I was late to the drug scene, or at least in my mind i was. When i was younger i smoked weed a time or two but i always ended up getting sick from it. I hate the feeling it gave me. I did drink every now and again. I had my first drink when i was 13. But i usually got sick from it too, looking back though i think that was bc i usually drank to much, bc i once i started i just didn’t stop. (classic addict behavior, i just didn’t realize it then.) I grew up in a wealthy ish family, i was adopted by them when i was just over a year old. They were the small town family everyone knew, so we had to project to the world this picture of perfection. (smoke and mirrors, and we never dare let anyone on the outside know our business or issues. I had basically everything materialistically i could want growing up, went to a private christian school, drove a nice car, had the best clothes, but that is bc my parents wanted the outside to see just how good, and how much our family had. (i never really cared about that crap, so i was ALWAYS very different from the rest of my family. I grew up and was preached to about money, and how to save it, and how important it was. (again something i don’t really care about. But know that i am older it is something that left an impression in my brain and is my number one stressor.) My parents are both alcoholics. My mother when i was younger was functioning, my dad as well. Dad today functions like a champ, mom is so bad that when she relapses she is sick sick. Her body is screwed bc of the years of alcohol. She has tried and is trying to be sober, but my asshole father refuses to support this. He keeps liquor in the house, wont lock it up, and there are never any consequences for my mom, like rehab when she relapses. So she continues to do it time and time again. (i try to avoid my family at all costs now, i realize they bring me to much stress and drama and its not my place to save them, although i have tried countless times, i need to focus on myself.) I was always the problem child. I always seem to be different. I started therapy when I was only 9 years old and started taking medication then as well. My parents always portrayed me to be the issue or What was wrong with the family. So in my town i was always the dramatic problem child. No one ever knew what really went on behind closed doors. Growing up I always tried to show the world the problems that went on in the family. But everyone just labeled me as crazy and told me I was lying. No one ever actually believed me. So after you spend that much time getting told you’re lying and that you’re crazy you just seem to believe it. It took almost 30 years for people on the outside to finally learn the truth. They finally realized that I was actually never lying about what went on in my family. Someone finally believed me. I never got much validation as a child. I got good grades, i played sports, went to a good school but nothing was ever good enough. I could bring them straight A’s and would get things like… you couldn’t get straight 100’s? Something could always be better. So of course I don’t believe I’m worthy of anything anymore. I could always be better. I’m never good enough. Throughout my teens and younger years I tried countless medications, antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, antipsychotic meds, basically anything you could think of I’ve tried. But nothing ever seemed to make me feel any better. I was forced into therapy by my parents. And my parents always seemed to influence my therapist that I was always the issue and nothing ever else went on. I’ve got diagnoses a mile long. I’ve been diagnosed with bipolar one, bipolar 2, ADHD, anxiety, depression, OCD traits, borderline personality disorder. That was all in my teenage years. When I turned 18 I chose to not be forced into therapy or take medication anymore. I was sick of it, and never seem to help anything but either make me numb or sleep or overly manic. At 20 I got pregnant with my daughter. I was definitely not ready to be a mom. But since I was adopted I didn’t want to give her up and so I kept her. I remember one of the first things my mother told me when I told her I was pregnant, she asked me to get an abortion and told me I was a slut and I was going to hell. (This is only one of the millions of things I got told that has stuck with me throughout life. Some of which include: Your trash, You’ll never amount to anything, you could have done better, your drama, Your childish, You’re selfish, You’re sensitive, You’re an issue, You’re crazy, You’re lying, You’re too much, You have everything why can’t you just be happy? We’ve done so much for you I don’t know why you act this way.) At 21 I had my daughter and I was a good mom. I took care of my baby and with not much help if any from my family. But in their eyes and as they’ve told me I wasn’t a good mom. And you know what Maybe they were right. At 26 I tried my first drug besides pot. I was out with some friends and they had crushed up a lortab and we’re snorting it. I had tried Lortabs before but they were prescribed, Because I’ve had multiple knee surgeries from soccer. I knew that when I took them I puked my guts up. But they told me since we were snorting it, it wouldn’t have that effect. So I tried it and honestly it didn’t do really much for me. Maybe be able to drink a little more but that was about it. I didn’t feel any different aside from that. I did that a few times throughout a few months. Just because hey everybody was doing it, it wasn’t hurting me, wasn’t doing anything for me but hell why not Plus it got my friends just shut their mouth and not be like oh come on come on, do it. At Almost 26 me and some of my friends went to a bar. They had a line crushed up and set out on the console of the car. One of them asked me to snort it, and I assumed it was just Lortab because that’s all we had ever done. I never thought question it. I proceeded to snort the line, And it burned a little more than normal. Again I didn’t really think much of it and I walked into the bar. , I remember looking at one of my friends and saying wow so this is what it actually does. It’s working this time. Man, this is a great day, I’m feeling great, this is awesome. My friend smiled at me, laughed and said “Oh that was cocaine”. And from that moment, I thought I had found what was missing. What would finally make me feel okay. Something that made me feel confident, I wasn’t depressed, I wasn’t anxious, I thought I was finally me. After that night I used cocaine every weekend when my child was gone. It gave me energy, made me confident, and the few weekends that I could let loose and didn’t have my kid I wanted to make the best of them, So usually I stayed up almost all weekend using cocaine and hanging out with friends. It became every weekend thing, and then I started using it during the week. Who doesn’t want to get things done faster? I got my chores done faster, I was more productive, I wasn’t anxious, depressed or sleeping all the time, and my child was taken care of. Also all my bills were paid. I had a small house but a nice house, and I had multiple cars. I had a good job, and I made decent money. My child didn’t want for anything. I had swore to myself to be a better parent than mine were. To make my kid feel loved, safe, enough, happy, to make her feel like she was enough, and that she was important, and that I loved her with everything I had. About 27 and 1/2years old I was using cocaine almost daily. And cocaine is expensive at least, where I lived and I required more and more, just to get through the day because my tolerance was building up. Not to mention that I started getting horrible coke come downs. I was irritable, lack of energy ,lack of motivation, just a really shitty feeling. Well again one weekend I was out with my friends. They had set out some lines of what I thought was Coke. Someone said hey come in here and do your line. And again I never thought question it. I proceeded to snort the line, then I remember holding my hand over my eye, and asking why the hell it felt like I just snorted a lit match up my nose. Everyone started laughing, as I stood there wondering what the heck was going on. 3 days later with no sleep yet I learned that I had done my first line of meth. At first I didn’t like it. I stayed away from it as best I could. I didn’t like the feeling of not being able to sleep if I wanted to. So I continued to just use cocaine. Well I still struggled with really bad coke come downs and one of my friends had mentioned that if you do a little bit of meth after you’re out of cocaine your come down isn’t as bad. So I tried it. And it worked. Fast forward a little bit and I eventually stopped using cocaine altogether. To me meth was a learning drug. I had to learn how to use it correctly. I had to learn how to eat on it, how to sleep on it, make sure I shower daily, brushed my teeth daily. It became the thing I thought I always needed. Plus not to mention, it’s a lot cheaper, it last way longer, and I could stay up a hell of a lot longer. So in my mind I was just going to be more productive, more energetic, more confident, smarter and social then I was on cocaine. And for a few years that was true. I became a daily Meth user. I loved it. I snorted multiple, multiple lines a day. My house was spotless, I went to work, my child was taking care of, household chores were completed. The house was insanely organized, I paid my bills, and I even acquired new hobbies. I wasn’t depressed anymore and I didn’t require as much sleep as I usually did. So I had loads and loads of time to do basically whatever I wanted. My child was always on time to school, and she was always picked up on time. Her homework was always done, and she always made it to sports practice. I started becoming really creative, I built a fire pit out in my backyard, I always had little projects going on that I would have never thought to do or even been able to accomplish when I was clean. I was finally the person I had always wanted to be. I never felt more confident, smarter, productive, in my entire life. I finally didn’t hate myself. I used Meth daily for years and years. I sit and write this now and I’m almost 33, and I have successfully failed at remaining clean more times than I’m willing to count. By the end of my everyday drug use, I was very angry, I became violent quickly, I was hurtful to those around me. I had a girlfriend who I was upfront and honest with about my using because I didn’t tell very many people, and I had finally come to the point where I didn’t want to live that way anymore. So I asked her for help. I continued using and lying about it behind her back for a few months at least, but she somehow always caught me. Then one year in March my best friend passed away. We had been together for years and years, all day everyday and all night. We did everything together, and when he died my world shattered. That was where my spiral started. I picked back up and continued to use with no care or worry about my consequences. My girlfriend had given me an ultimatum after I’d went into a meth psychosis shortly after he passed. I needed to go to rehab, move out of state with her to get away from people, places and things, or we were over. So I moved from Tennessee to Alabama. Left my home, my friends, and all the places that me and my dead best friend had always hung out. I left all the memories of him and me. In my home that I loved, everything changed. I remained clean while staying with her for just over 30 days I believe. But we only lived about 2hrs from my old town, so I eventually started making trips back down there to get my drug. Without it I didn’t know how to live, how to function, how to even get out of bed. So the roller coaster remained up and down up and down up and down. I’d hit 30 days, 60 days, 90 days. But nothing ever stuck. We finally had to move to Louisiana because she had a death in the family and we had to go help her mom get everything in order and ready after the death. We remained there for just over a year. When we moved I went with 17 g of meth. And I made that last me for about 3 months, and I ran out. I had no connections in Louisiana, and I didn’t like getting it from anyone but my guy because I didn’t trust people and I thought he was the only one that had quote-unquote safe meth. So it was back to not getting out of bed, not functioning, erratic behavior, mood swings, depression and anxiety, and just being downright miserable. It got to the point where I just literally was a shell without it. Since I didn’t have any connections I had no choice but to stay clean and I white knuckled the shit out of it. I remember when I hit 60 days, for some reason I got set off and I lost my fucking shit. to make a long story short I ended up in jail on my 60 days sober in Louisiana. My charges included: domestic assault, child endangerment, resisting arrest, not to mention the trauma I put upon my child and my girlfriend. I spent a week in jail. I was in a state where I knew no one. So I had to break down and call my parents. They bailed me out and came and got me after 7 days. And I agreed to go to a 30-day inpatient program. I actually liked the rehab I went to. But I did end up missing like three major holidays while I was in there, so I had a lot of guilt and shame for that. I had already put my girlfriend and my child through so much and to miss even more time with them made me feel sick. But I did complete the 30-day program. I thought once I got out it was going to be smooth sailing. I had functioned in rehab with no drugs, I’d started taking some medication to help with my anxiety and depression. But when I got out of my 30-day impatient program, I had absolutely no fucking clue what the fuck to do. I knew I wasn’t supposed to use drugs, but that’s all I knew. I hadn’t learned how to live without the use of drugs. I didn’t know how to function in the outside world without drugs. I didn’t know how to be a clean and loving partner. I didn’t know how to be a clean and loving mother. I didn’t know how to executively function on a daily basis without becoming insanely overwhelmed, without the use of drugs. So I ended up slipping into a very deep depression, and basically stayed in bed, contributing nothing to our life. I was still very quick tempered, I hadn’t learned the tools to control my emotions yet. But I managed to stay clean for seven straight months. Granted seven straight months in the bed isn’t really an accomplishment, but at least I didn’t do drugs. I ended up finding out my mom had relapsed on alcohol, and at 7 months I thought I was strong enough to go back to my town and try and help my mom. I thought that because I was finally living a clean or sober life that I could help her. So I went down there and stayed with her for a couple weeks. I feel like I did help her, and I got to show her that going to rehab wasn’t horrible and that it did help in some cases. She refused because she didn’t want the world to know her problem, and I’m not sure she even thinks she has one. My dad doesn’t think she has one and my dad doesn’t think he has one to this day. I made it about 2 weeks without getting drugs when I was there to help my mom. But eventually I cracked. And in the blink of an eye I had somehow managed to fuck up a whole seven months clean. Back in Louisiana we had a few months more of getting things together then we were moving back to Alabama. Eventually we got moved back. And I was still not functioning. I mean I tried. But I didn’t have the energy or the productiveness that I once did. There was no want or desire or motivation for anything. About 4 months ago I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I was miserable in my own skin, I wasn’t helpful in any areas of life or with the family. I was back to being a shell. So I slipped, and I relapsed again. (Now granted let me explain that I probably have about 27 to 30 relapses since I decided I wanted to try being clean which has been since I asked my girlfriend for help, 3 years ago.) I was facing homelessness. My girlfriend had had enough and was kicking me out. My kid was staying with her and I would just have to find somewhere to go. I chose to go to a halfway house / sober living program in a town close to us. When I arrived at the program I had 20 days under my belt. I remained there for the first time for 74 days I believe. I started working the 12 steps, I got a sponsor, and I went to meetings daily. I completed a 90 for 90, and I got a job. I lived with other addicts like myself, and slowly but surely I could kind of do this thing called life. This is a individually based program I was in and depending on how far you had progressed depended on how long you stayed. I had come home to my girlfriend and my kid. We had yet another death in the family and so I left to come and support them through that because for the first time I was at a place in my mind and strong enough in my recovery that I could finally be there for them without fucking anything up. But going from a sober living environment and hanging out with addicts all the time, to making sure the kids at school, the house chores are done, the animals are taking care of, you’re making your meetings, you’re working your steps, not to mention we’re still in the process of moving into our house so everything is a completely dsfunctional shitstorm, nothing is in order and everything is just kind of completely out of place, was more than I could take. Not to mention my girlfriend felt alone, and that I was working more on hanging with my addict friends, attending meetings, and putting more effort into my recovery than I was at home. She suffers from codependency, so this makes things difficult. I was scared that I would let her affect my recovery, so I moved back to the program. I felt guilty again for having to leave and not be there, for them yet again. I mean to think I’ve missed so much time being high, being in jail, being in rehabs, and all the time that it takes to get to where I am, yet here I am leaving them again. I stayed at the program another 30 days. When I moved back my girlfriend had decided she wanted to get healthy, and work on her codependency recovery. She started attending coda meetings as well as Alanon meetings and working on steps for her and her recovery. And for the first week or two it was great. Then I got a call from one of my friends saying that they got kicked out of the program and had nowhere to go. Of course I wanted to help, we’re supposed to help other addicts in need right? So she moved in with us. It went well for a while until she relapsed. And then 4 days ago, i did. She had to move out and here i sit, writing this. I had to reset my sober time. I went from 120 days clean to zero. So fast I don’t even really remember why the fuck I did it. What was I thinking? I don’t know why this happened. I should have been stronger. I let everyone down again. I finally thought I had at least somehow figured out how to slightly live in a clean way. And now I’m back to square one. So that’s my story, very short and condensed version but it gives you the idea of where I’m at. I grew up becoming the problem, and here I sit back in that same seat. I was always disappointing to my family, yet here I sit disappointing my girlfriend and my daughter again. I just don’t understand how to keep doing this after so many failed attempts. How do I keep strong and keep going when I always fail? It’s not like these 120 days I was super productive, or much help in any area of our lives. I didn’t really help with bills because I had a shitty paying job. I can barely keep up with everything that needs to be done at the house because there’s so many chores and so much to do because we’re still moving in that my brain like fries when I look around the house at what is ahead of me. The only thing is, I guess I am more calm and chill. And I am taking my psych meds. But I am just really lazy and not motivated still, so maybe that’s why I slipped. I don’t know. I just want to find me. I want to figure out who I am supposed to be. I want to be proud of me, and for my girlfriend and child to be proud of me. And I would really really like to stop being a fuck up. So here’s to day #1… Yet again.
Hi Megan, a few days ago i read quit like a woman …your story reminds me of hers…i think itd be great for you to read, warm welcome from me and a great big hug 
Thanks for the info. I’ll find it and order it ASAP. I appreciate it. Thanks for the reply!! 
Wow thank you for sharing your story. You have time to make the ending a story of redemption. You have put in the time before. You can do it! Check in often
You are right! Thank you for the encouragement. I think sometimes it’s just hard to continue the journey. I always look at the negative. I never look back and go oh, I got 30 days, or 60 days or whatever amount of time I had. I just solely focus on well messed this up again. I never remember that just because I did mess up doesn’t mean my clean time is gone. I just have to start my count over. I gotta try and be more positive.