Victorianna's Diary
The deceitful web of addiction affects millions of people. This is just one story. It is unique because it is my story, but it is not unusual...
Part I
The Road To Detox
June 29, 2006
I don't know if it is day or night. I don't care. I have crawled into my closet and am curled in a fetal position. I want to die. I can't get high anymore. The drugs have turned on me. Twelve years ago I kicked heroin. I did it by myself in a fleabag hotel in New York City. I didn't need any program because I was so powerful I could stop all by myself. Three years ago I was in a car accident. In the emergency room they gave me a shot of morphine. I was elated, relieved. I had been clean for years. I had been miserable for years. I pretended to be happy. I knew I should be, but something was wrong with me and as hard as I tried I couldn't pin it down. My discontent was slippery. My fears were powerful, but evasive. I was so pleased to be in the hospital with my old friend morphine. I left with a new friend Vicodin. I felt soothed and absolutely content. Four months later I was in a not-too-seedy motel kicking the pills. Damn things turned on me too. I quit all by my powerful self, but as the disease would have it, I longed for them and dreamed sweet dreams about them and eventually found myself curled up here on the closet floor. I've tried to stop. Something has changed. The drugs have won. I am powerless to stop and all I can do is look up. As absolutely reprobate as I am right here, right now, I have no where else to go. I tell God, who I believe has had more than enough of my loser ways, that I am sorry, so very sorry and that I need help. I need a miracle. I have no resources. My business is failing. My husband has divorced me. I am alone. Tomorrow I will see my doctor, my somewhat suspecting dealer. Tomorrow I will tell him that I am an addict.
June 30, 2006
It's done. I told the doctor that I'm having problems with the pills. I added that I needed some more. He's sending me to a pain specialist. He wrote me scripts for Vicodin and Oxycodone. A parting gift of sorts although, as he handed me the scripts, he insisted he was not doing me a favor. I can tell he's relieved to pass me on...
I tried to make myself feel better with the Oxy when I got home. It's not working, not at all. I hate this place. I can't get high and I can't get straight. This must be some special circle of hell reserved for addicts.
July 3, 2006
I saw the pain specialist today. Had to tell him that I'm addicted. I guess it's pretty obvious since only three days have passed and my two scripts are almost gone. I've been having a little party. Trying to get high, but barely managing to stay straight. My new doctor told me to stop taking the Oxy and Vicodin. I tried to give him what was left of my pills. He refused. Maybe that's illegal, or something. He gave me some steroid shots for the chronic pain I supposedly have. To be quite honest, I don't know where the pain leaves off and the addiction begins. Before I left he handed me a script for morphine. Yippee! This just gets better and better. He referred me to a counseling agency and insisted I check in with them immediately. Well, that's just lovely. Let's see just how many people I can confess my addiction to in this tiny town of mine. I obeyed. The counselor was quite impressed with my honesty. She talked to me like I was normal. I feel anything but normal. Apparently our hospital is opening up a detox at the end of the month. She wants me to go. That seems like forever from where I'm sitting. I agreed. It gets even weirder. She invited me to the Grand Opening! Can you imagine? Anyway, she wants me to go to AA or NA. I said, "No, way". I mean, come on now, do I want the whole town knowing I'm an addict?
I'm home now and very disappointed. There's something wrong with that morphine. It makes me sick. I guess I'll be going back down the hall to buy some "good" stuff from one of the old lady addicts in my building.
July 12, 2006
I have a 12-year-old son. He lives with me. He's not doing well, big surprise, isn't it? I've been thinking, "How's this going to work"? I mean me going into detox and all that. Who's going to take care of him? Not that I'm doing a great job, or anything. Lately, he's always checking on me. "Are you alright, mom"? "Do you need anything"? It's so sad, this little co-dependant that I've created. I have done some research. Luckily my computer is hooked up in my store, my cool Vintage Store, on the historic main street of my tiny town. I found a wilderness camp for troubled teens where he can go live in the woods for a year. A year away from me would, no doubt, be beneficial. I don't know how, but what little strength I have left, I am going to use on getting him set up somewhere safe. The way I'm using I just might up, and die before I get to detox.
July 14, 2006
Paranoia has set in. I am at my shop with the lights out and the doors locked. From this dark corner I can see my potential customers peering through the window. I can't face them. I am hysterical. I kept snorting pills all morning until my heart broke. How is this possible? Will I ever find relief, ever again? I called my ex-husband. There's no one else I can bear to see. He's on his way over to do yet another emotional intervention on his crazy, drug addicted ex-wife. He has a new girlfriend, someone special, someone not like me. I don't know why he still loves me, but he does.
Leo, that's my ex-husband, came by. He sat me out on the back steps, in the sunshine. I've become a bit of a vampire. He talked me down like only he can. His voice soothes my madness. My addiction is torturing him. I can see it in his eyes. I want to be the old me, the person I was before I turned on him, the person I was before I said all those ugly things. He used to look at me with love and adoration. Now he looks at me with fear and disgust. Hell, I can understand that, that's how I look at myself.
I'm home, in my bed, staring at the drawer where I keep my stash. Guess I'll give it another go.
July 20, 2006
I fear I am very close to death. Part of me wants to die, but more of me wants to live. I'm going to have to lose my shop to live. I am incapable of handling the pressure. I gave my landlord notice. He was none too happy. I have to be out by August 15th. I have been calling the detox every day to check in. Yes, they opened, and no, I did not make it to the Grand Opening party. I will find out very soon if my son gets to go to the wilderness camp. I can't go anywhere until he's situated. Soon I will have to meet with a camp counselor at the shop and then bring him up to our apartment for a home visit. It is almost impossible for me to interact normally with the public anymore. I had to call my Mommy and ask her to fill in at the shop for my "Going Out Of Business Sale". I look terrible, frightening. I am hiding out in my room snorting pain pills night and day. When my son knocks on the door I'm scrambling hiding all my stuff. In between trying to get high I am dreaming sweet dreams of checking into the hospital. That's progress I suppose.
August 3, 2006
It's D-Day. I have to get ready to open my own store like a big girl. The counselor is coming from camp to check us out. The apartment is clean, but, as usual, I am not. I am as ready as I will ever be for my grand performance. The performance where everyone concerned leaves believing that my son is the one with the problem and I am the loving, caring mother.
August 4, 2006
Miracles of miracles. My son checks into camp on the 13th . I called Detox to let them know. They are holding a bed for me. I check into the hospital on the 15th . They said they don't usually hold a bed that far in advance, but since I have been calling them every day, they are making an exception. This might just work out after all.
My stash is calling me and my mind is telling me it's time to celebrate.
August 9, 2006
The days are dragging by. I asked the pain specialist for some of those Fentanyl patches and some Vicodin. I told him that I am trying to wean myself down to a manageable addiction for detox. I guess, at this point, he's willing to give me what I want knowing the end is in sight. I found a little old lady who just loves the items in my shop. I'm trading everything in sight for those killer pain pills she has. I am out of control. I am miserable and my using keeps escalating. I look like a drug addict. I sound like a drug addict. I probably smell like one too.
August 13, 2006
Today, I drove one last time, totally wasted, with my son in the car. I know I did the right thing dropping him off at the camp. The counselor made it clear that once I walked away, there was no bringing him home until they said so. I have done it this time. I have given up my son, something I swore would never happen. He has been with me everyday of his life until today. I left his biological father when I was 3 months pregnant. My addiction has now cost me my son.
So, since my mind tells me that I love drugs, have a great time doing drugs and that I should keep on using drugs, let me pause and consider what I have lost as a result of the drugs%u2026
I lost my mind, my health, my beauty, my intelligence, my husband, my son, my step-daughters, my home, my business, my reputation and most of all I lost my usefulness to my God.
Part I
The Road To Detox
June 29, 2006
I don't know if it is day or night. I don't care. I have crawled into my closet and am curled in a fetal position. I want to die. I can't get high anymore. The drugs have turned on me. Twelve years ago I kicked heroin. I did it by myself in a fleabag hotel in New York City. I didn't need any program because I was so powerful I could stop all by myself. Three years ago I was in a car accident. In the emergency room they gave me a shot of morphine. I was elated, relieved. I had been clean for years. I had been miserable for years. I pretended to be happy. I knew I should be, but something was wrong with me and as hard as I tried I couldn't pin it down. My discontent was slippery. My fears were powerful, but evasive. I was so pleased to be in the hospital with my old friend morphine. I left with a new friend Vicodin. I felt soothed and absolutely content. Four months later I was in a not-too-seedy motel kicking the pills. Damn things turned on me too. I quit all by my powerful self, but as the disease would have it, I longed for them and dreamed sweet dreams about them and eventually found myself curled up here on the closet floor. I've tried to stop. Something has changed. The drugs have won. I am powerless to stop and all I can do is look up. As absolutely reprobate as I am right here, right now, I have no where else to go. I tell God, who I believe has had more than enough of my loser ways, that I am sorry, so very sorry and that I need help. I need a miracle. I have no resources. My business is failing. My husband has divorced me. I am alone. Tomorrow I will see my doctor, my somewhat suspecting dealer. Tomorrow I will tell him that I am an addict.
June 30, 2006
It's done. I told the doctor that I'm having problems with the pills. I added that I needed some more. He's sending me to a pain specialist. He wrote me scripts for Vicodin and Oxycodone. A parting gift of sorts although, as he handed me the scripts, he insisted he was not doing me a favor. I can tell he's relieved to pass me on...
I tried to make myself feel better with the Oxy when I got home. It's not working, not at all. I hate this place. I can't get high and I can't get straight. This must be some special circle of hell reserved for addicts.
July 3, 2006
I saw the pain specialist today. Had to tell him that I'm addicted. I guess it's pretty obvious since only three days have passed and my two scripts are almost gone. I've been having a little party. Trying to get high, but barely managing to stay straight. My new doctor told me to stop taking the Oxy and Vicodin. I tried to give him what was left of my pills. He refused. Maybe that's illegal, or something. He gave me some steroid shots for the chronic pain I supposedly have. To be quite honest, I don't know where the pain leaves off and the addiction begins. Before I left he handed me a script for morphine. Yippee! This just gets better and better. He referred me to a counseling agency and insisted I check in with them immediately. Well, that's just lovely. Let's see just how many people I can confess my addiction to in this tiny town of mine. I obeyed. The counselor was quite impressed with my honesty. She talked to me like I was normal. I feel anything but normal. Apparently our hospital is opening up a detox at the end of the month. She wants me to go. That seems like forever from where I'm sitting. I agreed. It gets even weirder. She invited me to the Grand Opening! Can you imagine? Anyway, she wants me to go to AA or NA. I said, "No, way". I mean, come on now, do I want the whole town knowing I'm an addict?
I'm home now and very disappointed. There's something wrong with that morphine. It makes me sick. I guess I'll be going back down the hall to buy some "good" stuff from one of the old lady addicts in my building.
July 12, 2006
I have a 12-year-old son. He lives with me. He's not doing well, big surprise, isn't it? I've been thinking, "How's this going to work"? I mean me going into detox and all that. Who's going to take care of him? Not that I'm doing a great job, or anything. Lately, he's always checking on me. "Are you alright, mom"? "Do you need anything"? It's so sad, this little co-dependant that I've created. I have done some research. Luckily my computer is hooked up in my store, my cool Vintage Store, on the historic main street of my tiny town. I found a wilderness camp for troubled teens where he can go live in the woods for a year. A year away from me would, no doubt, be beneficial. I don't know how, but what little strength I have left, I am going to use on getting him set up somewhere safe. The way I'm using I just might up, and die before I get to detox.
July 14, 2006
Paranoia has set in. I am at my shop with the lights out and the doors locked. From this dark corner I can see my potential customers peering through the window. I can't face them. I am hysterical. I kept snorting pills all morning until my heart broke. How is this possible? Will I ever find relief, ever again? I called my ex-husband. There's no one else I can bear to see. He's on his way over to do yet another emotional intervention on his crazy, drug addicted ex-wife. He has a new girlfriend, someone special, someone not like me. I don't know why he still loves me, but he does.
Leo, that's my ex-husband, came by. He sat me out on the back steps, in the sunshine. I've become a bit of a vampire. He talked me down like only he can. His voice soothes my madness. My addiction is torturing him. I can see it in his eyes. I want to be the old me, the person I was before I turned on him, the person I was before I said all those ugly things. He used to look at me with love and adoration. Now he looks at me with fear and disgust. Hell, I can understand that, that's how I look at myself.
I'm home, in my bed, staring at the drawer where I keep my stash. Guess I'll give it another go.
July 20, 2006
I fear I am very close to death. Part of me wants to die, but more of me wants to live. I'm going to have to lose my shop to live. I am incapable of handling the pressure. I gave my landlord notice. He was none too happy. I have to be out by August 15th. I have been calling the detox every day to check in. Yes, they opened, and no, I did not make it to the Grand Opening party. I will find out very soon if my son gets to go to the wilderness camp. I can't go anywhere until he's situated. Soon I will have to meet with a camp counselor at the shop and then bring him up to our apartment for a home visit. It is almost impossible for me to interact normally with the public anymore. I had to call my Mommy and ask her to fill in at the shop for my "Going Out Of Business Sale". I look terrible, frightening. I am hiding out in my room snorting pain pills night and day. When my son knocks on the door I'm scrambling hiding all my stuff. In between trying to get high I am dreaming sweet dreams of checking into the hospital. That's progress I suppose.
August 3, 2006
It's D-Day. I have to get ready to open my own store like a big girl. The counselor is coming from camp to check us out. The apartment is clean, but, as usual, I am not. I am as ready as I will ever be for my grand performance. The performance where everyone concerned leaves believing that my son is the one with the problem and I am the loving, caring mother.
August 4, 2006
Miracles of miracles. My son checks into camp on the 13th . I called Detox to let them know. They are holding a bed for me. I check into the hospital on the 15th . They said they don't usually hold a bed that far in advance, but since I have been calling them every day, they are making an exception. This might just work out after all.
My stash is calling me and my mind is telling me it's time to celebrate.
August 9, 2006
The days are dragging by. I asked the pain specialist for some of those Fentanyl patches and some Vicodin. I told him that I am trying to wean myself down to a manageable addiction for detox. I guess, at this point, he's willing to give me what I want knowing the end is in sight. I found a little old lady who just loves the items in my shop. I'm trading everything in sight for those killer pain pills she has. I am out of control. I am miserable and my using keeps escalating. I look like a drug addict. I sound like a drug addict. I probably smell like one too.
August 13, 2006
Today, I drove one last time, totally wasted, with my son in the car. I know I did the right thing dropping him off at the camp. The counselor made it clear that once I walked away, there was no bringing him home until they said so. I have done it this time. I have given up my son, something I swore would never happen. He has been with me everyday of his life until today. I left his biological father when I was 3 months pregnant. My addiction has now cost me my son.
So, since my mind tells me that I love drugs, have a great time doing drugs and that I should keep on using drugs, let me pause and consider what I have lost as a result of the drugs%u2026
I lost my mind, my health, my beauty, my intelligence, my husband, my son, my step-daughters, my home, my business, my reputation and most of all I lost my usefulness to my God.
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