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Heroin Freak

Or Heroin Chic?

By Kierstyn WestPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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If you asked me six months ago if I’d ever use hard drugs, my answer would have been no way. I don’t believe in drug use, it’s for the weak minded, the weak willed. It’s for people who want to run away from their problems rather than fix them. Now fast forward to today, and I’d tell you that my drug of choice was possibly the best and worst decision in the world.

It’s said that heroin has the highest overdose rate in the drug community. While that may be so, it also gives you the best high. I’m not promoting the drug by any means; I’m just saying that out of everything I’ve tried, it’s given me the best buzz. I have a long history of anxiety and depression, and early in June I was diagnosed bipolar. It makes a lot of sense. The random mood swings, impulsivity. Even though I was just flat out depressed for a while, the mania crept in every once in a while. I would take something to get rid of it. Really anything. I was on Ativan at the time and it worked like a charm. After a while, it didn’t do anything.

One night I overdosed on it at work trying to get rid of the anxiety. They thought it was a suicide attempt. It really wasn’t. It was more of a desperate bid to get rid of symptoms of anxiety that felt like I was dying. They 10-13’d me into Peachford hospital. I spent a very heavily medicated week there and was then released into the care of my psychiatrist. When I came home from the hospital, all my medications had been cleaned out of my bedroom. Everything I was currently taking to pills that were not on the top of my list to overdose on. It was a dehumanizing kind of experience. I mean I’m an adult. I’m almost twenty-four. I can handle my own medications. I don’t need a watch dog on them. It made me feel worse, almost like I wasn’t capable of taking care of myself. It infuriated me on a different level.

So, I found heroin. I could control it, control how much I took. I could hide it anywhere because it was in a baggie and not in a bottle. It was inconspicuous. That was the appeal. That and it made me feel absolutely nothing for once. It was a seductor. I make up a new word because of this. I consider heroin my personal King. It seduced me from the first time I inhaled it up my nose up until the last time I’ve shot it into my veins. And let me tell you, the shots… they were what I lived for. And I don’t know why I’m writing in the past. It’s a lot more recent than I let on. But let me get back to what I was saying…

I wanted to overdose on something. Being alive was the absolute last thing on my mind. I was so upset when I woke up in Peachford that I couldn’t see straight. I would lie my way out of the hospital just so I could go home and try to attempt again. I didn’t see my life as something worth living. I still don’t to a point. I don’t see myself doing anything—or even being alive—in five years. I feel like when I talk about this as candidly as I am right now, some "adultier" adult is going to come out of a corner and patronize the fuck out of me. “Your life is worth living” “There’s nothing you can’t get past” “Suicide isn’t the answer.” The fact is this—if there’s one thing I can ACTUALLY control about my life, it’s my life itself. I can control if I wake up in the morning. No one but me, or some murderer, can control that. And control is my real addiction. I can control my heroin intake. I can get past it. I can drop it if I want to. I don’t need it. But I can control it. And I do it because I can control it. Maybe that’s addict speak for “I’m so hopelessly addicted that control is my only excuse.” I’m just not sure yet.

I got a hold of the heroin pretty easily. And I had every intention of using it to OD, but something stopped me and I tried just a little bit of it first. And dammit man, it was the best feeling in the world. All of my suicidal thoughts stopped. All of my anxiety went away. It was a completely new lease on life. It was a life where depression didn’t rule me. I ruled it and I was on TOP of the world. So I kept getting it. Because for the first time in years, I felt like my life had a purpose. I was having this complete love affair with my personal king. And he would do anything and I mean anything in his power to save me. His promise to me was to protect me, to keep me completely and totally safe. And my promise to him was to never leave. Little did I know that it’s pretty much the same as having an abusive relationship. My arms look like a war zone, and my nose is so dry that I can’t breathe half the time. Which is why I’m starting this. This is just the beginning of a very, very long road ahead of me. And maybe my candid story will help someone else. I don’t know. But I can hope. And I can try.

So, as much as I’ve resisted doing this. This is my story of addiction. It started a long time ago, but hopefully by writing it out I can help myself. And if I’m lucky, maybe I can keep someone else from destroying their life with this drug. Or any combination of drugs. So enjoy, ask any questions!

addiction
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