As far back as I can remember I have found a need to escape my feelings and myself. As a child, I lived with an alcoholic father, a highly-strung mother and three siblings. My childhood was difficult at best, filled with emotions of fear and rejection, and I would escape from them at any given opportunity. I was desperately searching for something new and exciting, and I thought that I had found what I was looking for when I left home and enlisted in the British army. At the tender age of sixteen, I had already experienced alcohol and a variety of drugs, which I found to be both exciting and stimulating. I continued to use while enlisted, and at that time, I could not see that my substance abuse was becoming a problem, so I continued to ignore the signs as the years went by.
My military career was short lived; I had grown to resent authority. It made me feel like a prisoner without any chance of parole. My longing to escape had returned with a vengeance. As soon as the opportunity arose to break the shackles of military bondage, I was gone in a flash. I found myself traveling from city to city, country to country, all the while indulging in drugs and alcohol as often as physically possible. On several occasions, I woke up in jail with no recollection of the night before, wondering how I got there, and praying that I hadn't killed anyone. Still, I refused to see the error of my ways; I simply put it down to my rambunctious youth, and continued on my merry way. All of this was about to change for the worse.
After immigrating to the United States, the first few years went by without any monumental tragedy. I left Virginia and headed west bound for California.
I never made it past Colorado, and found myself taking up residency in the small town of Boulder. It didn't take long to find my niche of friends and a reasonable paying job with a growing tree company. My boss, Brett, soon became my best friend. We worked hard and played even harder. Brett and I shared a common attraction to making money and spending it carelessly on fine dining and the best drugs, that money could buy. This would soon take my already problematic addiction to soaring new heights.
Up to this point in my life, I had never even come close to experimenting with heroin. For me, this had always been taboo. In every country that I have ever lived in, the stigma attached to heroin use was one of complete disgust, and my feelings on this subject were much the same.
Brett and I had been invited to a party; we accepted the invitation and arranged to meet up around ten o'clock. When we arrived, the party was well under way. The booze was flowing and everyone seemed to be having a great time. I was led into the kitchen and handed a piece of foil and a straw. I asked Brett what was going on. He told me that it was some high quality opium and to try it. I did so without question, not knowing that this was going to be the biggest mistake of my life.
It did not take long for my life to crumble and fall; within several months, I had become a full-blown heroin addict. The only thing my existence seemed to consist of was the getting and using of narcotics. Life had become grossly unmanageable, I lost a huge amount of weight in a very short period of time, food was of no interest to me, and it was impossible to do even the simplest of tasks without the aid of drugs.
I couldn't look at myself in the mirror anymore. Depression, anxiety, and self-loathing became my life; I needed help and I needed it fast. Everything was washing away from me like spit in the rain.
I tried to get clean by my own methods. I switched one drug for another, smoked weed, drank copious amounts of alcohol...nothing worked. I had managed to hide my addiction from my wife and family by spinning endless lies and crazy excuses. It worked for a while but the burden of guilt was more than I could take. My thoughts shifted to suicide, the final selfish act of desperation. Death is permanent; you don't get a second chance. Everything was spinning out of control. I had run out of options; my biggest fear was telling my wife and family the truth. In order to detoxify, I would need all the support I could get. This wasn't going to be easy, but I did what I had to do. I confessed all my sins. In addition, I must do my penance.
The sweat clings to my body like a thick frost on a cold winter morning. The cleansing has begun. Heroin addiction makes you constipated, and it's been several hours since my last fix, the toxins are on there way out of my blood stream and each part of my body screams in excruciating pain. I am no longer constipated, my bowels let go as I start to vomit violently, I have my head in the sink whilst sitting on the commode
This nightmare has only just begun. I started sobbing like a child, as my body spasms relentlessly, how much longer can this go on?, how long will I be able to handle this torture?.
The next thirty days and what seemed like a thousand nights were a living nightmare. I was unable to eat, sleep, or function, like a normal human being and even the simplest task, where painfully difficult. After going without sleep for almost a month, I was losing my mind; I was like a toy that had been over-wound, ready to come apart at the seams. Due to the sleep depravation, my pupils had dilated to the size of bowling balls, which made leaving the house in day light hours, a blindingly problematic procedure. The feelings of anxiety and paranoia where second to none; it felt as if the whole world was watching me, scrutinizing every move that I made; pointing their fingers and laughing. I was once again a prisoner of my on mind; desperately looking for somewhere too run and hide, but with no place too go...
To this day, I still carry the mental scars, that where brutally hacked into my mind; they are souvenirs that I will never loose, from a battle that almost ended my life. Thanks to my faith in god, my loving family, and friends, I have managed to make it through the worst experience of my existence. My road to recovery, has not been an easy one by any means and although I have made amends for much of the pain and worry, inflicted upon my loved ones; my wicked past still rears its evil head from time to time, regurgitating those painful memories of days gone by, that hopefully one day can be forgotten.
Author: Liam Devine
Date: 11/24/09
Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Liam_Devine
