of having to explicate repeatedly.

    a big thanks to anyone who managed to wade thru this whole entry.... it has been therapeutic to write but if anyone has actually done me the favor of reading the whole thing, you've done too much for me. i will say that, while for the most part i am not conflicted about being an addict, i still experience some dark days for sheer dint of the fact that my mood is at the mercy of an ever depleting chemical supply. then again, in the cases of eating, and breathing, it always is. but my point is, i will have some dark days, and if i can post in this thread at those times and receive support about it, it will make my existence that much nicer.

    it's been a dozen times now i've begun a thread like this and just stopped. i've finally decided that i could really use the extra resource. in other words - thanks for reading, cus i really wouldn't ask you to if i didn't think it was important....

    ....til next time, keep watching the skies, & we'll see you in the funny papers...

    polio/john

Comments

  1. la fee brune
    Well, I, for one, am very glad that you decided to go through with posting this. I think your story illuminates many of the emotional issues which lead to opiate use/addiction quite well. I usually stop reading posts this long after a couple of paragraphs, but I found your story very compelling. You are a very talented writer. The relationship with opiates can be an uneasy one sometimes, and I hope that you'll keep posting updates. :)
  2. lostlygirl
    What a beautiful first post. Welcome to DF. May I suggest you write a book in whatever spare time you have? You are a talented soul.

    Unfortunately I am off to cook dinner, but I wanted to say that your post touched me. You have a beautiful creative talent and an ability to emotionally connect to people through words.

    I will be back to discuss the intellectual and creative pursuits of addiction, if they actually exist. And, to be honest I am quite excited at the prospect.
  3. Jungledog
    John,

    Welcome to DF! You did a great job with your journal. I could "feel" your life as I read it. Many of us, if we are honest, are here because we self-medicated an underlying psych disorder. I have anxiety and PTSD. Sounds like you have been treating it yourself more or less since childhood. Yes, opiates help the symptoms of schizophrenia. There are though some fairly effective drugs on the market that help too (I have seen them work while many don't do anything but make things worse). I wish you the best. You will find love and support here.

    JD
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