First, I am getting help. Second, there should no cause for concern about my well being.
So, what could the straight and narrow, even picked up a joint her life, never drank until 18 Samantha be addicting and be recovering from? Xanax, the white girls addiction of choice (see, there's that infamous "I'm trying to cover up the seriousness of the issue," humor).
I don't want this to be formal, not that my blog is formal by any means. But I'm typing this from my phone. See, it's been a demon I've thought hard and heavy about showing, because I have no doubt if I had never told anyone, no one would have any clue. I could no doubt continue on with my life, leaving this bump in the road as just that. But instead of that awkward moment where you trip but catch yourself, then look around hoping no one would notice, I'm instead going to tell everyone about me almost tripping, because I did manage to catch myself, instead of falling and struggling to get back up.
I'm as surprised to be writing this as you probably are to be reading it. My entire life I watched my father suffer from alcoholism, and for a few years I had to simultaneously handle a mother who would do any drugs she could get her hands on. Now, I'm not going to get into the nitty gritty of some of the shit I had to survive, because that's something I don't know if I'll ever be able to share. But, suffice to say addiction, abuse, homelessness, and hardships were the basis of my young adolescence. I faced situations and endured traumas no person should ever have to face. After losing my mother though, I was finally able to pull myself up by my bootstraps. From that moment on, I was always getting into something, surrounding myself with the most wonderful friends. I was never alone, I never dwelled on my past and only focused on the fact that I was not a statistic, as I should be, but had the opportunity to make myself a bright future. Throughout college I was more than lucky to have met the people I met, an unbreakable support system with my best friends never more than 5 minutes away. For 8 years I was too busy to be able to conquer the monster that was quietly preparing to remind me I can't run from my problems. I had a great life though, I wasn't about to let go of the happiness I had yearned for for so long.
I knew I'd have a hard time adjusting to adult life, but, I had no idea that it wouldn't be just adjusting to adult life. It would be coming home to an empty, dark apartment, littered with just memories of all my years of uninterrupted bliss. It didn't take for the sleepless nights and overwhelming quiet to take its toll. I felt 13 again, with tbe dark thoughts of suicide and how was I going to do this? All I could think of was the thoughts I had been able to put on hold. But how many times had I told others, it's a permanent fix to a temporary issue? Nevertheless living day to day was a constant struggle. I wasn't taking care of myself, I wasn't eating, I wasn't showering, the only household chore I could bring myself to do was take care of my cats, they were my only saving grace so feeding them and loving them was the least I could do. I don't know how I managed to even work like I did. I knew I couldn't keep going like I was going.
My next issue is what led me down the road to xanax. I refused to see a professional. Besides being uninsured at the time, I refused to accept anything was wrong with me. I watched my mother struggle with no polar, and I refused to be labeled as a lunatic, despite all my advocacy for mental health, I was on the other side of the conversation. I wasn't on total denial though, something is very wrong with me. Depression at the least. I looked into what I could do, at home. Pot? I couldn't, I worked at a police department, and could be subject to random drug tests. Any drugs were out. The next was seemingly simple; self medicate. In my delusion I had rationalized my decision as I was fixing my own brains chemical imbalance. I had convinced myself I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was doing what any psychiatrist would do. Next thing I know, I couldn't live without my pills. But I was a functioning human again. For a while. After a few months I started to crash. All I could do was sleep. I'd get up to go to work, then go directly back to sleep. I was panicking, I had such a small window of freedom, and I was just not falling back down a hole, but I had dug the hole deeper. I was broke, I spent all my money obtaining the pills. I wasn't making much to begin with, so after my bills were paid, it was gone. The nights seemed darker and the thoughts were louder than before. And I was alone. No one knew what was happening. I had debates telling Alex and Carlos, but I didn't want to disappoint them. They had been there for me for years and it felt shameful for them to know what I had eventually stooped to. I've never been one to open up, I never let people know what's going on, which is a significant factor on why I felt like I had no options on the first place.
When I got my interview for my job now, I was at my worst. I would go days without talking to anyone outside of anyone calling 911, and a few coworkers, when forced. After getting the job, I had my revelation. I couldn't keep doing this, I was better than this. I needed to stop letting myself continue to let myself think what I was doing was ok, just because I wanted to call it self mediciation instead of an addiction. I was making something of my life, I was in a place that I never though I'd be in. Things weren't good, but I was still able to land a job I had competed against many people for. I wasn't hopeless, my life wasn't hopeless.
It's been a hard process, because my lifestyle hasn't changed. I come home to an empty, dark apartment. I love to be at work, where I'm around people who think I'm funny, who are more than happy to know how I am and ask me to go out, to come over. My best friends live within an hour of me, and I have a bright future. Everyday is a battle, but it's a battle I know I'm strong enough to fight. I tell myself everyday that I stopped before things got so bad I couldn't pull myself out. There are still those thoughts, the dark corners of my mind I find myself wandering into. I no longer have the distractions I had for years, the barriers keeping my suppressed traumas at bay. But it's been a wonderful proceeds, to find healthy outlets. Addiction is never a boat I though I would be in, but there's no question that I can be a better person from it, and to use this as an opportunity to let others know that anyone can be fighting demons you don't know about.
If you feel like you're drowning, Iran important to keep in mind that all you have to do is stand up. Your legs may be weak, and you may be exhausted fighting the feeling of hopelessness, but air is just within reach. I know how much it's needed to hear you're not alone, and you're not.
Please feel free to reach out to me with any help you feel you need, and I'll help direct you to the right resources and people that will be able to help.
