The life of an addict is a mixture between hell and purgatory. Each day represents a tremendous amount of emotional pain and the feeling as if you are stuck in an infinite loop of time that you can’t seem to break out of. It is something that really cannot be understood to its full effect unless it is experienced and since addiction is a progressive illness, the life of an addict will often times get progressively worse as the addiction proceeds.
A friend of mine was kind enough to share openly with me what the last days of his addiction were like. He told me that his hope is that by sharing what the life of an addict is truly like; he will maybe help someone else. Help them to see the futility of the battle they are fighting, and show them that they can have a new life in sobriety, away from the dangers and pain that come along with the life of an addict.
Here is his story:
Each day I would wake up with really one thought— I hope that I have enough heroin to get me through the day. I would wake up around 7:00 o’clock in the morning. Not because I was a particularly early riser, but because during those last days I would usually pass out around 9 o’clock and come 7 am I would already be starting to feel the withdrawals.
I was living with my dad at the time and I also worked for him because I was incapable of getting a job anywhere else. I was 22 years old at the time that this story is taking place and I had no friends really, my sister hated me, and my dad was completely at odds with what to do with me.
The May before this I had entered into my first detox, but I knew that I wasn’t ready to quit yet. I had gone to detox because it was Sunday and I wasn’t getting paid till Tuesday. I had stolen my dad’s debit card and went up to the ATM, but the pin had been changed so there was no way that I was getting money. My dealers didn’t trust me so they wouldn’t spot me and so I asked for help and entered detox.
When I got out I proceeded to do the same things I had always done and so in December of that same year I wound up back in the same detox facility, a little more willing, but still not ready. While I was in there I met a girl and I fell in love pretty quickly. She had a boyfriend already and so I was the other guy, but at the time I didn’t see it this way. For the next two months—bringing us back up to the time of this story—I had a half a relationship with her and since she was really trying to get better, but was struggling, she went back to rehab, while I descended further and further into my addiction.
The day that this story is taking place was in a sense just like any other, except for the fact that the night before the girl I met in detox told me that we shouldn’t talk anymore. I was really hurt by this because I was so empty inside that the only thing that mattered to me was what other people thought of me, and rejection was just too much for me to bear.
So that morning after I smoked my cigarette, brushed my teeth, and put on some clothes, I sat down in front of the TV in my room and snorted a few bags of heroin and mixed it with some Xanax I had bought the week before in order to try to come off of the dope.
The combination of the two made me feel insane. Like I had literally no control over my actions and I was a walking landmine. I went to work that day a complete mess. I was barely functioning as a human being and it was evident. I was upset about the girl and my addiction was spiraling out of control. A few times in the past week a number of my co-workers had asked me if I was okay and HR had implied that maybe I needed help.
I went home for lunch that day, did more drugs and still feeling terrible about the girl, I then got a brilliant idea that I should cut myself on the side of my stomach and go back to work and tell everyone that I got into a knife fight with her boyfriend and that is why she wouldn’t talk to me anymore.
This last part of the story may seem rather abrupt, but it is what I did back then. I would construct a reality around myself in order to protect my addiction and my fragile ego, and so if I told a lie enough times then I would really start to believe and I would then be able to justify my life.
The problem is that it didn’t work this time. I went back to work, the workplace that my father owned, and sat at my desk bleeding a little bit from the small knife wound I had inflicted on myself. I started to tell all of my co-workers, his employees, about the knife fight and surprisingly to me, no one thought it was cool, as I had thought they would, and everyone was frightened for me.
I don’t think that they even necessarily believed the story; they just saw that I was out of control and so after a few hours of being there, HR sent me home for the day and I proceeded to lay in bed for 3 days and cry.
I cried not because of the girl, but because I finally saw myself. I finally saw what I had become. I realized and felt with every fiber of my being that I was empty. That the ride was done and after 22 years of throwing everything I had at life, I had failed. I wanted more than anything to be dead, but instead they held an intervention for me and I was sent to treatment, one last time.
While this story is one of the more dramatic ones in my arsenal, it does represent the insanity of drug addiction to me. It shows the day-to-day delusion that we can live in and it reminds me of a place I never want to go back to.
Seeking Treatment for Your Addiction
If you or a loved one is suffering from a drug addiction then call the professionals at Dream Center for Recovery today at 1-877-978-3148. They are standing by to take your call and help you finally overcome your addiction.