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drug addiction recovery mental illness nonfiction relationships schitzophrenia selfhelp Uncategorized

mind of illness: s e l f h a r m

Happy Monday to everyone! These past few weeks I’ve been thinking so much about my state of mind… I’m currently at peace, and I’m so happy that after all of my years of pain and addiction, I could finally reflect in a constructive manner. I used to sit back, high as a kite, thinking about how much of a victim I was, but not once did I think about taking back control of my life and making a positive change.

Instead, I’d rely on destroying my body. With drug use and through self-harm. I’d find myself cutting my wrists, and writing across my torso with the same knife I’d sharpen each week.

Which brings me to my fourth piece of my “Mind Of Illness” collection. I really hope my readers can find peace in knowing that you’re not alone in the world! I’ve met so many people that feel as if they have no one and resort to self harm and destructive tendencies. Self-isolation can be very harmful for oneself but I also understand that sometimes we don’t have a choice. Escapism is something we all practice.

With that being said, wall have different needs, and we all respond to support differently. Shit, I used to have my son’s mother as my only source of support. But now I’m alone. I’m just happy I was able to find myself, because I would’ve killed myself the second she left me if I still had the same mentality I did back at the peak of my addiction and distraught state of mind.. I hope those that suffer from mental illness and addiction can also find peace and realize how precious their lives truly are.

So again, thank you all for reading, here is my next piece;


mind of illness: s e l f h a r m

I don’t even know what day it is anymore…The sun and moon are all I have to even guess what time of day it is. The lack of feeling has become too overwhelming, so I tally the rise and lowering of both on each arm just to feel something… Even if it is pain, I just don’t care anymore… I need to at least pretend I have some sense of control over this life of chaos. Shit, I used to cry just to remind myself I still have a heart… but my tear ducts are all dried up. I don’t even know if my heart still pulses.

I’ve spilt every single emotion from the tip of my pen to the once blank paper, now covered in heartbreak, hate, and blood. I’ve filled over three notebooks within the span of a week and not once have I gone back to reread what I’ve written… I just can’t handle the reminder of how broken I truly am… I’m running out of ink but my emotions continue to overflow. If I can’t let them out onto paper, they’ll only drip out of the slits on each wrist. Staining my floor with a puddle of hopelessness mixed within the blood.

I constantly ask myself why I even bother to write. It’s not a passion, I don’t expect anyone to read it, majority the time I don’t even know what I am trying to portray… But the soothing sound of my pen sliding across the paper keeps my mind tranquil. And I can still feel death looming outside of my room. Waiting for me to open the door. Waiting for me to go in search for the source of that light gleaming under its threshold. Truth be told, I know that eventually, I will meet death once again. For our dance is a predestined ordeal. Yet, I do not feel a sense of fear, because out of the many faces it has, I look forward to meeting the next.

See, I am a realist, and I acknowledge that freedom isn’t written in my book. The fate of a sinner cannot be changed. Though, lately escape is all I’ve been seeing at the end of the tunnel. I do not search for that light beaming under my door, I have no interest in glamour. Instead, I desire a way out. I yearn for an escape from this tedious life of numbness.

I want to believe that my blood is more than just my emotions overflowing. I need to feel more than just pain and a severed connection from the world I once dreamed of seeing. Perhaps a meaningful bond is the cure to this self-inflicted isolation.

I hold on to a tiny spec of hope that there is more to my life than just notebooks filled with stories others never enjoy, songs that no one will dance to, and poems that have no end… In my mind, I know that my emotions are more than just a transfer of ink to paper… Those notebooks are a passage that will lead readers into the depths of my heart. Similar to how each scar depicts the most intimate details of my life.

-jay. “mind of illness”

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depression drug addiction recovery mental illness nonfiction relationships schitzophrenia selfhelp Uncategorized

mind of illness: s c h i t z o p h r e n i c

To those of you who have been keeping up, thank you so much! I hope we can all get to a point where we understand the severity of mental illness and do our part in spreading awareness!

This next piece I was a tad hesitant on sharing, but it’s been a while since my last post and I want to be more consistent with my work.

Also, I decided to go back and reread my first book “The Fruits Of Addiction: A Pernicious Love” and I can understand why none of you were willing to read it 😂😂😂 God, yes everything depicted is accurate but my writing was TERRIBLE, ugh I ugly cringed after every page. So I decided to rewrite it and aside from my 2nd and 3rd book, I’ve been doing that on the side as well.

Btw yes, I’m writing a 3rd book 😂😂 it’s a book on poems, which I will be sharing here and there, for feedback. I’ve never been much of a poet but it’s so calming!!

Anyways enough of my personal updates, thank you for those who care!!! And on to part 3 of my “mind of illness” collection! I hope you like it!


i was once told that i was loved.

the person who told me that, was the same person who told me i would never amount to anything.

a lost soul with dreams to one day reach the heavens. born into mediocrity, domestic abuse, and mental trauma.

what does that make me?

am i loved?

am i a failure?

the scars patterned all over my body and my mind left a unique sense of trauma. all while the sound of a loved one’s voice resides in the deepest crevices of my brain, repeating each affirmation and censure faithfully as if it were a religious hymn.

“i love you!”

“i hate you.”

“miss you.”

“fuck you!”

“vete pa’l carajo, muerete”

“vos eres mi cielo”

Todas estas voces inunda mi mente…

fuck…

sorry…

my mind has become so overwhelmed, constantly racing between thoughts and topics.

i meant to say… all of these voices flood my mind everytime i find myself deep in thought.

what if i told you that i am nothing like the others?

What if i told you that i am not just another slave with the sole purpose of pleasing?

i crave a profound love, i crave spiritual connection, i crave peace. You don’t know how much i crave peace…

Peace of mind,

peace amongst my people,

peace when i enter my dreams,

but i know that is just another empty notion…

yet when i close my eyes i see the face of another tormented soul. another pained individual who shares the same moralities as myself. tormented, plagued with the same curse.

Whose demons haunt her at every sign of silence. tortured by the hand of her own mentality… yet full of love and hopes for prosperity and absolution. both of us calmed by our favorite drugs, leaving us temporarily numb, silent, &addicted.

the sins of our forefathers are what define us. &although we are destined for failure, i am pleased that i am no longer alone. i am pleased to know i was never alone…

but as i reach for a kiss, a symbolization of the mutuality forged by our predetermined fates, i finally open my eyes and realize:

there isn’t anyone there.

there never was.

the face of that beautiful poor soul whom i had fallen in love with was nothing more than a myth i had forced myself into believing.

no matter how much i pray, there is no silence, there is no salvation; solitude is where i reside.

i wish i could vow that it gets easier. that it will one day become manageable. but i developed a powerful habit, one that rivals my addiction to the euphoric numbing:

realization.

the realization that there is no hope, the realization that there is no escape, and the realization that those voices weren’t of loved ones, they were my own.

the voices of the many identities i oppose.

or better yet, oppose me.

-Jay. “The Fruits Of Addiction: A Pernicious Love”


a side note:

Just wanted those of you who may have taken anything I said offensively for whatever reason. Maybe because of my own depiction of schizophrenia, my take on mental illness, or how my work highlights the negative aspects of each illness.

Regardless I wanted to take this time to say that I am in no way romanticizing mental illness, or demonizing it. I have hundreds of pieces prewritten, from scholarly journals and studies to personal views and opinions. With that being said, I am using this tiny platform to hopefully portray the mind of those who face these issues and give my readers a glimpse of what their loved ones may be feeling. Maybe it’s not you who ever feels this way, but it is certainly me.

. Thank you for reading.

Categories
depression drug addiction recovery nonfiction relationships selfhelp

mind of illness: d e p r e s s e d

For those who have been keeping up with my work for as long as I’ve been writing, i appreciate you all so much!! As long as I enlighten or at least provoke a thought or two, I am happy. As you all know, my goal is to spread awareness on the many issues that revolve around addiction and mental illness.

With that being said, here is my second part to the little collection of excerpts I decided to start writing.

I wrote this for those of you who have been- or are- depressed, can understand the isolation and the darkness you feel from this seemingly never ending prison. I’ve been stuck for so long that it felt as if I was no longer myself, i eventually hated myself more than usual.

With that being said, I hope you enjoy part two of my “mind of illness” collection!!


The soul. So powerful, so deep…

So beautiful, yet so fragile.

The soul craves a sincere commitment that is reciprocated through affirmations. If the soul is deprived of that, it will grow weak thus leading to reticent behaviors. For a soul with no love has no purpose;

Upon that realization, I looked towards a quickly dimming light. One that felt familiar but I could not recognize at first.

As I approached what had resembled a dyin sun; I was stripped of everything that had once defined who I was.

See, my soul had lost the vitality of a vibrant love;

a vibrant love that had also shaped who I was so long ago….

The laughs, the smiles, and the kisses I was once showered with had become ephemeral memories. They turned into cries of pain and glares consisting of hateful eyes looking up and down. I had become the sole reason as to why my future suffered.

I was unwilling to embrace this new change and ran towards that dying glint. The constant running tired me and I began to lose track of the purpose I looked to secure…

After a while, the sweat became tears, and the tears then dried into an empty stare. The light grew more and more distant until I could no longer see it. Any trace of purity I held onto had disappeared along with the very light I valiantly yearned.

I changed directions, accepting what my fate had become. Accepting the darkness, accepting the poignant embodiment of this dismal self-identify; a reminder of who I was never meant to become. Where I’m heading there aren’t any more smiles, there aren’t any kisses or laughs.

Once I reach my destination, I promise you one thing:

who I was will cease to exist,

and who I will become will no longer hold any recollection of this past life.

• • •

So leave me be, don’t try to find me, for I can no longer find myself. This darkness is deep and chaoticly captivating, the light I held on to is now a visage of the hopes I will eventually lose.

I am no longer reachable, for the darkness has no time. It is unvarnished and it has no urgency. Once one is lost in here, the only thing one can see is the memories of a past life, the only thing one can feel is the silent caressing of the cold.

I breathe out the warmth, releasing any notion of approbation. And I breathe in the cold, the reaffirmation of a desolate stay… For depression has no friends, no family, and no love… All of which I gave up, the second I began running.

-Jay. The Mind Of Illness:

d e p r e s s e d

The Fruits Of Addiction: A Pernicious Love

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drug addiction recovery nonfiction relationships selfhelp Uncategorized

mind of illness: a d d i c t i o n

There are many factors when discussing mental health. As a result of my many experiences with mental illness and addiction, I’ve decided to create a few excerpts that highlight my mentality and my thoughts when going through each issue. The deep thoughts I’ve had, the life-changing epiphanies I’ve contemplated.

When I fall asleep and relive each trauma, and every sin, I can’t help but think, what would I say to my younger self?

“Stay away from drugs??”

“Go to that military school you were accepted to, fuck what mami says about the distance??”

What can I say to someone who also experiences what I do?

Although I’ve tried to describe my experiences with addiction, the “Jay” who wrote and published that book isn’t the Jay who’s been updating my audience this past year and a half since starting this journey. I grew, I succeeded, I failed and I digressed from my original goal. Whether I stayed on the path or not, I still would be a different person. I’ve had a set of issues that now influence my decisions and although this path to recovery is never-ending, I believe that the key to staying sober is accepting who I once was.

So here I am; writing another post. The first excerpt in my “mind of illness” collection. In a way this is what I wish someone told me before I decided to take that first little pill that turned my life upside down..

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drug addiction recovery nonfiction relationships selfhelp Uncategorized

A Past Life That Keeps Haunting…

God damn… Why can’t I finally catch a break?? The more blessings come my way, the more destruction blocks my path. Sometimes it seems as if my demons are doing everything in their power to drag me back to the life I tried so hard to escape… They are trying to drag me back to my own personal hell.

Maybe if I had this same exact resilience when I was young and inexperienced, I wouldn’t have this problem. I wouldn’t have walked up and down Main St. and called every dealer I knew looking for those blue sources of pleasure and euphoria that eventually lead me to the black tar of death. Or was it the “white China?” I don’t remember the nicknames honestly, all I know is that after years of consecutive pill to body intimacy I had changed. I lost all the values I once had. I became the embodiment of everything I stood against.

See, that’s what drug use does to an addict. The pleasure we get and later chase, as if it was the only source of life we have left, is it’s own kind of fucked up intimacy. Chasing that dragon, and the euphoria we get is comparable to – if not- better (but also worse) than any other pleasure our 5 senses will ever encounter. The only price is a life time of mental trauma and physical blemishes such as bad teeth, our bodies and faces falling apart… Oh! And those painful withdrawals that bring out the worst in us.

I’ve been trying so hard to progress my life ever since I’ve released my first book “The Fruits Of Addiction: A Pernicious Love, ” ever since my son’s mother left me, and ever since I had climbed out of that seemingly never-ending hell, rock bottom. I’m sure I’m not the only person who’s walking on the path of recovery that wants a fresh start. One with no cravings, no whispers, and no mishaps that have us contemplating whether quitting was “worth it” or not.

Before I get any further, let me assure you that quitting is worth it. The life-threatening highs, painful lows and the terrible decisions we contemplate in order to acquire those temporary but severely damaging highs will never be worth the torment that follows. I’ve been realizing that for almost 2 years now. Yes, I’ve had slip-ups, I’m not perfect, and my past life still haunts me. I lie awake wishing death upon myself for ever becoming the piece of shit I am today. I still have fights with people who I owed money to, and I still have to fight for my life. Whether it be dodging bullets or fighting 3-5 people at a time, the past life of a wannabe thug turn drug addict follows closely behind.

At the end of the day, living this life will always end in prison, as an addict on the streets or in a casket. To follow a path of recovery you must love yourself and cherish the very life you may sometimes want to end. But something I learned was that it took my close encounters with death to truly value what living was all about. For a long time, I felt as if my existence was not necessary. I felt that I had no purpose and all I did was hurt those I loved. I wanted to give up. I wanted to die. The many cuts across my torso and forearms did not take my life, but they did leave scars to remind me how weak I once was.

I’ve experienced prison and addiction for a large portion of my life. I now pray I don’t die for a very long time… I learned to love life and I am slowly getting to know myself, but if my time does come then I leave you with another post that will hopefully enlighten those who value self-redemption.


This morning I ate a chocolate – Dove specifically- and in the wrapper had caught my eye. It had something small written inside. Short, simple, and to the point yet it held such a significant meaning that only few will actually reflect upon.

“Always make your past self jealous.”

Sometimes I sit and reflect about how far I’ve gotten but then I digress and think about the trouble I’ve gotten in since then. It seems like I will forever be bound to a life of torment. Shit, it even got to the point where I picked up 9 more charges, most being felonies because of my ALLEGED stupidity and the overly strict laws of MA. The main difference between my current and past self, aside from the paths we walked on, is that my past self NEVER got caught.

I got too comfortable with sobriety. Walking down a straight edge line made me believe that “I was no longer doing whatever I can to get high” so I did not need to be careful with my actions. Of course, all of the bad karma I’ve accumulated over the years are far from done with me, it was time to collect.

I was never a religious individual, how could anyone say that we were crated by a deity that no one has ever seen? Who created THAT deity? I don’t know, it was all unrealistic to me, but I will never judge anyone for having their own faith. I used to believe in God, until God turned his back on me and let me suffer for all of these years. The thing about sobriety is, believing in a higher power is a necessity when walking the path of recovery. I was assed out in that aspect because I did not believe in anything anymore. A “God” who loves us all? Okay so if (he/she/whatever other pronouns) loved me then why would they let people shoot at me and try to kill me? Why would this “God” let anyone threaten to kill my child? What kind of “God” even allows drugs and addiction plague our lives?

All questions I already knew the answer to.

All questions that I was able to contemplate now that I had a clear mind.

That is until the thought of being locked up began to flood that very mind. I was in prison. A place I never thought I would end up. It’s crazy how life works though. Before my arrest, I was working for a prison that held those who were suicide risk and criminally insane. I worked in the nursing department. Funny right? A recovering junkie/suicidal criminal working with those who were exactly like me… those who had the same mental issues as me. Unfortunately it didn’t last too long because one late night and a car search later, I was on the opposite side of the bars.

It was a harsh reality. I didn’t even realize that I may have just ruined my life until the cavity search… the whole squat, cough and open your cheeks ordeal was another experience I never thought I’d go through. But there I was. Mug shots, gang affiliation questionnaires, and the prison greens we are given as new inmates. A felon. An addict and a felon. Two labels that confirm the racist stereotype I’ve been labeled as my whole life. A 26 year old Hispanic Male, arrested for __________.

The solitude of 4 walls, a toilet, sink and a small steel bed, is a man’s true test. Being locked in a room for over 48 hours with no communication will have a him contemplating his whole life. I did just that. I know where I went wrong in life, and I assumed that starting a blog and writing a book about all of my past mistakes would help me come to terms with who I was. I was wrong. Being locked up was the key I needed to unlock the answers I was truly looking for.

My whole life had always revolved around physical abuse, emotional trauma, and mental strain. Finally, all those years of pain had caught up to me while I was trying to find myself. What’s the difference between staying in your room alone all day and staying in a cold cell all day? Aside from 3 cold meals a day and unrelenting solitude? Our free will is stripped away from us the second those cuffs were placed around our wrists.

Being in such a vulnerable state, as a man who has seen it all and done it all, was new to me. Yes, I’ve experienced vulnerability many times before, but this was different. This was the cost of the life I chose to live. This is where my addiction had led me to. I am a nonviolent offender. I did not kill a dealer who had shorted me, I did not break into a neighbor’s house to find something to pawn… Fuck, I didn’t even get caught with drugs!! But regardless of what my charges were, I was still there. I was alone again. Cold. Empty. The support system I thought I had? Wait… I didn’t really have one to begin with.

Originally it was my son’s mother, Lily, but it’s been a year since she’s left me… A whole year of solitude and torment. I cried for her, and I mourned. The death of a 7 year long love that I assumed would end in marriage and my premature death.

“I’m alone, I was alone, I will always be alone.”

That’s all I could think about while standing at the door of my cell. I had accepted the fact that I was in there, I just had to accept the fact that my recovery was pretty much based off an illusion, a beautiful lie I told myself in order to successfully walk the path of sobriety. The sobriquet I once had for the woman I loved now had no purpose. I mean, I did it all for her. I wanted to be the man I thought she deserved. I was tired of hurting her and seeing tears racing down her rosy cheeks.

But I was right, I was all I had. When in prison, all a man has is himself. The thought that I might have to do a minimum of 2-5 years is what keeps me up at night. Not being able to hold and kiss my son, not being able to see my step daughter, and the new woman I just met? Short lived. Who would want to wait for someone like me? Like I said earlier, this is all of my bad karma coming back to give me my just desserts. I knew the day would come where I either died or would have to suffer a fate just as bad as death.

I don’t regret my life. I wish I made different decisions, absolutely. But I am wiser because of the many mistakes I’ve made. I am wise enough to let people know that drug use could truly end ones life. The euphoria and numbing sensations may be a form of escape, but when you lose everything you’re trying to escape from, you only end up wishing you had stayed just a tad longer. In the end, all that awaits this life style is prison or death.

– Jay, “The Fruits Of Addiction: A Pernicious Love

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drug addiction recovery selfhelp

It’s 2021 And Addiction Is Still Alive And Well…

After more than a year on my path to recovery, I’ve had so many experiences that changed my overall mentality towards drug addiction and issues that we face while holding the label. From personal to professional relationships, the many opinions that revolve around this topic can deter a person who is contemplating whether to pursue recovery and just continue using.

It’s no secret that during my time as an avid user, I absolutely loved the euphoric effects, the risk of using in public places or other people’s households, the rush we get before meeting with the dealer and that sensation from using after being “clean” for a few hours, days etc. My point is, the toxicity behind the love for using and the overall process becomes a lifestyle of self destruction, unnecessary/potentially life altering risks and the health deterioration we face the more and the longer we use.

The change in personality, all the empty promises and the criminal like acts we perform that most of the time hurt our loved ones are what people notice almost immediately. While most will judge and use our addiction as an insult, deep down (whether we’ve already accepted it or not) we still know what they are saying is true, no matter how much we verbally deny our actions to those confronting us. I knew I had an issue, I knew that my addiction to pills was quickly worsening and eventually I’d have to upgrade to a stronger substance. Although I knew the consequences, I was not willing to stop. In the process I lost everything/everyone that mattered to me.

I’ve come across other active drug users who have also lost it all to their addiction. Some want to get clean to better themselves and their lives, while others don’t want to stop using at all regardless of their financial status or health issues. I get it, I really do. The withdrawal process is excruciating, so why go through it? People say “this wouldn’t happen if you’ve never started” or “just deal with it, it’s all in your head” and other ignorant statements. In the past, society had painted addiction in such a dark and gloomy color which stuck to this day. Being portrayed as a criminal and “zombie-like,” along with every stereotypical insult is something that will not change.

Yes, it’s 2021. Yes, it’s expected that people will be more understanding because of the many awareness campaigns posted around the internet and the rise of information and sensitivity towards health issues in this era.
BUT that negative stigma will always follow those who face addiction. From a personal standpoint it seems as if people are a lot more sympathetic towards alcoholism and almost any addiction that DOESN’T revolve around harder drugs (opiates, meth, crack cocaine).

Don’t get me wrong, I am NOT asking for pity for my past self NOR for my fellow addicts. I refuse to fall into the “feel bad for me” pattern that many use as a baiting source to get more of an audience. I’ve always had strong opinions of sensitive topics and although I tell my story, I will always keep my thought 100% genuine and blunt.

Anyways, as I stated above: I’ve experienced many circumstances where people who faced and “overcame” alcoholism or their sex addiction, or whatever else, and the overall opinion people had towards them was unchanged. “Yeah okay, they love alcohol and drank too much but at least they’re sober now right? Cool let’s give them their job back.” But whenever a heroin addict would come clean about their addiction or would get caught for whatever reason, the response would be the exact opposite. We’re all programmed to hate “junkies” and taught that heroin users are demon-like. After I left my job at a certain financial institution, an ex-coworker wanted me to come back, so I thought about it. As our conversation continued she brought up certain situations where I would look sick or tired and asked if I was an addict. I admitted that I used opiates but I had started treatment and after hearing that her tone completely changed. The conversation ended and I never heard from her again, and the job? I wasn’t allowed back.


While working at an agency that employs lower class people or convicts who can’t work anywhere else, I noticed two things;

1. The majority of the employees were addicts

2. the many active users working there only a use this source of income specifically for drugs.

From opiate users to crack smokers, I’ve conversed with more than half and they all had the same goals; to move into apartments (because they are homeless), to take care of their families and to hopefully survive the shift until we finally get that daily paycheck so that they could get their fix.
Did you read that? I hope so. Yes, they may be addicts but they also have families.

Kids.

Significant others.

Bills.

OH and by the way, they get HUNGRY TOO. Human. Remember??

Or they’re homeless, hoping to save each $80 check and finally get an apartment or at least a hotel room instead of sleeping under a bridge.

Their lifestyle and seemingly distant dream of a life without struggle isn’t too different from the majority of those who live in America. Okay, maybe you don’t shoot up, sniff or smoke. Maybe you’re fortunate enough to not homeless, and have a well paying job. I mean, yeah I’ve been homeless and jobless, but I was fortunate enough to have enough support to better myself. Too many others are abandoned even before their addiction became an issue. For some, drugs and the cold sidewalk is all they know… in my city at least!

So the reason why you are similar to your addict brethren isn’t just because you’re human, live in the same planet or have similar interests outside of your lifestyles; the reason why you are similar, why WE are all similar is because of our struggles, our dreams and our purpose. Although our struggles vary, our dreams aren’t the same and we all may have different purposes or haven’t even realized ours’ yet, we were still put here for a reason. So why is it that, in 2021, people still follow the atrocious trend of treating addicts like shit? Labeling us and casting us aside? Taking away opportunities that others get just because they don’t have a self-destructive vice? Why is racism still an issue? Misogyny? LGBTQ+? All these groups of people have so much hate targeted against them and it’s 2021! 100 years ago people thought we’d have flying cars, instead we have hate. We have disgust and we judge. Instead of adapting to modern ideals, the bigoted learned how to adapt hate as a countermeasure against these new ideals for equality.

Addiction is an issue that will be around for decades to come. There is no cure and once we fall into the cold and unforgiving arms of addiction, it will hold on for the rest of our lives. Even WHEN you get clean, that tiny reminder in the back of our heads keeps the possibility of relapse alive.

To this day I still catch myself reminiscing and struggle to keep my composure. The thought of my favorite drug still lurks in the back of my mind. It seems like the first few months were easier to handle such a drastic change of lifestyle. Again, it’s now 2021 and no matter how long I’ve been sober, the many conversations I have with the people I meet always revolve around those common topics. Addiction and drug use has become so normalized and it seems like we all have our own “drug” to help us escape. As I stated before, alcoholism, prescription pill usage, marijuana use, sex, etc. is all normalized by today’s media and modern culture. People are finally comfortable enough to admit they have mental illness or some sort of challenge because of the awareness and sensitivity of this time. With that being said, companies, doctors, insurance companies etc. all adapted to said modern changes and use our mental illnesses and willingness to open up as a source of profit. From the purchase of weed at dispensaries or the refilling of Xanax from a prescription filled out by a certain doctor, money seems to be the only common denominator in the whole topic of addiction.


When I left that agency, I was given an amazing opportunity to work for a hospital where the patients are individuals with mental illness and addictions who await trial for whatever crime they may have committed. It seems like anywhere I go and anywhere I work, whether it be coworkers or clients/patients/customers, I am destined to interact with those who face the same issues as myself. Maybe this is my purpose? To help those in need, to influence clear decision making and to enlighten fellow addicts to hopefully guide them through the darkness that addiction blinds us with.

Working in an institution where I must help rehabilitate fellow addicts and patients with mental illness keeps these thoughts in my head. It could’ve been me in here if I continued to use drugs. I could’ve been in this “hospital” that resembles a prison if I didn’t decide to walk on the path to recovery. Even if I took a wrong turn. Shit, I being an addict in recovery, there’s still a chance I could end up here. The barbwire that surrounds this hospital resembles the bar wired fence that we must escape when battling addiction. Being strong enough to endure the pain and suffering and eventually escaping the prison we put ourselves in is possible with faith, a strong support system, and willpower.

As much as I’ve suffered all these years, I’m happy to finally be clean. I may have lost the one woman who mattered to me, but better days await ahead. I really hope those who read this can overcome their own demons so that they can all strive and prosper. Happy 2021 to everyone who has sat through another rant! And thank you, be good people 😊- Jay

Btw, feel free to buy my book on Amazon!! Fruits Of Addiction: A Pernicious Love

And I’m planning on doing a small, small, small contest. I haven’t thought of the prize nor the contest itself, but I plan on making it a cash prize!! I’ll keep y’all updated!

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Uncategorized

Addiction & Relapse: The Demon

Hello to all! I apologize for getting unbelievably off topic these last few posts. I thought I’d just separate my two topics into two different blogs/websites just to avoid confusion and annoyance to anyone who reads this blog specifically for the recovery and addiction related content.

(For those who are interested in the love, dating, infidelity etc. Topic, please, please, please consider following my other blog, Love, Infidelity and Everything In Between. I am operating under my actual identity rather than my alias, as you all know is Jay Orgullo.)

ANYWAYS, on to tonight’s topic… Addiction and Relapse. The Demon Who We Hate. The one who brings out the worst in us. The faceless beauty who only causes self destruction and a sense of impending doom. It’s been such a long road since I’ve published my first book. I even decided to start writing another one, because let’s be honest, recovery is such a bumpy road.

There are so many factors that play into sobriety, so when you’re only going through the motions but don’t put your heart into actually staying clean, the overall process becomes a drag. See, recovery was never depicted as an easy experience. Off the bat, we are told by doctors, counselors, fellow addicts, and anyone else with knowledge on the topic that staying sober is by far the most challenging aspect of recovery that we will face. The constant whispering from our demon telling us that we can just start over another day, it’s only one hit. Or the physical power hold that our demon has on our body, constantly punishing us and reminding us that it can all go away if we just take that hit, snort that line, shoot it up, pop that pill, whatever.

If you aren’t mentally capable of resisting, what good is professional help going to do? It becomes a waste of money each time you go to rehab knowing that you’ll only be back after a few weeks or months of sobriety. Shit, chances are you don’t really want to go, you’re only there because your parents or your wife gave you an ultimatum. I mean, if I’m being honest here, one of the main reasons why I got clean was because the love of my life said she’d leave me if I didn’t get clean. Here’s the funny part though. I got clean, changed my overall persona, and she left me anyways.

Imagine that. A recovering addict whose only life purpose was to love and provide for his girl and two beautiful kids. Now what’s left? An air mattress, a tv, a PS4 and a small closet holding a suitcase full of clothes, hygiene materials and condoms (incase I get lucky). I thought that I’d have it all again after getting clean. I was planning on proposing to the so called “Love of my life.” The woman I basically dedicated my new outlook on life to, and for what? To be tossed aside while still revive from the travesty I caused for myself. Losing my house, losing my job, and losing myself just wasn’t enough. Now I lost my family.

So what would many do in this predicament? Give up? Use it as a motivation to strive? Ehh. Well I ended up moving back to my mother’s house for a little while… Just to have her kick me and my son out too. And no, it wasn’t because of anything drug related, I promise. I had it with the constant disrespect and she wasn’t quite done so to my car I went!

After a few weeks in my car and around Massachusetts’ hotels, I finally found a room to rent and here I am. Reminiscing on the life I used to have. I once had everything a young man could want: A house, money, a beautiful girlfriend, and amazing kids. All dwindled down to a mostly empty room and an iPhone to create my content. But I shall strive. I’m not too motivated at the moment, but one thing I know I can do at a 6th grade level is WRITE. Writing is what I know, writing is what I shall do.

Which brings me to another topic I wanted to discuss; relapse. What is relapse? Well all my fellow addicts are too familiar with the term but for any new readers, allow me to enlighten you. Relapse, of Latin origin re-(back) labi (to slip) thus combined to relaps-(slipped back) then adopted to late Middle English. A noun and a verb which the dictionary defines as “a deterioration in someone’s state of health after a temporary improvement.”

But WHAT DOES THAT MEAN. Essentially it means that we as addicts find ourselves repeating the same old patterns that led us to rock bottom in the first place. It means that we weren’t mentally strong enough to continue on the path of sobriety due to the chronic use of illicit drug we introduced our bodies to. It means that we need to reevaluate our motivations and our overall purpose in life because we are worth something. We aren’t meant to roll over and die from overdose. We aren’t just “junkies,”“zings” or somebodies source of income. We demand respect but can only earn it.

COVID-19 and Relapse

So I wrote an article about how this ongoing pandemic will affect those in recovery. The constant lack of communication, visitation and overall activity leaves everyone (addict or not) in a state of dismay. It’s already hard enough for people who don’t have jobs or don’t associate with people, but now to be constricted and limited to our house as if we were animals? It can quickly deteriorate the mentality of someone who is already fragile. Studies show that 40%-90% Of people relapse at least once during their time in quarantine. I mean, I can understand why but I don’t know… is it worth getting sick or spreading the virus more? Are there any alternatives we have to avoid feeling that dread that follows this impending isolation??

For evidence’s sake, I went on to read other articles on relapse and how COVID-19 is affecting addicts throughout the country and it’s all pretty obvious things. I mean, we’re already told in counseling or in rehab that having a solid support system is crucial to remain sober. That’s the thing though, COVID-19 is an addict’s worst enemy. Due to the limited human interaction we have, and the isolation on top of the inability to even attend any types of NA meetings, this whole pandemic has been a painful experience. I used to attend these group sessions for people who are in recovery but one common complaint I noticed is that many of my group mates are so much more depressed and unwilling to remain sober ever since the in person sessions were canceled. Again, the limited interaction really takes a toll on the people who rely on human interaction to stay motivated.

The article “Is COVID-19 Triggering Addiction Relapse?” gives us an inside look on how this pandemic is affecting our fellow addicts. It states:

For people in recovery, connection and a strong support system are particularly important

Ashley Cullins

Simple yet crucial. I’ve heard my fellow group mates cry due to the lack of interaction in their lives, praying that they soon get the in person session they deeply crave. Being able to see a person as you speak and radiate your vibes of positivity is a huge factor for most people and is absolutely a real thing. We all have that sixth sense where we’re could feel the support and positive energy when we are in an accepting environment and some use it as fuel. Just like a vehicle, once that fuel runs out, the person stops running.

I actually read somewhere that we are unfortunately hitting our second wave of Covid-19 cases so what does that mean for us? As a whole, it means that we will be put on lockdown again and many businesses and hangout spots will be closed again. As much as I hate to say this, stay home! I know it sucks. Trust me, I’m alone now. I have no support system aside from the very few few few people who care enough to read my content. Although it may be discouraging to most, we must keep a strong mentality. If you relapse, it’s not the end of the road. You absolutely can start over but saying that absolutely defeats the purpose of sobriety and erases the weeks, months or years of dedication you put into keeping away from you drug of preference. Do you really want to go through withdrawals because one day you could access your dealer but the next they decide to take the pandemic seriously? That’ll leave you stuck at home going through the excruciating pains that happen when you don’t feed that demon what it wants.

I know it’s not the same as being in person, but you have a phone so use it! Call your group mates, call your counselor, your parents, siblings, significant other or friends. Use your social media platforms to interact with new people. Or do what I do, complain about your life and call it a blog!!

Either way, you are capable of amazing things once you put your mind to it. Be good people!!- Jay


Sources:

“COVID-19 is causing people to relapse” https://www.addictioncenter.com/news/2020/04/covid-19-is-causing-people-to-relapse/

“Is Covid-19 Triggering addiction relapse?” https://www.google.com/amp/s/riahealth.com/2020/08/11/covid-19-addiction-relapse/amp/

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Take Control Of My Heath

I had to take back control of my health. I had no idea how much damage I had done to my internal organs, my mental capacity, and my spirituality.

Take Control Of My Heath

This piece by my friend and fellow blogger, Ken Grady, gives us a short and sweet insight on the arcane battle an average person in recovery must face. Unfortunately, we all learn the hard way that, as addicts, we are targeted as if we were all criminals. From being blamed for another’s shortcomings, to being seen as scum whenever we are casually living our lives. It seems as if those who look down on us don’t even acknowledge their own peccadilloes.

The fact that we are physically tired, sick and damaged plays a huge role in our lives. Not only because we “LOOK like addicts” but because the actual toll that addiction takes on our bodies can be fatal. This is just ONE aspect the Ken wittingly highlights. Many of us can attest that severe drug and alcohol use has cursed us and our organs from performing to the point where we are in constant physical pain. It all started as fun and as an escape but now we are trapped. Trapped in the continuous roller coaster that addiction places in our lives. This roller coaster gives us a feeling of excitement but with the many twists and turns, ups and downs, that excitement turns into fear and will leave us in a mental state of lassitude.

What about our spirituality? Well I can’t speak for everyone. Just like many aspects of recovery, we all have our own preferences and our own faults. It’s crucial to have a higher power. You need to believe in something especially when you don’t believe in yourself. Addiction possibly has the strongest effect on spirituality because of the simple fact that the whole experience seems like a punishment. I remember crying to God asking if he was even there. I cried out for him, for Jesus, for my mother, girlfriend, whoever. Did I truly deserve this pain? All I wanted was an answer as to why I was being put through this punishment. I lost hope and I lost faith. My spirituality was bleak and without that, what was the point? Sorry, I should say what IS the point. So hold on to that hope you have. Never let go of your faith. That spirituality is what will save you in the end, no matter how much you’re punished. It may get severely punished but hold on tight. This ride lasts.

Ken reminds us that although that roller coaster may seem never ending, it is possible to reach that end, but there is always a cost. The cost being that physicality, mental capacity and spirituality. So is it worth it? Is the punishment worth the ride? Honestly, that is a question I could never answer. my roller coaster ride is far from over. I can’t even see the final hill that will bring this ride to an end.

Make sure to follow Ken Grady! He will be posting more content on his blog!! Link is above!

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Love & Infidelity

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your patience. I look forward to sharing my work with you in the future but in the meantime I am going to give you a little insider on my current project.

I have yet to decide on whether I should make this piece into a post “Fruits Of Addiction” project or just leave it as it’s own and stay on topic (which revolves around love, infidelity, relationships, family etc.) but either way, so far I’m pretty happy with what I have. Of course I am integrating my own experiences into this project but I’m also planning on making it into a more thorough and better researched piece. Unlike my first book “Fruits Of Addiction: A Pernicious Love” which I wanted solely to be my own opinions and experiences.

I’m still a long way from finishing it, of course I’m looking to hopefully write between 150-200 pages (again) but so far this topic is very broad and making it into a personal piece may be a tad difficult in a sense.

Either way, the point of this post is to introduce an excerpt from this project to hopefully gain some insight on the writing and whether continuing would be a good idea. Also if I should make it into a FOA sequel or keep it as a new project. Thank you so much for reading, everyone!!! Enjoy 🙂


Part 1: Love

Love. The most beautiful feeling that one will ever experience.

Love. The meaning of life for most.

Love. The tragic end for others.

Love. Bestows a sense of completion along with a brand new vision on life.

Love. An ambiance that illuminates the vastly vaguest hearts and minds.

We all want to be loved, but as most have heard before; you must love yourself before you can love anyone else. That being the most heartbreaking piece of wisdom I once received from a woman who single-handedly tore my heart in two. She, the paragon of female beauty; I, a trembling specter.

I thought I knew what love was. I was willing to bleed out a river to demonstrate the love I felt for her. I used my sharpest knife to slice her name into my chest with the hope that she’d see the severity of my undying love. Not only that, I’d do it to remind myself that I’m alive. But now all I have left are scars throughout my body and polaroids of a past experience that left me with a hole in my heart.

I thought I was good enough to keep her happy, I was willing to yell out her name for the world to hear, even tattoo her name on my chest right over the scars that were slowly healing. I hoped that our mutuality would last just as long as those letters displayed boldly on my skin.

I thought that nothing I did would push her away, I was convinced that she would wipe away my mishandling as elegantly as she wiped those tears from her cheeks. Her skin left glistening after each tear raced down her face as if it was trying to reach her neck before being wiped away. It felt as if the more tears she wiped; the more her love was wiped along with them.

I swear I wanted her happy. Eventually, it felt like I was speaking only to myself when trying to convince an audience who saw the same flaws she saw in me. But there’s the main difference. While everyone else judged me for each flaw I unknowingly portrayed, she adored me. Those flaws are what she fell in love with. Those flaws are what made me stand out from the hundreds of men trying to be in my exact position. The beauty of our time spent together, stunning and sexy; as we kissed, and as she laid with the manipulative and conniving wraith I had become.

See, when you know how to use your flaws to your advantage and distort them to the point that they look like a unique quality rather than a damning disposition, that is when you can become whoever you want to. You can become the bad boy that she lusts over. You can become the warrior that she craves. You can become the source of stability that she needs. What exactly is this though? Manipulation so you could bend and control her at will? Prevarication so that you don’t reveal how damaged you truly are? Pray that she doesn’t see through your act because the second your true nature prevails, that lust she once had and those cravings for you that would drive her wild will quickly disperse. At that instance, she won’t love you for you, she loved that picture you painted. She loved the character you played. Your new role will be the stranger who she doesn’t recognize. She will feel disgusted for laying with you, disgusted for putting her lips all over you and disgusted for ever loving you.

– Jay


Again that was just a small fraction of what I have, but hopefully that was enough to understand what my overall idea is. To understand and try to explain the feeling of love along with the pain that follows when infidelity makes its way. Not just that, but other ideas that intertwine with the two. Please let me know what you think!!! Thank you all!

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Colored America

Do you know what it’s like to be raised in poverty and as a person of color? Instead of comparing yourself and looking down on those who aren’t blessed enough to have a trust fund or go to college with a full ride, educate yourself in the many issues POC face. Although you could never understand a “hood” person’s mentality, maybe reading some of our many talented writer’s posts could help enlighten you on this issue.

We’re raised in an environment where we have to tear each other down and/or kill each other in order to reach a certain level of “success.” We all dream that one day we can reach a social status in which we aren’t judged based on the color of our skin. We hope to reach a level of success where we don’t have to rely on feeding off of addicts’ cravings or relying on a gun to somehow make enough money for essentials such as diapers. It seems that our pain only feeds White America.

“Don’t commit crimes and then the police won’t react as they do.” Of course that’s the idea but how is that possible when we’re cursed to live a life where crime is the only way to even survive? We need a license to get a job, need to pay child support to get a license but still need a job to pay for those debts. How does that make sense? Our parents are struggling just as much as us. Our kids will face the same struggles. Our ancestors barely even survived their era. So tell me again how easy it is to make it out the hood. Tell me again how I won’t get killed if I don’t do what I can to make money. Tell me again how my people aren’t put into this position from the second they reach “the land of the free.” If they knew that “free” actually meant “free to live on the streets” then maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about us “border hoppers,” “wet backs,” and “n-words.” This self proclaimed land of opportunity only gives us the “opportunity” to kill ourselves in our on going war against each other.

Goals? Yeah we have goals. From our youth we are shown throughout media, and any other sources of entertainment or inspiration that being rich, having women and enough money to fill a room is what should capture our attention. Being rich enough to buy our mothers’ a house or to have a six figure vehicle is portrayed as true success. By any means necessary. Whether it be from being talented enough to entertain our White “Masters”, gambling until you hit big or even sell enough drugs to have power, respect AND everything else “promised” above, we a given that diluted depiction.

Sometimes it seems like we’re only given any “opportunity” because we’re entertaining the white masses with our various and mixed cultures. We’re giving opportunists the knowledge they need to take our heritage and white wash and profit from it as they please.

We live in a time period where certain kids barely 18 are richer than adults who have six figures in college debt, that “by any means necessary” mentality has been normalized. Now what does that say about us a whole? The fact that recording a three minute song about living in poverty or selling your town’s favorite drugs makes you more money than 8+ years of sleepless nights to become a doctor and MAYBE make a fraction of an artist’s income. There are easily double, triple, quadruple, (even more) times more aspiring musicians, drug dealers, and other jobs we’re looked down for having than those who could make an actual difference in the world. Intellectual, creative young people of color trying to “make it” in industries that show no love.

I’ve met people who’ve made well over $100k in a year selling drugs with the only “debt” being a short time period in jail rather than spending years in a more institutionalized “jail” known as college.

Imagine being raised in an environment where hood royalty and ones “crown” symbolizes “success” and “respect.” But realistically, that Crown is made from the blood and tears of your family’s and your enemy’s loved ones.

Disappointment and pain are the feelings we grow up understanding better than we understand anything else. Hate is what we feel from people who could never live our life. Envy is what we get when we try to aspire how White America expects us to live our lives. We succeed in our own backgrounds and we’re hated. We succeed in college and 9-5 jobs and are still hated.

We know why, but what we don’t know is when we’ll be able to live in peace. We don’t know when we’ll be able to become the kings and queens our parents hoped we’d become by chasing this “American Dream”. A colored individual with the lifestyle and opportunities that only white Americans are blessed enough to experience.

– Jay. Fruits of Addiction.

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A Good Life While Quarantined

Hi everyone! Like always, I apologize for the lack of consistency. There’s always something new distracting me from life. I’m happy to say that ever since I finally sold my house, I’m not dealing with the negativity and toxicity of anyone who would stay at or come over. Those people being from my Kids’ mother’s side, that is. But this wasn’t meant to be a negative post, from one recovering addict to another/ one individual looking for peace to others who want the same; let’s take a moment to discuss the positive aspects of our lives while we’re stuck at home in quarantine, shall we? It’s no secret that we all have some sort of guilty (hopefully not too guilty) pleasure that keeps us moving forward being an aspect of our lives that we want to pursue and enjoy. Personally, I have several activities that help me keep my peace and keep me from feeling depressed while I’m stuck at home and in recovery all day, whether it be something I do daily or something I manage to receive or take once in a while. No matter the case, I’m sure many of you can agree with my list of “inner peace” cultivating activities meant to stimulate our feelings/senses and give us a taste ya euphoria. No, I’m not talking about drugs or alcohol by the way!

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3 Things I Did To Help Me Stay Sober

A common issue those of us in recovery face is keeping our minds distracted to avoid wavering and ruining our sobriety. Throughout my many years as a drug addict, I’ve attempted to self rehabilitate and keep myself clean. The lack of motivation and mental strength I faced kept me from keeping sober so I relapsed more times than I can count.

So how is now any different than before? The love of my life left me, I have a source of income with my dealer constantly trying to contact me, so why am I more successful now? It’s 2020 and being quarantined is NOT making it easy to stay clean, I can guarantee that. So I should might as well introduce the topic of this post.

  1. Blogging, Book writing.

So the main reason to my sobriety revolves around writing. I started blogs, social media accounts and even wrote a book on my experiences as a drug addict. Of course, my overall goal was to reach out to those who face similar struggles and hopefully enlighten them to follow their own paths of sobriety and positivity. Throughout my time preaching sobriety and trying to be the voice of positivity through my work and online presence, I’ve managed to reach a few people and developed an audience (on twitter specifically @FruitsOfAddictn) and have been fortunate enough to guide those who were in need. I have an “Open Direct Message” policy for anyone who needs a safe space or even someone to confide in. Whether it be to ask for advice or even just vent about what they’re going through, I’ve been blessed to play the role of “counselor,” per say. Of course I’m am far from perfect and don’t have the experience of a professional, being able to help anyone at-risk has been a huge motivation for me to stay sober. Even though this plays a huge role in my journey to stay sober, I’ve had a few dry spells where my work and engagement dwindled so I had to find other ventures to keep my mind and spirit busy.

2. Online E-Commerce.

Like I stated before, it’s 2020 and we are currently facing a vile pandemic by the name of COVID-19. Most of us were unlucky and now have no jobs nor any source of income. This is were e-commerce comes in. I learned about shopify when I looked up “how to make money easily” when I was broke trying to make easy money to buy dope back when I was an addict and the topics that caught my eye were “write an ebook,” “start a blog” and “open an e-commerce store.”

Yes, these caught my eye (at the time) but I never acted upon them because when you’re an active drug user, our definition of “easy money” means us LITERALLY being handed $40 for our next fix. I didn’t want to think, I didn’t want to do research, and I sure as hell didn’t want to spend hours creating websites and developing a brand.

This was something I could only do when my mind was clear and I was willing to spend the time. Luckily for me, when I finally decided to stop doing drugs, and my online blog/social media presence wasn’t as explosive as it was the first few months, I reread that article and the lightbulb above my head that was turned off for so long had finally been replaced and was shinning brighter than ever.

My first week Of e-commerce and using Shopify as a platform was a success. Throughout 3 different online stores I had made close to $10,000. The goal of my writing and blogging was to become an icon for addicts, while my goal for my online stores was just to make as much money as I could in the shortest period of time. Which I did but just like my blogging, this had died down. I spent hundreds on influencer marketing on Instagram for each account I had created for my stores and I continued to create stores just to expand my reach. I had an online pet store, a women’s leggings/apparel store, a store for wireless headphones, a Valentine’s Day store, etc. At one point I was dividing my time between 9 different websites which kept me unbelievably busy. I had completely stopped thinking about drugs and I even stopped blogging and checking in on those who reached out to me for advice on their addiction. I quickly spent even more money on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Google ads which left me with less money than I had anticipated and because I was still an amateur at the whole aspect of running an online business, I stopped making as much money, I went from making 10k in 8 days to making maybe $100 in a month. Another failed venture. Unfortunately for me, I have a weak mentality and when I fail at something I set my heart to, I become unbearable depressed. I began thinking about drugs almost immediately. But hey, I was still needed in my sober living community so I began to write once again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still running an online store, but this time it’s just one that I’m focusing on. Plus I already paid for a domain name, so might as well use it right?

3. Working Out.

I am unbelievably self conscious. I always have been, even as a kid. I’ve never been the type of person to have girls all over him and the type to post selfies and shirtless pictures. Some may say I’m attractive while most would say I’m not. Of course everyone is entitled to their own opinion but the opinion I’ve always had for myself is that I’m too skinny or too fat. Let’s get one thing straight before I continue. I have no issue with anyone being overweight. The mother of my children is quite heavy herself but she is EASILY the sexiest and most beautiful woman I have EVER laid eyes on (part of the reason why I’m so distraught that she decided to leave me). I loved every inch of her and I could NEVER have enough of her. Just thinking about her would get me hot and I saw her as a goddess. Of course she was self conscious as well but to me she was perfection. Enough about the love of my life/the one who got away, I’m talking about my own insecurities.

I used to be an athlete throughout high school and college and later I began to lift weights and went through a bulking phase where I gained a drastic amount of muscle. Of course this was before my addiction began. Either way I was at a point where I finally felt good and I could feel eyes on me and people (of both genders) undressing me with those eyes. A lot of people have a problem with others staring but not me! That’s how I knew I looked good! Although, it didn’t last. Through the many years as an addict I lost my progress and was unbelievably skinny once again from lack of eating and sleep and once I reached sobriety, I gained an unbelievable amount of weight. I am 70 pounds heavier now (although I have been working out), but at the start of my sobriety it was mostly fat. I made up for the years I didn’t eat by stuffing my face and filling my stomach with my favorite foods.

So this is where working out gets reintroduced. Again, because of this pandemic we are quarantined and yes we hate it, but please just stay home and make the best of it. I know I am! I invested in weights, a benching/squat rack, resistance bands and other equipment in order to maximize my overall transformation. My goal is to have a six pack again. No, not a “junkie who doesn’t eat” six pack, I’m talking about a “sex icon/Greek God” six pack. I want my fat turned into muscle and the motivation I have at the moment is watching OTHER people go through their transformations.

You know how I hope that my book and blogging can motivate others to walk the path of sobriety? Yeah well I’m doing that but instead of being the one who posts, I’m the audience. Youtube provides us with the ability to research other people’s successes and with that being said, if I ever feel unmotivated or get triggered and want to feel the euphoric effects of opiates, I go on YouTube and watch videos of people transforming their LIVES. Yes I know, it’s their bodies, but let’s be realistic. Eating is a form of addiction. Once the person decides to develop a healthy diet, routine and lifestyle, they change their lives for the best. Similar to those who chase sobriety.

I may not be rich and successful but I’m definitely not in the same position I was in last year. Yes I lost the one person who mattered more to me than my own life (not including my kids) BUT I’m not the same physically and mentally abusive, suicidal drug addict who’d get high and commit crimes just to avoid withdrawal symptoms. Also, I am finally not living with people who take advantage of any inch I’d give. Being separated from such negativity worked wonders on my being. My motto through out all my personal accounts has been “If the shoe fits, wear it,” and it looks like every opinion, complaint and FACT I have relates to A LOT of people who used to be part of my life. It seems like these few things were my only worry at the time, which makes me so happy so be writing this post.


So there you have it. 3 things I did and am still doing to keep my mind and my body away from the dastardly effects of drugs. I’m happier, my bank account is happier, my kids are happy they have their dad and God knows that these small hobbies played a huge role in my sobriety. I hope those who read this post can find the answers they are looking for and maybe this will help give some ideas. Thanks guys!

-Jay

PS My first book/memoir! Available free on #kindleunlimitied, 99¢ as #ebook and also #paperback

And for those who are curious, my store is

GDAudio.store

My other blog is

Medium.com/@fruitsofaddiction

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Book Release!!

Hi everyone,

I’m sooo sorry I haven’t been posting any content lately! I’ve been so busy moving from my house. It was a Terrible experience. Anyone who’s ever had the opportunity to live the rent free lavish life in my house, left ALL there trash behind. It was so aggravating cleaning after at least 3-4 sets of other grown ass mother fuckers who were completely ungrateful and unwilling to clean after themselves.

I’m sorry that’s not the point. The point of this post is that I’m finally done with my first book!! I hit the “publish” button and after years of drug use and months of writing, editing and reflecting, I am finally ready to share my story with anyone and everyone! My ebook version was already up for preorder but now both versions (ebook and paperback) will be available for purchase by the end of the week!!! Thank you so much for everyone’s support!

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How To Make The Best Of Your Addiction! It’s Not All Bad, I Promise

Where should I start? This post may be seen as a huge contradiction and I can already imagine the shit people will want to say once reading this title. So why don’t you just go ahead and say it??

“Why are you idolizing drug addiction?”

“How could addiction be beneficial to anyone?”

“What type of message do you plan on sending with this type of content?”

Okay, I get it. Those who have never experienced addiction wouldn’t understand the point I want to make. I’m not saying that addiction itself is something to be proud of, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of neither. See, we all hit rock bottom at some point, some more frequently than others, and some stay at the bottom for longer than most. Again, there is NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. Well, as long as you learn from your mistakes and work towards a solution, that is.

Addiction is the equivalent to hitting rock bottom. Whether it be health-wise or financially, addiction affects everyone in different manners. Look at Eminem for example. He’s a legend who was a heroin addict throughout the beginning of his musical career and he PROSPERED. Some even say that his music was better when he was a junkie. He’s a rare case, of course, not many people end up being successful while being an addict unless they were born in money or have already set up multiple sources of income before succumbing to their demons.

Me? I’m not one of them. The second I lost control, I lost it all. But losing it all to addiction could possibly be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I previously explained that before I let drugs take over my life, I was one of you ignorant fucks who would look down on addicts. I’d be disgusted by ”junkies” and would have never imagined that I was looking at and making fun of myself.

So back to my topic.

How to make the best of your addiction!

1. Experience.

In my opinion, life’s best teacher is experience. When becoming an addict, you do shit that you most likely would never do when you’re sober. Whether it be stealing from your significant other, or robbing stores and your job, you become a villain. At least that’s what happened to me. I would constantly ”borrow” my girlfriends money all the time ( NEVER FROM THESE OTHER victimizing fucks who accuse me everytime they make their own idiotic errors but feel the need to blame the junkie of the house). Okay yeah yeah, junkies don’t have morals, they hurt whoever they want blah blah blah. We all know how you “normies” feel towards us addicts. Anyways, I WASNT THAT KIND of addict. Well I WAS, but like I said I only targetted my girl. She was my one victim, aside from my jobs in retail. The reason why I stayed away from ”friends” and anyone who I knew is because I was a dangerous man when I was under the influence. I say that as humbly as possible. I take people’s bullshit now but back then, if anyone accused me of doing shit I didn’t do the way I get bullshit NOW, trust and believe I’d be burying their body in my back yard. I didn’t want people to look at me like they’re better than me. At the end of the day, my acquaintances had nothing to offer and were already leaching off of me and my woman as is. Nothing has changed in that aspect but still. No matter how much I changed in a negative manner, I always hated being judged by people who might as well be ”junkies” themselves, because they had nothing going for them just like the person they hate the most. Me. Sorry, I always get off track. My point is, once you’re an addict, hurting others becomes a norm and the glances of hatred and disappointment become embedded in our brains. For me, Lily’s tears were my weakness and it killed me that I was the reason she was so sad. Experiencing failure and pain can be traumatizing and can be heart changing enough. So use that pain and that trauma to your advantage. We all need a reason to change, and change IS POSSIBLE. With that being said, having your experiences help develop your character once you realize your mistakes. To me, the meaning of life is to experience.

2. Reflect on yourself

Cliche? Perhaps. But it’s important to get to know yourself. Why did you resort to drugs? Why did you pawn your TV? Why did you leave your kid alone while you went to get your next fix? What goals do you even have anymore? Truthfully answering the questions that you don’t want to answer is how I got to know myself. I realized that I became a piece of shit. From domestic violence to child neglect, I was blind to who I really was. Of course, over time I realized my many many MANY mistakes but that took so many sleepless nights of self-harm, suicide attempts and mental torture for me to finally see. The one thing I learned from my first ex, Curly, is how to reflect and realize my full potential. At the time, it was a miracle if I didn’t ”borrow” $50 from MY GIRLFRIEND, and that took an immense amount of will power and doses of honesty. I cried so much after I opened my eyes and I realized that suicide and drug use wasn’t my calling. I’m destined for more and so are you. Reading other people’s experience with addiction motivated me to face the facts, grow some balls, and finally look at myself in the mirror. After years of avoiding myself, I needed to see who I became. Finally seeing yourself for who you are takes a huge amount of courage but trust and believe, coming into terms with who you are and who you want to be will almost always cause a change of heart. Of course, this is a broad topic but let’s keep it as simple as I did. Be honest and answer the questions you’re too scared to answer. The truth hurts but overcoming addiction isn’t easy. Shit, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I used to wrestle in high school and college. Only the superior select few will understand THAT pain. Once you master the art of reflecting, it’ll help you get to know yourself and will be an essential skill throughout your life, even after overcoming addiction.

3. Understanding

Personally, addiction helped me develop a sixth sense per se. This may not be as enlightening as you hoped for but it’s still an important aspect developed from hitting rock bottom. I’m sure many can agree that once you’ve endured the worst, you develop something that ”normal” people will never truly grasp. The ”sixth sense” and ”understanding” I’m talking about differs from the usual definition that people are used to. I’m a strong believer in understanding can only come from experience. Both go hand in hand and that’s a fact. Like I’ve said many times throughout my book, those who know what it’s like to be an addict are the only ones who will ever truly understand the suffering. You may be an advocate or some sort of health professional that deals with addicts on a daily basis but you’ll never truly understand what it’s like to throw up and have explosive diarrhea from withdrawals. You’ll never know the horrendous flu-like symptoms that last weeks. And you sure as hell will never understand the fear from putting ourselves and our lives at risk just to get our next fix. I can’t tell you my every experience as an addict but let’s just say I’ve stared death and years in prison, in the face on multiple occasions. Once you truly develop the ability to understand your fellow addict or trauma survivor or whatever the fuck, only then will you truly be able to understand other people’s predicaments. Personally, I learned to appreciate my sobriety and now use my understanding to hopefully be a pillar of support for those experiencing the hell that once consumed my life.

So with all that being said, maybe many of you may still disagree with me but I see my past as a blessing. I may have lost it all once but because of my strive and prosperity from using these lessons, I can make sure to never lose myself nor my life ever again. Hopefully, those in need already practice self discovery and reflection, but I think being optimistic about your addiction can have a positive effect on some. It’s not all bad, guys. Well, yeah addiction itself is fucking hell but things get better, and all I know is that I never want to experience this hell again!

-Jay

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2020 And The Curse Of Addiction

A new day, a new year and a new decade. I can’t help but recollect all the times I’ve built myself up and tore myself down.

My whole life I’ve been so set on being successful and being the one person who people could see as an inspiration. Almost halfway through the last decade, I became an addict. The 2010s were by far the worst decade of my 25 years of life. Yes, I created a family of my own. Yes, I bought my family a house.

Aside from those accomplishments, I showed myself how painful life can be. I saw the misery I caused and I saw the abuse I didn’t know I was capable of. From mistakes I made with Lily, to horrible decisions I made which only led to my own emotional misery; these last few years had become Hell for me. 2020, I will never make the same mistakes and will only worry, HELP and be there for my kids and my Lily, if she decides to stay by myside. If not, I will still be respectful but just like everyone else who has taken advantage of me, my house and the fortune I once had, I will be THROUGH.

December 31, 2019.

I asked my beautiful Lily if we could spend this last year together to end the decade on a good note. Any woman would approve of her man’s request to spend the coming of the new year together. Her response ”I’ll let you know” which eventually resulted in her going to another party .

Upon her response and my solitude I began hearing my demon whisper at me. Telling me to feed our mutual craving. I can’t. I won’t. My goals revolve around my sobriety.

January 17, 2020

Upon a little more than half a month of false accusations, subliminal comments and messages, and constant neglect (by Lily and those who I STUPIDLY assumed had my back) I managed to work passed that initial depression and powerful craving after some self-realization I had. I made it an obligation to leave my house every day after certain events that were out of my control and knowledge. I need to better myself and accept that no matter what, I will be an addict for the rest of my life. With that being said, I will always be at fault for shit I never even did. I understand completely though.

People are so used to seeing the worst in addicts, whether they are in recovery or not, because of how society depicts us but also because of our own actions. Again I understand 100% as a victim from former acquaintances but as an ”offender” it just sucks being the black sheep. The scapegoat to every incident. This post is more for people who can understand from experience but also for those who could never because of their sobriety and own egotism.

Another topic I would like to speak upon is the effects that addiction has on the brain so that HOPEFULLY people can have a clear and educated point of view on what the cause and effects are of our change in personality. Even those who are at risk. It’s important to understand the affects addiction has on your body when contemplating on trying out your first drug. Even when studying the effects of how your loved one got addicted in the first place.

From experience, those who are addicted and even those who have witnessed some form of addiction are aware that many of the effects are physical withdrawal. One thing that many don’t put into consideration are how narcotics affect the brain of those under the influence. Addiction is mostly mental, so with that being said it’s crucial for those suffering. This is a huge factor and plays an even bigger role as to why addicts resort to their habits.

When a drug gets introduced into the user’s body, it causes a chemical reaction in the brain. The chemicals in the drug causes the user to lose control of their tendencies and stimuli. With that being said, addicts resort to looting or other irrational methods to procure the drug of preference because of the reaction it has on the brain. Because the drug causes euphoria, the brain begins to crave that feeling of pleasure. The brain is where all feelings originate from so when the craving isn’t satisfied it punishes the body with withdrawal symptoms.

These symptoms include:

1. Depression

2. Anxiety

3. Chills/sweats (where you feel cold but your body is hot and sweats profusely)

4. Shaking leg syndrome / arm and body twitching at an uncontrollable rate

5. Opioids can also cause severe issues with your health such as strokes, heart problems, kidney failure, etc.

6. Insomnia

7. Nausea

8. Opioid cravings

9. Lack of motivation and unbelievably tired (mental)

Of course there is so much more such as runny nose, stomach aches, constant yawning, watery eyes, etc. But aside from these, that list is what I believe causes addicts to ”go crazy” and rely on their destructive behaviors.

Although it may be different depending on the severity of the addiction itself and the willpower of the individual. I, personally, suffered from everything on this list. From staying awake for 5 days and 5 nights at a time, to painful cases of shaking leg and uncontrollable body twitching. The experience was hell. I am not kidding when I say I would rather be dead. Maybe that’s another factor as to why I acted upon my suicidal and self-harm instincts.

One thing to keep in mind is that there is a timeline regarding withdrawal symptoms but I will speak upon my own experience. Remember, withdrawals are different for everyone. I recently spoke with someone who ONLY suffers from being tired and lack of motivation. I wish it was that simple for me but that aspect usually started within 6 hours of my last dose. After 12 hours I’d begin sweating, have runny nose, chills, pretty much any minor side effects. Anything that was mentally scarring occurred after 24-weeks later. The longest I was without any type of help or relapse was 5 days so believe me when I say, that experience left me traumatized.

My hygiene went to shit, I didn’t eat all those days, I couldn’t sleep and would cry every second because of the pain. I resorted to doing absolutely anything to avoid feeling it even if it meant losing my progress and relapsing.

So with this very basic summary of what hell addicts go through, we can understand why some do what they do and why it’s frustrating to be constantly get accused or doubted or even spoken down upon. Addiction changed my mentality. I never want to experience that again. I lost the love of my life, I lost friends, I lost my parents and I almost lost the love of my kids. For people to ignorantly believe that I would be willing to throw my progress away is a spit in the face. But I can’t be mad at anyone who has no idea what the feeling is like. Just imagine having the worst version of the flu that you’ve never actually experienced. Now imagine having that all-day everyday while having EVERY OTHER SYMPTOM LISTED. Me.

That’s THE HELL I personally went through and would rather die than experiencing again.

I take my mission and sobriety seriously. I speak about this issue in-depth in my book for those who are interested in reading it!! I’m currently waiting on my beta readers and am still looking for a couple more! Then I will finalize my editing and publish it! Early February is my goal!!!

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Me vs. Myself, My Hardships, and My Mentality.

As I lean out my window smoking one of my last few cigarettes, I can’t help but think about the few years I spent living with Lily. Most of which was hell for her, and I thought that I was seeing things clearly so I blamed myself for our pain. Is it all my fault though? I had full control of my actions when I was under the influence, just like I have full control now that I’m above it. But everything happens for a reason. Just like she was unhappy, I am too.

I thought that whenever I’d stop using drugs, I’d start feeling myself again. I thought that my suicidal tendencies and thoughts would go away. For a few weeks, they did. I’m quickly reaching the date that I will finally publish this book, where I promised that I’d stop spreading pain, but I can’t help but think, ”what if my existence is what causes pain?”

I’ve been sober and Lily still finds a way to point out my flaws and claim I’m hurting her. She’s claiming that ”I’ll never change” and that she can’t be happy by my side anymore.

I’m also quickly reaching the date where I have to finally leave my house. The house that I had initially bought so that my family could grow up happy but quickly turned into a refuge for people that had/have no respect for me, nor my family. These people being Lily’s family. I thought that sobriety would make this moment so much easier to handle and I could find a way to power through my intense emotions.

I know see that I might be wrong on both counts. How can I stop spreading pain when every time Lily looks at me she can’t help but express her hatred?

How could I deal with all of these changes when in reality, with or without my demon by my side, I still want to lay down, close my eyes, and never wake up?

I’ve kept my distance from my past. I’ve kept my distance from those who would guide me through that dangerous life I once lived. Guns, drugs, crimes and regret. Yet I still have my connections. Why did I stay in touch knowing I’d never resort to the lifestyle that once corrupted me?

It’s January 6, 2019. A day after my original publish date, an acquaintance from my past sent me information on a beautiful firearm. 6 bullets, looked like a two-shot Dillinger. My first thought? I need it. My second thought? I need it for myself.

The love of my life hates me and reminds me every chance she gets, and my worst fears are finally coming true meaning my time in this house is coming to an end. I don’t know what else to think. I don’t know what else to do. I thought that my love for opioids was the cause of my depression and influenced my acts of violence. Yeah, I may not be targeting those I love anymore, and I haven’t in MONTHS, but my depression? It feels stronger than ever. My cravings? They’re so powerful. I could hear my demon whispering at my alter-ego, trying to wake him up. Trying to make her way back into my body where she’d attach herself and never let go. I don’t want to give in, I don’t want to go back to the life that destroyed everything but what do I have left?

I never expected to become a drug addict, but after I did and hit rock bottom, I never expected to find the strength to start climbing out of the hole I dug for myself. But I haven’t fully reached the top of the hole; I still have to face the consequences and aftermath of my recently solved addiction issue.

Once we leave this house I understand that Lily will take her own path with the kids. It’s so devastating that she’s been acting so secretive that I wouldn’t be surprised if she already has a whole other replacement for me. I know I shouldn’t be negative but I can’t help it. It feels as if my depression has a vital clutch on my essence.

I can’t help but wonder if all of this writing and networking through Twitter, Instagram, and other social media is enough. Am I doing all of this for my goal to spread awareness or for myself, to hopefully catch an eye and have someone notice my never-ending pain? Are my intentions truly as selfish as I believe them to be?

No.

My intentions have always been pure. I can’t let that negativity and mental weakness keep dragging me down anymore. I destroyed my life once, and at this point, the only way I can go is up. I’ve experienced sleeping in the cold, I’ve experienced starvation. I need to understand that I am not living for myself. With or without Lily, I’m a father. With or without my family, I’m still alive. I’m fully aware of my potential, and I know what my capabilities are. Maybe I have to prove myself all over again but that’s a process that everyone has to take.

RECOVERY IS NOT EASY.


January 9, 2020.

After a few days of self-pity and depression completely taking control of my daily activities, I managed to stumble across stories of success on Twitter.

The whole time I was feeling bad for myself, others were only beginning their journey of self-discovery and recovery. Seeing a woman post a selfie every day for a whole week, sweaty, visibly weak, but still have a huge smile on her face. Another man reaching his 42nd day sober. Then another man writing poems about his own journey against addiction, whose words helped me realize that sobriety isn’t just for your loved one’s happiness. Sobriety is a lifestyle meant to help you realize your own happiness.

Yes, I am so much happier since I stopped getting high every day. Of course, I have my cravings and moments of depression but I still managed to keep myself together. If others could be happy, I could too.

Regarding the hardships that my family and I are facing, there’s nothing I can do to avoid any of that from happening. And Lily feeling hatred instead of love for me? Well I have enough love for the both of us. What I did is unforgivable but maybe my story can prevent another couple from facing the hate and trauma I caused with my woman. Again, I can’t do anything to prevent her hatred towards me but I can at least be the man she needs now that I can at least see clearly again. As for my own emotional issues, I might have to do more research on how to cope with my regrets but I feel motivated again. Maybe these past few days feeling weakness is what I needed… Oh and my book!! I decided that I need to be happy with it before I publish it and I’m not happy yet! I’m still waiting for beta readers and reviewers to look it over but I am happy to say that it should be ready in a few weeks!

I waited a few days to finalize this post because I wanted to show my readers that it’s okay to want to give up. Whether you have a support system or not, the most important person to be honest with is YOURSELF.

I hope I don’t give off the wrong idea, but my point is to stay true to yourself. Like I said, recovery isn’t easy but it’s doable. It’s life-changing and it’ll completely change your perspective once you clear your mind of all the toxicity caused by your substance of preference.

I’m human too guys, and I am not perfect at all. I’ve made so many mistakes but no matter what hardships I will continue to face, I know that I can be the rock star I’m meant to be. I really hope I didn’t contradict my overall mission but I had to be honest because I know I’m not alone, and neither are any of you.

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Fruits of Addiction: Chapter 10 Draft, The Pedestal

For those of you who have been keeping up with my posts and actually helping me with my content, I thank you. Also, I’m sure you’re aware that I had decided to stop posting chapters of my progress but I decided that posting one more wouldn’t hurt. This is one of my more emotional chapters that hopefully captures the interest of anyone who’s willing to help review other chapters. Again, I want this to be as perfect as possible because again my goal is to help people face and overcome their addiction but also spread awareness on the growing issue. Like always please let me know where I could improve!! Thanks again and I hope you enjoy!


Chapter 10: The Pedestal

Emotionally in pieces. House being foreclosed on. The many accounts I once had tens of thousands of dollars in are now closed off all with negative balances of hundreds owed. I’m not working at banks anymore. I’m not a manager anymore. I’m not even working with cars anymore. Shit I’m too dope sick to even get a job to maintain my habit. My friends? What friends? It’s just me. My girl? What girl? It’s just me. My kids.. oh my god. My kids, my beautiful step daughter now 6 years old and my gorgeous son, quickly closing in on 3 years since his birth. Where are they? With their mother, meaning I don’t have them. So it’s just me. I’ve been cursed with curiosity for risk taking and danger since birth. The type of curiosity that kills the cat. And this cat is down to its last life.

My pedestal was cracked and falling apart, there’s no way I’ll ever get back on that old thing. Gun in one hand, my last bag of dope in the other. Messy room, empty bags and straws all over, McDonald’s bags, mcchicken wrappers and a mattress with no frame under and no sheets on top. What the fuck am I doing? By now I had started my 5th revision to my suicide note. How am I going to do it though? Get in the tub, turn on the water, slit my wrists and wait it out? Bullet to the head maybe? Shoot up a few grams and let her put me to sleep forever? That sounds like a nice ending actually. Me, a weak flame about to be blown out by that one love that once ignited me and made feel like I was strong enough to catch the world on fire. I put it before everything that ever mattered to me. I burned bridges, I burned relationships, I burned opportunities, and I eventually burnt myself out.

From emptying out my own accounts to leaving my girl unable to pay her own bills. From sneakily snatching hundreds from the safe after just opening it with a fellow manager to pawning any valuable I had because I was left unemployed. I once felt like I could change the world for the better but instead I was just another statistic. Another decimal of a percentage added to a growing average of addicts residing in America.

At this point I’ve fucked over dealers, sold fake drugs to fellow junkies so I could get my own 40 hoping it would last, beat people up from arguments cause I was too high to calmly understand what was going, and disrespected anybody who I thought did me wrong.

> “You know who the fuck I am? You better kill me, I’ll tell you that much.”

Yeah, yeah. Who did I think I was? I mean can you blame me? The fear of taking my own life transitioned into begs for someone else to do the job for me. Any chance I got, I’d start an argument hoping that I’d finally be able to rest. Okay, it might be painful at first but it’ll be worth the eternal slumber. Heaven? Hell? It doesn’t matter to me anymore. Son? Daughter? They’re better off without the life of having a junkie father. Girlfriend? Parents? They all turned their backs on me, this’ll teach them to give up on a junkie who reached out for help. There were no limits to how little I cared about the rest. My world revolved around doing enough dope to not get sick. How will I make money for tomorrow’s batch? That’s a problem for tomorrow’s me.

As I look through my phone I come across pictures I took of myself, glowing with no worries, me and my beautiful girlfriend once happy and striving, us kissing cherishing the love I single handily destroyed, her pregnant, our son being born the last time I experience the high I unwaveringly chased for years to come, her daughter quickly growing up, my son as a baby to my son as a toddler. I pause and again, darkness.

6 years since I popped that first pill while being heartbroken over a high school/ college girlfriend. 6 years since I fell in love and gave my all to maintain the most unhealthy relationship I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing. No, Im not talking about the relationship with Lily.

Darkness. Darkness. And still darkness. All I can picture is that color black. I begin to hesitate. Why the fuck can’t I remember any of this? My mental state is so distraught from my depression and addiction that share control over my body. I start to watch videos with the hopes of being reminded what I recorded, the words I said, and the laughs I had. Nope. Still a void I can’t seem to shake. I go through 2000+ pictures and over 80+ videos of nothing but past friendships, past coworkers, past experiences, and more importantly… the family I pushed away. The woman who I promised to love and protect. The kids who gave my life purpose. Or so I thought.

I slowly look down at my hands. Fixated on the contents. I can’t help but stare. The fact that I made my life’s one purpose the dope in the bag I currently carry in one hand doesn’t hit me just yet. Another round of self victimizing sobs begin again. What did I do to deserve this? I’m human, I’m meant to make mistakes. I’m an addict, I accepted that a long time ago. Why isn’t anyone here to feel bad for me? Where’s the woman who said she’d help me get clean? Where’s the “friends” who said to call if I ever needed anything? Where’s the kids who, no matter how much pain I caused them, looked up to me innocently as if I was perfect just as I am? Gone. Everyone is gone. I inevitably pushed everyone away because of the monster I became. If I wasn’t using someone for money or favors, I was making my frustration obvious and making everyone feel like they were burdening me by coming to check on me at my house. I was depressed and I was an addict but I tried my best to blame my isolation on my depression. There were certain people I just didn’t open up to about my addiction. I couldn’t bear any more looks of disappointment or judgment.

At this point I hadn’t smoked weed in years , hadn’t taken pills in months, hadn’t done coke in weeks, and hadn’t done dope in minutes. I started to hate smoking weed because I’d eventually have eye-opening moments where I’d find myself in deep thought. Contemplating my every decision, whether good or bad. Wait. That’s not right. I’d only ever think about my bad decisions and punish myself mentally. That would be the only time I’d ever think about anyone but myself and for that reason I stopped smoking. And after looking at these pictures on my phone I had a feeling that’s what I needed before I decide to fall asleep forever.

I desperately look for a back pack I know I had weed in. For what reason? I have no idea. I probably stole it or something. After what feels like forever, I find it. Sweating, out of breath, that bitch whispering to finish my last bit of dope as if I wouldn’t start feeling sick a few hours after. Damn, after all these years what I want still doesn’t matter, huh?

Wait… the main reason why I’m in this position because I only did what I wanted. Jesus Christ, no one left by my side and I’m still blaming others for my faults. Okay, not really “others”, I gave my addiction a persona to avoid admitting that it’s me that’s wrong. I believe in a nonexistent force who speaks to me and influences my decisions acting as a conscience but I refuse to believe in a higher power and that we’re all here for a reason. Somebody slap me…

Anyways, back to my search for the initial cause of my addiction. Marijuana.

So I finally find the backpack. In a pill bottle I have 6 suboxines and that bag of weed I knew I had.

> “Okay, once I finish this last bag, that’s it. I have no money left, no favors left and no girl left to con money out of.”

After that I’ll be back to my fucked up withdrawal state and I’ll have nothing to minimize the pain. Well I got suboxones but who the fuck wants those? I’ll tell you who, no one. I want my drug of choice, I don’t want to feel like this.

I rolled a below-average joint, I prepared my last few lines. Here I go.

After an intense joint to the face, i cough histarically, I told you it’s been years. I strongly wished my tolerance to opiates was as low as my tolerance to weed. I lay down and the mental punishment begins. Again, tears rolling down my pale skin and sucked in cheeks. I had lost so much weight that I looked like I had anorexia. The rhetorical questions begin.

> Why did I treat her that way? I abused the one person who loved me when nobody would. Why would I abandon the only kids I’ll probably ever father? Because that’s what addicts do, we focus on our demon and only our demon..

I start remembering all my fuck ups and all the times I spread pain. The times I grabbed my woman by the hair or by the neck, to express the anger that wasn’t even her fault. I remember my kids crying, every time I scared them with my loud violent phases of anger. From punching holes through walls and doors, to using their mother as the target of my aggression. This isn’t what I wanted to remember, I tried so hard to push these embarrassing and stomach turning memories to the deepest corner of my Mind. This isn’t the torture I was expecting but I give up trying to remember anything else. The darkness is pushed out by my main regrets. This gun isn’t the answer just yet.

I decided I’d give it one more shot. I couldn’t give up on myself just yet. Still high from weed, I sniff the rest of the dope which is then obviously enhanced from the insane weed high I had from not smoking for such a long time.

What? I’m still a drug addict remember?

## A New Motivation

Finally smoking weed after what seemed like forever I had an eye-opening epiphany. As an addict who has no real intentions to change, that was saying a lot. From that relentless session of self realization just from smoking some low grade bud, I came to realize 2 things:

1. My beautiful and amazing Lily had left me. She’d occasionally come to the house to sleep or to shower but all in all I was *alone*. I was *broke*. And the only thing I hated more than being alone and broke was the punishing 72 hours of unforgiving body aches, the explosive diahrrea (as I like to call it), the random projectile vomiting, the merciless insomnia, the continuous and violent Bursts of arm and leg twitches that will ruin the composure of even the most experienced addicts, and every other miserable mother fucking side effect I’d have to experience if I didn’t do another bag or find some sort of help within the next 12-24 hours.

And 2. I wasn’t really planning on looking for help. I mean that was the plan but my dope high was long gone and my weed buzz was on its last legs. Fuck me.

What was I thinking? I didn’t really believe being reminded of my greatest regrets from a below average weed high was enough to convince my strong 6 year of an opiate developed drug addict mindset to just kick the habit because I was lonely. That’s more unrealistic than me convincing myself that I could get clean without any help just because I had an interview in 4 days. I just had no drive anymore.

I aimlessly found myself walking down Main Street thinking about which “I promise I can change speech” I was going to give the mother of kids when I ask her for another $100 to give myself more time to think of another motivation or solution. The more I thought about it the more I started to advise myself against it. I had to face the facts, I destroyed my relationship and she was already moving on. It hurt to say but she’s not the type of woman who could support an addict, it’s not in her nature. She was raised by a single mother, Giselle. Giselle drilled the idea that a man should be the one to take care of her and the kids into Lily’s head. That wasn’t me anymore. I had never experienced rock bottom and Lily had never been with a man who’s gone through the shit I have. We’re were both new to this lifestyle.

Another half mile later I find myself in front of the methadone clinic. A subpar establishment with employees who know they’re better than you but don’t want to admit it when you sign yourself up, tell them your name, age, and experiences with drugs. I’ve tried going here before. If you haven’t died from boredom, plain tossed this book back in its box and returned it for the clichés, “ha that’s what you get” mindset or inevitable disgust on what I was before and during my addiction, then I thank you. Although some of you might really be interested and reevaluating your own lives on what-not-to-do, you other still want to be able to say, “ha that’s what you get, woman and child abusing junkie.” Either way, you all know my goal was to spread awareness the second you read the first few pages.

Yes, I tried coming once before and never came back. I wasn’t willing to stay clean for that weekend until they got my drug test results and the doctor was in the office to check on me. So I went to do even harder drugs for the years to come. Anyways, I find myself looking at my baby mother’s phone number. Yeah, she’s probably gonna ignore the call but maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she still loves me deep down and would listen to the bullshit that was about to spew out. Fuck it.

## “Fuck it”

When you’re an addict, the phrase “Fuck it” becomes a bigger habit that the drug usage itself. ”Fuck it” becomes a way of life that usually results in actions that are irresponsible.

I’m already an hour late to work but my dealer said to wait another 20 minutes? Fuck it.

There would be times Lily would forget her debit card at home but she said if I ever used it again she’d leave with the kids… fuck it.

My license is suspended and insurance got canceled from the last time I got caught driving without it, but I’m out of dope. Fuck it, I’m going to have to drive!

See what I’m saying? It’s not just words when you’re an addict. It’s a lifestyle. When you feel like you’re at the point of no return, you don’t care about the consequences. The rush you get from the process of going to the atm to take out money for drugs. Then finally rushing home or rushing to a public bathroom, even the employee bathroom (70% of the time for me) to finally get to taste that dope dripping down the back of my throat, eventually dies down too.

For me it happened every single time until finally, it didn’t. At this point, I was getting high because I didn’t want to experience the dreaded pain that follows after a few hours. Yes, I loved the pleasure and I still craved it but my chase for that “first time” feeling lost its charm. My fear of withdrawals was much greater which eventually led to my “depression” to multiply ten fold. My “little” secret whom I saw as the love of my life had become a burden. It was an essential. A daily obligation. It was nutrients to me. If I didn’t have at least a gram, I wouldn’t be able to move after waking up. If I didn’t have a quarter, I wouldn’t be able to stay focused nor live my life for the day. If I didn’t have 5 or more grams, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I began to hate the process so I continued to make myself the victim.

I isolated myself, avoided those who wanted to check on me and hurt who I wanted to talk to. I had learned to lie so well that even I felt bad for myself. But being alone, there was only one way I could feed my hunger for venting my sadness and horrible life that “wasn’t my fault”, I grabbed my pen, old suicide notes, fresh notebook and there you go. “Fuck it” is a lifestyle.

## Please Answer!

I somehow convinced myself that I needed to hear Lily’s voice. I honestly have no idea where she is at this point. We were losing everything because of me, she was financially struggling because of me and she was traumatized. Why? Because of me. She’d leave our house early in the morning and sometimes wouldn’t even come home. We had no communication whatsoever. She was all I needed and I managed to drive her away. The only support I had. So I build up my courage decide that it’s time.

I pull out my phone yet again. Lock screen, a picture of Lily wearing a cute yellow dress with a red poca dot type pattern that would rise above her knees if she’d sit. Of course, because of her model mentality when taking this picture she had sat down. Since she was a thick girl, her beautiful white legs were so captivating that they were the first features my eyes were always drawn to. That is by far my favorite picture of her, so naturally, I made it my lock screen. I enter my password and my phone opens. The home screen. My pride and joy, the children whose impression of myself I was quickly staining. A picture of all three of us sleeping taken by their mother, captured us when we were mostly peaceful. Although I was probably asleep from taking too many perks at the time, it’s still one of my favorite and one of the only picture of us. Thus my decision to make it my home screen. I open my contact list, look for “Baby” and hit “call.” Okay, game face.

A few rings go buy and I’m standing there waiting. Heart racing as if I was buying hard drugs by myself for the first time. A mix of fear, excitement, regret, happiness and a deep sadness come over me. Yeah, this is definitely like buying hard drugs by myself for the first time.

I was about to talk to the love of my life, why am I feeling like this? Okay, she’ll most likely say no to my request but there’s also a .001% chance she’ll say yeah. Maybe she misses me enough to send me some money. I need to stop being delusional. One of the main reasons she broke up with me was because I used all her money. She’s not going to answer. I’m going to hang up and save myself the embarrassment if she does which she won’t so yeah. I’m hanging up. I pause. Hang up damn it. *She doesn’t love me anymore*, why am I trying to kid myself?

> “What”

Lily answers at that last ring before the female voice comes up saying;

> “I’m sorry a voicemail box has not been set up yet. Please call again later. Good bye!”

She actually answered. I was so flustered from the fact that she answered the phone. I needed to make these next few words count, I don’t want her to hang up on me!

> Baby, I miss you so much. Please take me back. We both know I can change and I’m ready to be the man you fell in love with. I’m ready to be the father my kids need, and the provider you all deserve. I want to change and I’ll do anything you ask, I promise. I put it on my grandfathers grave!

Is what I thought I said. My lies and empty promises have became so common and scripted that I convinced myself that’s what I really said. But I stood silent.

> “Hello??”

She says, still on the phone.

Her voice, her beautiful voice. Her voice was always very stentorian but she would seemingly try to modulate it to avoid coming off as too aggressive.

Because of her powerful personality and tough demeanor, I’m beyond scared at this point, and as I try to say something I choke. What the fuck is up with me? We’ve been together for the 6 years I’ve been an addict. We have kids together, saw each other naked and she’s even heard and seen me dying from withdrawals. Explosive diarrhea, uncontrollable body pain, excessive screaming and crying because when she’s around I become a Grammy nominated actor etc.

I try my absolute hardest to convince myself that I’m a man and I have no reason to be afraid of my woman.

Finally, a somber,

> “Baby?”

I say..

> “What do you want J. I told you not to call me that anymore.”

With a shy tone as if this was my first time speaking with a girl,

> “I miss you…”

Quicker than the speed of light she responds with,

> “I’m not giving you anymore money J. You took everything from me and the kids, if you want to die we’re not having any part of it.”

Fuck. It’s like she knew. But honestly I wasn’t even mad. I wasn’t going to proceed to the usual scripted “I’m an addict because you left me” bullshit. Hearing her voice right then and there gave me sense of purpose and responsibility I didn’t know I still had anymore. The vague memories of her holding our son and daughter while hugging me telling me “we love you, daddy,” all staring at me with more love than I’d ever deserved, began to flood my mind.

At this point there is no darkness. I don’t see black. The whispers of my demon are silenced and the fog that distorted my vision began to clear. Although I only heard my demon, I never had the chance to look her in the face and end our affair. I truly want to change, I want her gone. Although she’s going to be a part of me forever, I need to lock her away in the deepest and darkest part of my essence. I finally realize that I need my family to do that. I need my woman and my kids to give me that strength.

I proceed to explain where I was and what my plan was. I admit to having a hidden purpose and that I was at a point where my love for drugs superceeded everything else in my life and days where I was out of money and out of drugs I felt like I needed something to hold me over. Something to give me life. Something to have me bury what ever weapon, tear up whatever note I had and be what I was originally meant to be the second I decided to start a family. A provider, a protector, a father and a man to a woman who I caused an incredible amount of pain too. Although I realize that I’ve caused too much damage and it’s near impossible to repair whatever relationship I once had with Lily, all I ask for is faith. Even that is too much to ask, but being the amazing woman that she is goes on to say:

> “I know you can get clean but don’t do it for me, do it for your kids. I’m always going to love you but they’re always going to love you more.”

Her words, so simple but so sincere.

I had it wrong this whole time. All my decisions revolved around a woman’s love. From Curly to Lily, every decision in response to the anger, pain, or love I felt because of the women in my life.

It took me years but I finally came to the realization that would change my perspective on what my motives should actually be.

The women in my life are temporary, they will eventually do what’s best for themselves and no matter how much we loved each other, and the support my love was willing to give me, that was all temporary. But my kids, those who look to me as if I was perfect, those who don’t see me as my story’s antagonist but as their own story’s hero.

This whole time I was punishing myself on how much I hurt Lily when in reality I should’ve been on my knees begging for my kids’ forgiveness. As much as I regret neglecting my children, I’m grateful I finally came to recognize that I need them as much as they need me. That’s the answer I was unknowingly looking for.

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”Fruits Of Addiction: A Pernicious Love” CHAPTER 2( turn 3) REVISION

Merry Christmas to all once again!!! As some of you noticed, I thanked those of you who have been so helpful with my project in my previous post this morning. So I received some amazing and well-needed criticism from the #WritingCommunity’s own @NirakSyu, Karin and @bookauthor_56, Vickie Hughes!!! (Thank you two so much)

Of course this is NOT in any way a final draft, but I was able to hopefully structure my book in a more interesting manner. Hopefully not a way that is doesn’t seem too long. Initially I kept my book at 10 chapters but I’m going to start breaking everything down so its easier to handle! With that being said, my chapter one is also much different and was broken down into two chapters because of its initial length.

Please provide harsh feedback I will NOT GET OFFENDED. In fact you’re helping in a manner that is so amazing and I could never repay those who actually take the time to read my work!!

THANK YOU AND GOOD NIGHT


# Chapter 3: Three Days

At some point addicts admit to themselves that they indeed have a problem. Some later than others, and few actually work on their issue to find a solution. Me? I didn’t realize I had a problem until I found myself spending almost double on pills so that my dealer would hopefully drive half hour to my job. I began noticing my own physical changes but it wasn’t to an extent where I’d feel the need to quit my habit of substance abuse.

I confessed to Lily that I was addicted to percs way before I even thought about cocaine, heroin, fentanyl, Xanax, kpins, etc. Even before our struggles truly began. Since my daily habit began to affect my performance at work so I assumed that quitting pills cold turkey would be easy. I didn’t see it as an addiction, I saw my dependence as an intense preference. Plus I strongly believed that I was unbelievably mentally tough so the mental aspect of addiction would be easy for me to withstand. Me mentally tough? That’s funny, I’m the same person who’d sob after any miscommunication with Lily. Aside from being a mentally and emotionally fragile person, I wasn’t aware of the hell behind physical withdrawals at all. That didn’t matter though.

Percocets, oxy, hydro, etc. If it ended with “condone”, my love for it was undeniable. In my mind I wasn’t addicted, I just loved the type of drug I had gotten into. From that one pill and that amazing feeling that came right after, chasing that demon was all I wanted to do. I never fully experienced withdrawals so this whole idea of “being addicted” and being controlled by drugs was laughable to me.

As much as I didn’t want to notice, I finally had to. Why am I getting mad so easily? Why is it that my body shakes really bad, I start to sweat profusely and I can’t stay still for the life of me until I pop a few pills? Is the love of my life really that upset that I haven’t given her much attention today? No, she’s not like that. She loves making me feel happy, she’d never make me feel mad or sick… well I hope not. Those “rumors” of addiction I refused to believe began making more and more sense until I finally needed someone to talk to. I can’t keep this to myself anymore, but who can I trust? I have my part-time friend Billy but can he keep his mouth shut and actually be a friend? Maybe but I’m not taking risks. Huh, I DO have a girlfriend… But I don’t want her to be mad at me, judge me then leave me. No, I shouldn’t think that way. She’s not like that… I have to tell her. I need to come clean.

To be completely honest, I remember that specific night like it was yesterday. I felt so guilty for lying to my Lily about my minor addiction that I finally confessed to her. No matter how much I denied the idea that I was an addict, it was time I faced the truth. I am a drug addict. Not as bad as others but I’m still an addict. Deep down I felt that because I only popped pills, my addiction wasn’t as severe as being addicted to heroin so I laughed at the idea that I would struggle with addiction. Before truly grasping the reality that my addiction was so much more serious than anticipated, I became aware of that idea that the worst of any withdrawal symptoms I’d face would be over after 72 hours. Commonly referred to as ”3 days.” With that being said, I had high hopes that this little issue would be temporary. Funny.

My one true love who I chased none stop, was only going to hurt me in the end. But Lily, with her promises to stand my side, faithfully accepted my fate the way I should have;

> I’m so proud of you for coming clean. I know it’s not easy but I’ll be here for you until you get clean.

That meant the world to me. It would have never processed in my mind that I was years away from actually getting clean. In fact, I was completely unaware that I would lose everything from chasing my demon. If I was told that I’d be responsible formy own failings and the hardships Lily and I faced as a couple, I would’ve laughed it off and applauded you for the creativity. Even though I was quickly losing control of my ever-growing demon, I still felt invincible.

I constantly promised that I’d never commit any crimes to feed my addiction and I’d never sniff anything or pump narcotics into my veins. I promised that I’d stay away from the hard drugs. I even talked down on the kind of addict I would eventually become. Wishing the worst upon their very lives. I truly believed that I was unique and that I was fully capable of controlling my actions.

It’s not at all humorous but I find it ironic that I basically foreshadowed my life for the next 6 years and I didn’t just ruin my life, I ruined Lily’s life in the process. For that, I will never forgive myself, and I will always consider myself the word I hate the most. A “junkie”.

As addicts we forget about the importance of acceptance. Specifically, accepting the decision we made to poison our bodies with the drug we love the most which is what put us in this shitty predicament. If I knew that I’d be an addict for the rest of my life then I’d have stuck to the straight edge life I always preached about.

Unfortunately, life does not work that way so now I have to grow and learn from this experience. More importantly, I have to keep my chin up. I’m still likely to relapse and only God knows the hundreds of times I have already because, in all honesty, it’s too much for me to count.

## Oblivious

> “3 days… just give me three days, that’s all I need to kick my habit.”

Was it true? Probably, just not for me. I kept that ridiculous idea in mind until I finally decided that it was time to stop doing drugs for a while. Forever? Absolutely not. I had finally found the love of my life and I am never letting go. We just need a short break.

I became obsessed with the idea that 3 days was all it took for me to supposedly get clean. No matter how unrealistic it sounded I quickly began to strongly believe it. I’d always tell myself, that it’ll only be 3 days of suffering which was something I thought could easily handle. Besides, at the time it seemed like days were moving so fast, I had no idea that when you go through withdrawals time drastically slows down. I eventually forgot how idiotic the idea of a whole addiction subsiding after 3 days sounded and would confidently give myself pep talks about being mentally tough and it would be easy for me.

> ” It’s only 3 days, I’ll easily quit doing percs and I’ll be back to my normal self! There’s no way I’d let myself stay addicted forever like some people.”

With that being said at one point I really did quit opiates. Not my drug habit but I was clean from pills before I had transitioned to dope. I traded out one addiction for a minor habit. I began sniffing coke and for a whole 3 months and I had not even thought about percs because of that one traumatizing experience. From time to time I still think about my first and worst experience with withdrawals.

My love and passion, Percocet’s, why would she do that to me? After only 24 hours of me trying to break up with her she punished me with so much pain. I was completely oblivious to the pain she’d put me through and it broke my heart knowing she’d do this to me. Not only mental but physical punishments as well. All I needed was to actually experience the full wrath of opiate withdrawals, which scared me straight. For a bit at least. Those first few days of excruciating body and stomach pain, explosive diarrhea, throwing up and crazy shaking leg syndrome. I was even sweating through my clothes and blankets but I felt so cold. I could barely walk, I couldn’t stop crying and I felt like I was trapped inside my own body. The fact that I had just lost my job was the only reason why I even made that decision to quit.

Like I said even with that being my first time to go through withdrawals, I was only told of what I would go through. Of course, major details were left out but I thought it to be a walk in the park. Before attempting my first time actually ”quitting” opiates I bought Xanax to keep me asleep for most of the experience and I bought weed to reduce the pain and help me focus on something else. I told Lily of my decision and she was fully supportive. Even she believed that “3 days” is all it would take for me to detox myself off of opiates. Lily was so cute, she’d give me little pep talks about how after those 3 days I’d behealthy once again and that she was so proud of me for making the decision to quit. Little did Lily know, she would see the absolute worst of me. You see, she had never seen me weak nor throwing up nor seen me cry from the pain I experienced. To her I was perfect and as much as I thought it, she also thought that I was unbelievably tough, that nothing could tear me down.

That image we both had of myself was destroyed in one night. Imagine trying to fall asleep at 11 and by 12 you begin to suffer from the worst flu-like symptoms ever known to man. It all started with an excruciating stomach pain which caused me to almost throw up all over myself. Luckily I managed to make it to the toilet and at that point my living nightmare began. That night Lily tried so hard to console me;

> Babe what can I do to help you? Should I hold you? Do you want me to make you soup?

Her innocent attempts to hopefully make me feel better meant the world to me but I had to be realistic. I had to save her from the hell of tending to me so I’d tell her;

> “Babe I did this to myself, you have work really early you need sleep.”

I convinced her to go back to bed but my ridiculously loud hollers and cries of pain kept her up whether I wanted her by my side or not. Even when I switched rooms, we both were up.

The next day came and I was left alone. I had heard of the methadone clinic before and decided I needed to pay a visit so the seemingly impossible task began. I tried with all my might to get dressed because getting in a shower was not even an option for me. I managed to look in the mirror and was truly frightened at what I had seen. I was a completely different shade, I was all sweaty and my face looked flushed.

> ”I can’t do this alone… I need help”

Before I take off, I call Lily in the hopes that she could hopefully leave work to help me get to the clinic but she reminds me that her manager, Wanda, wouldn’t just let her leave. See, Wanda was my old manager from when I worked at that given bank. I got Lily that job so I was already aware of how strict Wanda was.

> ”Okay well I guess I’m on my own”

I think to myself as I begin this unbearable journey to the methadone clinic. As I commence my walk down the stairs my legs give out and I plummet all the way to the lowermost step. If I was feeling myself I would’ve laughed it off but because pain is multiplied by 100 when you’re going through withdrawals, I sobbed again and laid there like an animal who was just ran over by a truck. After giving myself the “getup bitch” speech I manage to pick myself up and get in my car and struggle to drive myself to the clinic.

I go on to hit two cars on the way there. Fortunately, I wasn’t chased and the damage was minimal so my car was drivable. Of course, I wish I pulled over and admitted guilt but the physical state I was in would’ve left the victims with the same reaction. They were hit by a sick junkie.

After finally signing myself up and taking a drug test was required to make a payment because I didn’t have health insurance due to my recent unemployment.

> “Whatever I’ll pay the fee”

I thought as I was desperate for treatment. I could barely stand still because of the body pain so I’d dance around off one leg to the other trying to relieve the pain in my legs and back. They ladies that worked in the office noticed my distress and decided to warn me of the issue I had. First one being that they had to wait for my drug test to come in before they could let me meet with the doctor. On top of that they wouldn’t even be able to treat me until the following Tuesday because doctors only show up twice a week.

I don’t know how much more disappointment my heart could take but once again my heart dropped to the acids in my stomach. It was a Friday and the thought of dealing with that pain for 4 days was very unnerving for me. I was already trying to last those initial 3 days, but a 4th? No, I’m not doing it. On top of that, they wanted me to stay clean until that given day which something I was not willing to do. I quietly have a panic attack from the thought of having to suffer for not 3 but 4 days. What was I supposed to tell Lily? I couldn’t do it. I had no other options, I had to give up and buy some pills. I had barely lasted a day and I already gave up. I thought I would be strong enough to face my demon but she overpowered me and made me look like a bitch in front of Lily and anyone else who had seen me that day.

At that point I leave and I call my dealer and decide to get some pills to hold me over until I decide what I can do. On the way to my dealer I get into another accident in which I wasn’t able to drive away and had to suffer through another hour of excruciating pain because I actually had to exchange information with this victim. Finally, the time comes. I yearned for the feeling of satisfaction and for my suffering to gradually fade. Sometimes it felt as if the misery was worth the wait because the pleasure I’d experience after was unbelievably gratifying.

The second I had those pills in my hand I anxiously swallowed them and desperately waited for them to take effect. The “love” of my life convinced me to come running back to her like a little puppy, and she welcomed me back with open arms.

> “Why don’t you try sniffing dope? It’s a lot cheaper and gets you way higher that 6 perc 30s ever will.”

My dealer who had recently transitioned from sniffing pills to sniffing dope recommended as he prepared himself a line of fentanyl.

Just a friendly reminder to all, although I had just lost my job and had wasted most of my savings on percs, I still stood tall on my pedestal.

> “It’s just percs, who doesn’t do percs? But heroin? I’d quit percs before I resort to dope”

I thought to myself. Although deep down a curiosity to see if that’s true began to cultivate.

> “I’m good.”

He later suggests suboxones. Suboxone’s are a synthetic opiate which is used during the recovery process. But like every other drug, it can be abused and used to sell which is the habituated for the opposite of it’s purpose. Comprehending that, I decided that it would be good to have just in case I ever get put in that predicament. He sells me a few and explains how to use them. A month after that horrendous experience, and even more money wasted on pills, I try to quit pills again. With the help of those suboxones of course.

> “I can never let my baby see me that weak again, what kind of a man am I.”

I thought.

After using suboxines to successfully trade opiates for cocaine, things began looking up for me. I did it, I kicked my addiction!

Again, that first time quitting only lasted 3 months and in those three months, I developed a temporary taste for cocaine. I quickly learned that quitting on my own was impossible without a little help. Cocaine wasn’t the help I needed and I knew that but didn’t want to admit that yet. Those next 3 months I used any money I had on cocaine and began to use coke the same way I’d take pills.

Even after my first experience with withdrawals, I would make every possible excuse as to why I couldn’t go to rehab for so long. Throughout the duration that I was popping pills, there was the breakout of fake pills where people would replace Percocets with fentanyl with the primary goal being, having their clientele develop a robust addiction for their product rather than their competitor’s product. I would unknowingly take those pills which would pull me deeper into the curiosity for fentanyl. While pushing me towards withdrawals a lot quicker.

For the first half of my addiction to pills before I had experienced that initial hell, I was completely unaware that I was even going through withdrawals. I just assumed that I was having a bad night when Id have shaken leg syndrome or when I couldn’t sleep. Then eventually I would only take perks in the mornings because if I took them at night then I wouldn’t sleep all night which I thought was just a minor side effect of doing the pills but little did I know I was finally addicted. I was sweating at work, Id have horrible allergies all day and have bad diarrhea and crazy cravings for pills until I bought my next few pills to hold me throughout the next day. When experiencing these withdrawals, I would turn so pale and sweaty that whenever my mother or my manager would see me, I’d tell them it’s probably the flu.

Again fast forward back to my dealer telling me that I’m most likely addicted and going through withdrawals, I had become aware of my crisis being more than just a ”habit.” I knew needed to finally accept that I was an addict.

> “I’ll just buy some suboxones and stay clean for three days, that should kick my habit”

I would constantly tell myself this to avoid taking the necessary steps to get clean. I’d use that line and convince my beautiful extraordinary girlfriend Lily to give me money to buy a suboxone or two in the hopes that I actually follow my plan. For whatever reason, even after figuring out that even with enough suboxone to last me a week, 3 days wasn’t the extent of withdrawals. I’d only fully come to understand that after I’d try to quit years after my transition to dope.

I’d convince certain dealers and friends to go out of their way to find me and buy me suboxones with the same empty promise I told my girl,

> “I’ll pay you back, you know I’m good for it.”

In reality, the only thing I was good for at that point was buying and sniffing drugs anywhere I could. I can’t even count the times I’ve told my girl,

> “Baby I’m gonna try quitting this week so please understand if I’m sick or in a bad mood.”

That empty promise to stay clean gave her so much false hope that I needed to keep that lie going so that she would be as close to happy as she could possibly be while being in a growing abusive and toxic relationship with someone who did not want to change.

When you’re an addict, you’re most painful yet effective weapon is false promises. False promises goes hand in hand with lying because it’s essentially the same thing. Lying is something you do regularly to avoid getting in trouble or to fulfill whatever hidden agenda you have. False promises though. These are used to break the spirit of those you hold closely. Whenever I’d make a false promise, I usually had every intention of fulfilling it but deep down I knew my addict tendencies always get in the way.

I can’t remember how many times I tried to quit opiates without getting real help from professionals. As you know my addiction began with an unhealthy lustful and desire for pills. I’d take percs at home, at school (when I attended college), at work (when I worked at the bank), even at home in front of my son, in the bathroom in between domino games with my love Lily and our friends, even right next to Lily as she slept soundly. My decisions to “quit” always started with me telling myself

> “Okay this is my last batch so I gotta enjoy it.”

From trying to quit pain pills to cocaine and eventually harder opiates, that phrase quickly became my most told lie aside from,

> “No I didn’t take your money babe, I promise.”

As unintentional as my lie was, that’s the only way to define something that you know isn’t true. I had every intention of getting clean but something that required me to not be sick from opiate withdrawals always came up.

My parents want me over for dinner, I have to use.

Damn I have an interview, I’ll use one more time.

My friends want to play dominos with Lily and I. Okay give me one second I’ll be back. I need my dose of opiates.

I just didn’t want anyone seeing me go through the excruciating pain caused by withdrawals that I would manage to prevent. I’d even stay in bed for days at a time, no eating, drinking, showers, nothing. If I had to work, same thing, I wouldn’t eat and I wouldn’t shower.

I needed to accept that I can’t face this alone.

I needed to accept that I wouldn’t make it alone.

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”Fruits Of Addiction: A Pernicious Love” Chapter 2 Rough Draft!

Good evening everyone!!

I know I’ve been MIA on here for a while, I’ve just been doing a lot of reflecting and thinking! My book is scheduled to drop this upcoming January but I’m nowhere close to being done!! I have 3 out of 11+ chapters reviewed, I have 43k out of 50k words done, I need to properly format it, have it edited and I need to put it in a proper template. I’m so excited with the results of the last three chapters I had reviewed because I was told where to improve, what the readers found irrelevant to the given topic of the book, I was shown grammatical errors etc. I’m grateful to every writer and reader whose given me the confidence to post my chapters but unfortunately this will be the last one I post publicly! Of course I want to promote my book but the purpose of my social media pages is to spread awareness for addiction!

Absolutely, my story shows my own experience with addiction but I feel that if people are Interested then they could read my book. Not everyone is here to support my goal for my book, does that make sense? Anyways, this is one of the chapters I really did NOT like how it came out so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE provide honest feedback. Does it flow? Is it interesting? Does it make you want to continue reading? What is your overall thoughts on this chapter. Thank you, I hope you enjoy!!!!


This is another potential book cover I worked on. Which do you like???

Chapter 2- Three Days

Acceptance. Comes easy to some, and doesn’t to most. I fall into the “most” category. I had this idea that once I accept that I had a problem, finding a solution would become easier. False. It would never be as easy as I made it out to be. If I knew what I was in for I’d have just gone to rehab instead of suffering and spreading pain the next few years.

That’s the thing about life, yeah I made it past all of my struggles and if I was able to somehow see into the future and see what I know now I wouldn’t even be writing this book. I’d still probably be a stuck up know it all. Shit, I don’t even want to imagine the life I’d have. But then again, I strongly believe that everything happens for a reason. I was meant to spread pain and I was meant to destroy my life. Maybe I was meant to write this book to prevent someone else from experiencing the hell of addiction. Or maybe I had such a shitty life as karma from hurting so many people. The main person being the mother of my children, Lily.

Okay, so I had accepted that I was an addict but because I was still in love with that faceless beauty that gifted me with a euphoric feeling, I didn’t really want to get clean. From others who claim that they had experienced opiate addiction and withdrawals claimed that they wouldn’t last long. Just so we’re on the same page guys, addiction won’t be done in “three days.” I’ve done a lot of research before trying to quit and as many websites and professionals claimed, I came to learn that it’s not true. 72-96 hours they say. Wrong. At one point I strongly believed that myth which kept me from finally accepting I had a problem.

> If my withdrawals go away after three days then how is that even considered an addiction? I’ll start on Friday and I’ll be clean and ready to work by Monday.

A common mentality I’d have throughout my addiction. That mentality is what made it so difficult for my girlfriend to keep up and stay supportive. I didn’t want to get clean. I didn’t fully grasp that understanding that I had finally experienced the devastating force behind withdrawals and it was not as easy as “staying clean for three days.” Maybe I just didn’t have the will power at the time? Maybe I really am a mentally and physically weak junkie? Either way, my mind was beyond clouded and aside from not having the drive to reflect on my lifestyle and practice acceptance, my support system began to lose patience.

At what point does one give up on that addict that they’re trying so hard to help and support? It’s expected for you to be there for your significant other when they’re suffering from this “disease.” But let’s be real, those who are burdened with having an addict boyfriend or girlfriend will never truly understand what it’s like to be in an addict. No one ever does unless they experience it themselves, so that lack of experience makes their patience for addict loved ones very scarce.

I admitted to Lily that I was addicted to percs way before I even thought about cocaine, heroin, fentanyl, Xanax, kpins, etc. Even before our struggles truly began. My daily habit also began to affect my performance at work so I thought that quitting pills cold turkey would be easy. I didn’t see it as an addiction, I saw my dependence as a strong preference. Plus I strongly believed that I was unbelievably mentally tough so the mental aspect of addiction would be easy for me to overcome. I wasn’t aware of the hell behind physical withdrawals at all. No matter though.

I loved Percocets, oxy, hydro, etc. If it ended with “condone”, my love for it was undeniable. I wasn’t addicted, I just loved the type of drug I had gotten into. From that one pill and that amazing feeling that came right after, chasing that demon was all I wanted to do. I never fully experienced withdrawals so this whole idea of “being addicted” and being controlled by drugs was laughable to me.

As much as I didn’t want to notice, I finally had to. Why am I getting mad so easily? Why is it that my body shakes really bad, I start to sweat profusely and I can’t stay still for the life of me until I pop a few pills? Is the love of my life really that upset that I haven’t given her much attention today? No, she’s not like that. She loves making me feel happy, she’d never make me feel mad or sick… well I hope not. Those “rumors” of addiction I refused to believe began making more and more sense until I finally needed someone to talk to. I can’t keep this to myself anymore, but who can I trust? I have my part-time friend Billy but can he keep his mouth shut and actually be a friend? Maybe but I’m not taking risks. Huh, I DO have a girlfriend… But I don’t want her to be mad or judge me then leave me. No, she’s not like that… I have to tell her. I need to come clean.

To be completely honest, I remember that specific night like it was yesterday. I felt so guilty for lying to my girlfriend about my minor addiction that I finally came clean to her. No matter how much I denied the idea that I was addicted at first it was time I faced the truth. My one true love who I chased none stop, was only going to hurt me in the end. But Lily, with her promises to stand my side, accepted my fate the way I should have;

> I’m so proud of you for coming clean. I know it’s not easy but I’ll be here for you until you get clean.

That meant the world to me but little did I know that I was years away from actually getting clean. In fact, I didn’t know that I would lose everything from chasing my demon and I would never have guessed that I’d be the reason for so many failings for myself, and my girl and me as a couple. I promised that I’d never steal and I’d never sniff anything, I promised that I’d stay away from the hard drugs. I even talked down on the kind of addict Id eventually became. No, it’s not funny but I find it ironic that I basically foreshadowed my life for the next 5-6 years and I didn’t just ruin my life, I ruined my girl’s life in the process. For that I will never forgive myself, and for that I will always consider myself the word I hate the most. A “junkie”.

As addicts we forget about the importance of acceptance. Realistically speaking the decision we made to poison our bodies with the drug we love the most is what put us in this shitty predicament. If I knew that I’d be an addict for the rest of my life then I’d have slapped that pill out of Babe’s hand, fuck that, I’d have slapped that blunt out of Devon’s hand all those years ago and stuck to the straight edge life I always preached about.

Unfortunately, that never happened so now I have to grow and learn from this experience. More importantly, I have to keep my chin up. I’m still likely to relapse and only God knows the hundreds of times I have already because, in all honesty, it’s too much for me to count.

## Oblivious

> “3 days… just give me three days, that’s all I need to kick my habit.”

Was it true? Probably, just not for me. I kept that ridiculous idea in mind until I finally decided that it was time to stop doing drugs for a while. Forever? Absolutely not. I had finally found the love of my life and I am never letting go. We just need a short break.

At one point I really did quit opiates. Not my drug habit but I was clean from pills and dope. I traded out one addiction for a minor habit. I began sniffing coke and for a whole 3 months I had not even thought about percs because of that one traumatizing experience. My love, my passion, Percocet’s, why would she do that to me? After only 24 hours of me trying to break up with her, she punished me with so much pain. I was completely oblivious to the pain she’d put me through and it broke my heart knowing she’d do this to me. Not only mental but physical as well. After using suboxines to successfully trade opiates for cocaine, things began looking up for me. I did it, I kicked my addiction! All I needed was to actually experience the full wrath of opiate withdrawals, which scared me straight. For a bit at least. Those first few days of excruciating body and stomach pain, explosive diarrhea, throwing up, crazy shaking leg syndrome. I was sweating through my clothes and blankets but I was so cold. I could barely walk, I couldn’t stop crying and I felt like I was trapped inside my own body. The fact that I had just lost my job was the only reason why I even made that decision to quit.

Like I said even with that being my first time to go through withdrawals, I was only told of what I would go through. Of course major details were left out but I thought it to be a walk in the park. I bought Xanax to keep me asleep for most of the experience and I bought weed to reduce the pain and help me focus on something else. I told my girl of my decision and she was fully supportive. Little did she know, she would see the absolute worst of me. You see, she had never seen me weak nor throwing up nor seen me cry from the pain I experienced. To her I was perfect and as much as I thought it, she also thought that I was unbelievably tough. That nothing could tear me down. That image we both had of myself was destroyed in one night. Imagine trying to fall asleep at 11 and by 12 you begin to suffer from the worst flu like symptoms known to man. That night she tried so hard to console me;

> Babe what can I do to help you? Should I hold you? Do you want me to make you soup?

Her innocent attempts to hopefully make me feel better meant the world to me but I had to be realistic. I had to save her from the hell of tending to me so I’d tell her;

> “babe I did this to myself, you have work really early you need sleep.”

I convinced her to go back to bed but my ridiculously loud hollers and cries of pain kept her up whether I wanted her by my side or not. Even when I switched rooms, we both were up.

The next day came and I was left alone. I had heard of the methadone clinic before and decided I needed to pay a visit so the seemingly impossible task began. I tried with all my might to get dressed because getting in a shower was not even an option for me. As I begin to walk down the stairs my legs give out and I fall all the way to the bottom step. If I was feeling myself I would’ve laughed it off but because pain is multiplied by 100 when you’re going through withdrawals, I cried again and laid there like an animal who was just ran over by a truck. After giving myself the “getup bitch” speech I go on to get in my car and attempt to drive myself to the clinic.

I go on to hit two cars on the way there. Fortunately I wasn’t chased and the damage was minimal so my car was drivable. Of course, I wish I pulled over and apologized but The physical state I was in would’ve left the victims with the same conclusion. They were hit by a sick junkie.

After finally signing myself up and taking a drug test I am required to make a payment because I didn’t have health insurance due to my recent unemployment. On top of that they wouldn’t even be able to treat me until the following Tuesday because doctors only show up twice a week. It was a Friday and the thought of dealing with that pain for 4 days was very unnerving for me. On top of that, they wanted me to stay clean until that given day which something I was not willing to do. At that point I leave and I call my dealer and decide to get some pills to hold me over until I decide what I can do. On the way to my dealer I get into another accident in which I wasn’t able to drive away and had to suffer through another hour of excruciating pain because I actually had to exchange information with this victim. Finally the time comes, I swallow my pills and wait for them to take effect. The “love” of my life convinced me to come running back to her like a little puppy, and she welcomed be back with open arms.

> “Why don’t you try sniffing dope? It’s a lot cheaper and gets you way higher that 6 perc 30s ever will.”

My dealer who had recently transitioned from sniffing pills to sniffing dope advised me as he prepared himself a line of fentanyl.

Just a friendly reminder to all, although I had just lost my job and had wasted most of my savings on percs, I still stood tall on my pedestal.

> “It’s just percs, who doesn’t do percs? But heroin? I’d quit percs before I resort to dope”

I thought to myself. Although deep down a curiosity to see if that’s true began to develop.

> “I’m good.”

He later suggests suboxones. Suboxone’s are a synthetic opiate which is used during the recovery process. But like every other drug it can be abused and used to sell which is it’s opposite purposed. Knowing that I’d decide that it would be good to have just in case I ever get put in that predicament. He sells me a few and explains how to use them. A month after that horrendous experience, and even more money wasted on pills, I try to quit pills again. With the help of those suboxones of course.

> “I can never let my baby see me that weak again, what kind of a man am I.”

I thought.

Again, that first time quitting only lasted 3 month and in those three months I developed a temporary taste for cocaine. I quickly learned that quitting on my own was impossible without a little help. Cocaine wasn’t the help I needed and I knew that but didn’t want to admit it.

Even after my first experience with withdrawals, I would make every possible excuse as to why I couldn’t go to rehab for so long. During the time period that I was popping pills, there was the epidemic where people would replace Percocet with fentanyl and I would unknowingly take those pills which would push me towards withdrawals a lot quicker.

For the first half of my addiction to pills before I had experienced that initial hell, I was completely unaware that I was even going through withdrawals. I just assumed that I was having a bad night when Id have shaken leg syndrome or when I couldn’t sleep. Then eventually I would only take perks in the mornings because if I took them at night then I wouldn’t sleep all night which I thought was just a minor side effect of doing the pills but little did I know I was finally addicted. I was sweating at work, Id have horrible allergies all day and have bad diarrhea and crazy cravings for pills until I bought my next few pills to hold me throughout the next day. When experiencing these withdrawals, I would turn so pale and sweaty that whenever my mother or my manager would see me, I’d tell them it’s probably the flu. Again fast forward back to my dealer telling me that I’m most likely addicted and going through withdrawals, I had become aware of my problem being more than just a ”habit.” I needed to finally accept that I was an addict.

> “I’ll just buy some suboxones and stay clean for three days, that should kick my habit”

I would constantly tell myself this to avoid taking the necessary steps to get clean. I’d use that line and convince my beautiful extraordinary girlfriend Lily to give me money to buy a suboxone or two in the hopes that I actually follow my plan.

I’d convince certain dealers and friends to go out of their way to find me and buy me suboxones with the same empty promise I told my girl,

> “I’ll pay you back, you know I’m good for it.”

In reality, the only thing I was good for at that point was buying and sniffing drugs anywhere I could. I can’t even count the times I’ve told my girl,

> “Baby I’m gonna try quitting this week so please understand if I’m sick or in a bad mood.”

That empty promise to stay clean gave her so much false hope that I needed to keep that lie going so that she would be as close to happy as she could possibly be while being in a growing abusive and toxic relationship with someone who did not want to change.

When you’re an addict, you’re most painful yet effective weapon is false promises. False promises goes hand in hand with lying because it’s essentially the same thing. Lying is something you do regularly to avoid getting in trouble or to fulfill whatever hidden agenda you have. False promises though. These are used to break the spirit of those you hold closely. Whenever I’d make a false promise, I usually had every intention of fulfilling it but deep down I knew my addict tendencies always get in the way.

I can’t remember how many times I tried to quit opiates without getting real help from professionals. As you know my addiction began with an unhealthy lustful desire for pills. I’d take percs at home, at school (when I attended college), at work (when I worked at the bank), even at home in front of my son, in the bathroom in between domino games with my love Lily and our friends, even right next to my girl as she slept soundly. My decisions to “quit” always started with me telling myself “okay this is my last batch so I gotta enjoy it.” From trying to quit pain pills to cocaine and eventually harder opiates, that phrase quickly became my most told lie aside from “no I didn’t take your money babe, I promise.”

As unintentional as my lie was, that’s the only way to define something that you know isn’t true. I had every intention of getting clean but something that required me to not be sick from opiate withdrawals always came up.

My parents want me over for dinner, I have to use.

Damn I have an interview, I’ll use one more time.

My friends want to play dominos with my girl and I. Okay give me one second I’ll be back. I need my dose of opiates.

I just didn’t want anyone seeing me go through the excruciating pain caused by withdrawals that I would manage to avoid. I’d even stay in bed for days at a time, no eating, drinking, showers, nothing. If I had to work, same thing, I wouldn’t eat and I wouldn’t shower.

I needed to accept that I can’t face this alone.

I needed to accept that I wouldn’t make it alone.

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“Fruits of Addiction : A Pernicious Love” Complete Draft Of Chapter One

After the confidence I gained from posting the introductory sections to chapter 1, I decided that I should post the rest of chapter one to hopefully give readers more of an understanding on what to expect and my overall writing style. I included the first section on this post as well with an updated section that I had initially removed to turn into a study for one of my first blog posts! I included ”A boy’s role model” please let me know if it flows with my opening chapter or if I should take it out again! Though I’m not as confident seeing this on an actual post, I still remind all readers that feedback is crucial for me to hopefully perfect my project! Don’t hold back! Please let me know where I could improve and what parts seem irrelevant or uninteresting! Yes it’s my story but I also want it to be as enjoyable as a memoir can be. Again, because of the things I’ve done I’m fully aware that I will most likely be hated, I hope you can look passed who I once was and understand the message I’m trying to send!


Chapter 1: The Beginning Of The End

Where should I start? No seriously. The more I try to remember, the more I envision darkness. I don’t mean “darkness” figuratively I literally mean the color black. My years of drug use have made it so hard for me to remember my past that I can’t tell a story without a long pause and really working my brain so hard that I question if what I’m about to say even happened. Were these past few years just a long dream from a sleep I have yet to awaken from? Yeah, I wish. Realistically, it would be better defined as a nightmare. I’m haunted by my decisions made from the very moment I took my first hit.

I’ve had an addictive personality ever since I was young and as far as I can remember. Having an addictive personality and having a dangerous curiosity for destruction and anarchy was a dangerous mix for me. Not only that, I’ve always had an inner sadness that whispered at me as I grew up. I never paid full attention until I finally did and realized that inner sadness had developed into full-blown depression.

Aside from that, when trying to remember my childhood, I recall growing up around abuse, fear, and anger. From being forced to watch my father literally beat the earrings off my mother’s head, to experiencing his traumatic rage for myself. That fear inevitably evolved into an unbearable hatred that had influenced my decisions dramatically.

I recall my father being an addict himself, but unlike me, his addiction has always been alcohol which was eventually traded out for gambling. Maybe that’s what influenced me to develop that “addictive personality” I’m babbling on about. From abuse to surrounding myself with people who fit the criteria of a “negative influence” I slowly developed a life-lasting addiction to the rush of doing shit I’m not supposed to.

## A Boy’s Role Model

> “Why does he hate me so much? Am I really that bad of a son, mami?”

> “No mijo. You’re not a bad son, papi just needs his rest. He had a stressful day at work. He loves all of us…”

Love? It even sounded like she was trying to believe it herself. As much as she wanted to believe that, she’d hold me trying to keep me as quiet as possible, trembling in fear hoping she doesn’t say anything in a manner that may offend him. My father’s abuse isn’t how I’d define love even being so young all those years of his toxic behavior. That must’ve been some rough 3rd world love from their native country because, as an American myself, I’ve only seen American parents scold their kids just to apologize to them afterwards. Uh yeah, I was unbelievably jealous. But then again it did make me feel as if I was tough because of what I endure.

When ever I’d read articles on addiction or I’d speak to those who suffer from it, a common pattern I’d see is people blaming their addiction on their childhood, or the influence their own parents’ addictions would have on them. Of course it’s hard not to hold grudges, which I did for years but I don’t blame my father’s abuse nor his addictions. I don’t blame my mother when she’d feel no other choice than to spank me as well so that my father doesn’t feel as she’s contradicting him. I don’t blame my culture and I don’t blame my parents’ generation where discipline revolved around spanking wrists with rulers, spanking with belts and bare hands, though I wish that’s the only punishment my mother and I would’ve gotten. I know what my older audience may think, “man up, you millennials complain about everything. When I was your age my father would hit me with a rock.” Okay caveman, calm down. Yeah my father wouldn’t use rocks or whatever the f*ck. Though, sometimes when he’d a strip me naked, throwing me in the shower with freezing cold water and whip me with his belt with a barrage of close handed strikes to the face, head, body, and back. When I was too big for him to do that anymore, he’d stick to strictly punches to the face and head and if I had my shirt off, whips across my chest and back with the occasional shot for the head that I would dodge which resulted it more whips.

My own experiences with domestic and child abuse stems back to my child hood but you know what? I didn’t blame my early exposure to addiction and abuse. If I did then I’d indirectly be blaming my father for my own decisions. Truth is I wasn’t even thinking about my past when I smoked weed for the first time. I wasn’t thinking about my father beating my mother when I transitioned over to opiates. Maybe I did inherit my father’s “addict” gene. Shit I might even have his “gambling every weekend” gene too. Countless studies say that addiction is almost always passed down from parent to child. In my case that seems very likely. No matter how much trauma I faced in my past, I can only blame myself. You’ll come to learn how I doomed myself from trying to blame others for my own selfish desires. Yes, I feel that I walked a similar path as my father but in time I realize that just because it’s similar does not mean it’s exact.

## Curios George

My road to drug addiction is a tad different. Unlike the typical “my parent was a crackhead” story we all read, my story began not when I took my first Percocet, but when I decided I would try marijuana for the first time. Okay whatever, weed smokers all say the same thing, “you can’t get addicted to weed.” Which is true. There is a difference between mental dependence or “addiction” where you convince yourself that you “need” to smoke, take a hit, blow a rail, etc. and full-blown physical addiction where you shit your pants, throw up anything you ate and prefer death over the hell of not having your drug of preference to even you out. You can become mentally dependent/addicted or physically addicted, sometimes both, is what I’m trying to say. So do me a favor and read back to those last few words again, “My road to drug addiction is a tad different” that’s the key in this below-average attempt to begin illustrating how I became the addict I am today. In my case, smoking weed was 100% the “gateway drug” that developed an alter ego of myself. The epitome of pain itself. Better defined as my ”addictive personality,”

I’ve always been such a curious person, from early childhood to a quarter-century of my life later. Although I’ve always had a curiosity for rebellion and self-destruction, that curiosity didn’t begin killing this cat* until drugs and their euphoric effects were introduced.

Whether it be almost every kid in high school bragging about smoking their first blunts to the occasional kid from the projects that started exploring their options when they were “twelve”. No, I’m not exaggerating. Almost every project kid I met had already either smoked their first blunt, ate their first shroom or popped their first pill at that age. I kid you not. For some reason, if you grew up in the projects, it must have been some kind of “life of crime and poverty” initiation to get high at the tender age of “twelve”, at least that’s what they all made it seem like. I wasn’t a “project kid” but the city I’m from is always defined as the “ghetto”. Yes, it has beautiful neighborhoods, houses and the stereotypical Trump supporters that would lock their door if a person of color walks within 25 feet of their car. But even those same residents helped our city earn the nickname of a “hood”. Although we are technically named the “City of Champions”, Urbandictionary.com better describes us as “a very metropolitan area, resembling Detroit, with a crime rate to match.”

## Marijuana

I never truly understood why I acted the way I did in my youth but I look back at myself and can’t help but facepalm in dissatisfaction. Even before my addiction began, I was unbelievably intolerant and unbelievably stuck up. Of course, it’s natural to look back at your high school days in disappointment but me? I was always the character that everyone found annoying. Yes, I knew that and I absolutely worked it as if it was something to be proud of. I would talk down to my close friends about smoking weed and would act as if I were completely innocent and would never “stoop down” to that level. I’d walk around with my chest out, chin up and pants so high that my ankles would show. I wasn’t just stuck up, I was also a lower class child wearing clothes that didn’t fit him. My opinions have always been strong and I had a knack for being judgmental yet never willingly accepted feedback on who I was as a person. Every hypocrite sees themself as a diety, I was no different. Sometimes I wonder how I made it through high school without getting bullied.

I saw myself as an anti-Drug delegate for high school until eventually, I wasn’t. I became so curious and wanted to understand why everyone was so obsessed with “smoking a blunt” and “getting high.” Then again, who doesn’t get curious when everyone’s goal in high school is to be accepted? I’d ask questions about their “first time” and ask about how they felt, what their reason to smoking was and how they make sure they don’t get caught.

Eventually, I decided to act upon that cultivating curiosity and my love of drugs began to sprout. I still remember my first time, clear as day. Being a “weed virgin”, my two friends, Devon and Jon, made it their mission to take my “green-ginity.”

After weeks of them trying and months of my personal research, they had successfully “convinced” me to smoke weed. Between you and me, that decision was already made once my curiosity was too much for me to handle.

It was before wrestling practice during our junior year of high school when we bought some low-grade bud with money that I had been saving. We convinced our 18-year-old friend David to buy us one green leaf cigarello and went on to roll a sloppy blunt that was probably, the poorest blunt ever rolled. It did the job so we weren’t complaining. Of course, Jon and Devon took their hit first but after what felt like a never-ending wait, my turn finally came. Puff, puff, pass you say? I don’t think so. I took one deep hit and did my absolute best to hold it in. It felt as if my lungs and throat were on fire and I then proceeded to have, what I thought was an asthma attack. The thing about that horrid burning sensation is if you don’t have any type of beverage to settle that burning inside your body, when it’s finally over it feels as if your lungs are nothing but ash. After I finally catch my breath, it slaps me. I had never experienced any other kind of high so when it hit me, trust and believe it hit me harder than my father’s right hook after having a fervent argument with my mother.

At first, I became unbelievably paranoid because if my father ever saw me high then I’d really catch his right hook, and no that isn’t a metaphor. Eventually, my negative thoughts tire out and I finally get to enjoy my high. As much as I could that is. Smoking before a 3-hour long wrestling practice that revolves around cardio was not a good idea. I was so worried about my father when I didn’t even consider the fact that my cardio was already shit, without including the fact that I had just smoked weed from a leaf of tobacco. If that’s not irony then I don’t know what is.

That “one-time” experience eventually became a habit. From smoking before and after school to eventually sneaking out at night to smoke until 2-3 am I became the person who I hated not too long ago. It ultimately got to the point where I began acting out in class, rebelling at home, and claimed that I was stressed and was angry if I didn’t smoke that given day. I was an on and off, self-proclaimed “pothead” and would brag about my late-night blunt walks around town, and 6-10 blunt sessions any chance I got. In reality, I was a hypocrite who would victimize myself any chance I got so I had a reason to smoke bud. That one need to fit in has been one of my most devastating and destructive traits aside from the curiosity that caused this whole mess. At that point, the gates into the world of drugs were on the verge of opening completely.

## Curly

We all experience “love” at some point in our lives. Either it’s true love or we think it’s love. Our first emotional connection leads us to make absurd decisions that eventually shape our overall opinion on what love **should** be. See, I’ve had too many of those “love but not actually love” moments so my vision on how a relationship should be was demented for a very long time. Fast forward to my sophomore year in college. By this point in my life, I’ve experienced alcoholism, continued my daily marijuana intake and had just gotten out of a 2-year relationship with a curly-headed beauty whose name I shall not speak. My experience with Curly was that exactly, a relationship that gave me an impure idea on how a relationship should be because of the “love” I had and the heartbreak I ended up facing.

That heartbreak, alcoholic tendencies and forced love of marijuana aside, I actually began to make a life for myself, at least that’s what I thought. I was a successful banker, college wrestler/ volunteer high school coach, I was absolutely adored by all and was the go-to guy for anyone who needed money or a favor. One thing you’ll learn about me if you haven’t already, is that I was full of myself and thought to be better than everyone I associated myself with. I mean, what am I supposed to think? Everyone came to me for their needs because they knew I had it. Oh, you need $200? Okay, pay me back when you can. You’re about to get evicted? Okay, Brenda, here’s some rent money, pay me back when you can.

Even though it secretly bothered me, I loved being able to say “yeah he/she needed me.” But after that heart-wrenching break up with that curly-headed beauty I mentioned, being used for my money by people who’d eventually fuck me over, and my semi-constant drinking and weed smoking; I began to feel empty. Yeah, I saw myself as successful and yeah I felt loved and was popular but that just wasn’t enough.

Another thing about me that eventually played probably the biggest role in my addiction was the fact that I became unbelievably emotionally needy. I finally experienced what I thought was true love and heartbreak so I developed this everlasting hunger for attention and some kind of loving connection. Sex? Yeah, sex is great but I didn’t crave it the way I craved a woman’s love.

I found myself remember times I’d go above and beyond for Curly and how I devoted my life to her. I’d skip class to please her, not come home for days to please her and even admitted my love hoping it was mutual. It wasn’t. I didn’t give up though, even when I found out she was seeing someone else. Of course, I was heartbroken but I stayed vigilant. Until of course I stopped being useful to her and she ended our two-year relationship with:

> I need to love myself before I can love you.. but I value your friendship I hope we can still be friends.

Those words tore right through me. My heart sunk. I could literally feel the pounding go from my chest to my stomach and as I opened my mouth to give a pain-filled response I felt my eyes tear up. At that point, I knew that if said anything else I’d end up crying, so I got up, gave her one last pain-filled glance and left the cafeteria. Yup. She broke up with me in a fucking campus cafeteria as if I was some kind of nobody who didn’t cherish her virginity and did absolutely everything to make her happy. I thought I loved her so much even when that “love” itself hurt. But for whatever narcissistic reason, I loved that my love for her hurt. Was that normal? Probably not. Did I even make sense just now? Probably not. Little did I know, the same words she told me, are the words I need to accept for myself. Something I don’t realize for another 6 years.

> I need to love myself before I can love anyone.

So upon learning that our love was never mutual, she quickly went from “curly-headed beauty” to the “manipulative bitch who broke my heart.” When I ask myself, what was the actual reason that caused me to transition from weed to pills, her name always came up. I just couldn’t get over that heartbreak even after I met the mother of my children. Of course, she’s completely aware of my heartbreak and you know what? She gave me the love I needed right away. From the moment she met me, she knew I was the one she wanted. Yes, I’d die for her now but back then, her love just wasn’t enough.

Every time I think back to my initial neglect towards the mother of my children, deep hatred and anger for myself takes over. Of course, eventually, we built a powerful bond with a mutual love so much more powerful than I would have ever experienced with Curly. I mean that’s what you get when you finally date a woman who knows what she wants instead of a girl who still brags about being drunk at college parties, right?.

But before L became my blessing, I was lost. Curly took my sense of direction, my pride and my happiness with her the night she tore my heart into pieces. I’d find myself looking at her name on my phone while typing a hate-filled message about how she was it for me. How she was my “one true love”. I felt so used and abused and confused. I turned into a damn depressed version of Dr. Seuss for fuck’s sake.

From writing texts that I never end up sending to quoting love songs throughout any social media she followed me on, I hoped that she’d one day change her mind. Until that moment came, I needed some kind of escape. I needed my heart to be put back together, or at least that’s what I thought. I’m just a heartbroken 19-year-old boy, who thought he knew what love was.

## Percocet

Finally came the night that would shape my life into a ball of shit and regrets. Again it starts off as just another night of me constantly thinking about how Curly “broke my heart.” About 1 am on a weekday. My favorite bottle of Bacardi and the 2 Grams of weed I had left wasn’t satisfying my need to forget. I just couldn’t be alone with my thoughts, because if I was then I’d have another hour-long session of love songs, love notes, and unnecessary tears for a bitch who was probably getting fucked while I proceeded to ruin my life.

I was with two of my friends, B & C. That night we were at a hidden baseball field really late. Back then We would constantly go to a baseball field that we’d simply call “the park.” B had just popped two Percocet’s. I guess my venting had depressed him so he had an escape of his own. B had recently gotten a prescription for percs so for that week the only thing I really remember is him popping pills and constantly saying he felt amazing or that he’s “so fucked up.”

This is where that curiosity and “addictive personality” began to take over my body once again. Just like old times, I had slowly become more and more curious about that supposed “amazing feeling” the whole week B was taking them. Like me, he had gone through his own heartbreak so his easy access to pills turned into his personal escape. I needed that. I needed to forget about my heartbreak, I wanted to stop feeling like I wasn’t good enough, I just wanted my loud thoughts to quiet the fuck down for once.

I was so scared to ask him for a pill because I knew a bit about drug addiction and how it can ruin someone’s life from courses I took in college but I also thought myself as a mentally strong person who would never succumb to addiction. As I try to build up the strength to ask for a pill without making me look desperate he becomes noticeably different.

Eventually, he gets quiet. His eyes become low, straight face, overall went from outgoing to calm and looked as if he was moving in slow motion. Finally, he looks at me and says,

> Do you want one? I’m not gonna force you but you keep crying over your ex, that’ll make you feel a lot better.

I look at him and think to myself,

> It’s about damn time, stingy mother fucker.

Obviously, I didn’t want them to know how deeply I craved escape so I began to act as I usually do.

> Fuck I look like taking those shits, do I look like a druggy to you?

I said, trying to maintain my anti-drug persona. Yup. Years after smoking weed for the first time I still held myself on a pedestal. I still believed I was “too good” for the shit I knew I was going to give into at some point. I secretly hoped that he’d argue back and play the role of the bad influence. Trust and believe that’s exactly what he did. Nice. After a short “I don’t wanna get addicted/ don’t worry you won’t” debate, I finally decided it was time to cut the shit and feed my curiosity.

> “Okay fuck it, but if I get addicted it all your fault”

I jokingly say as reach for the pill. At that point, C realized I was serious and begged for me not to do it and insisted that I would get addicted.

> Don’t worry, I’m all about mental toughness, I’d never get addicted plus it’s just this one time

I say, trying to convince her. It almost felt like I was trying to convince myself too. Although she didn’t admit it until years later she had experience with her family being addicts and the destruction it caused during her childhood. I will never blame her for not warning me of the lifestyle she knew I would eventually endure, but sometimes I do wish I at least knew what the fuck I was in for. Either way, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference.

I saw myself as the equivalent of a God and I would have never guessed that this one pill I held in my hand, staring at it in awe, fixated on its perfectly round shape, would be the actual stepping stone to me becoming a “junkie.” I toss the pill in my mouth quicker than my last nut. Grab Bs bottle of water and chug the whole thing. Not a single drop left. I did it, I’m a damn hypocrite again.

I put myself on a fucking pedestal, I worked at a fucking bank, I was fucking good looking, and I was so fucking successful for my age. I immediately regret my decision and become so angry with myself. I start imagining how all my hard work and all my assets and opportunities were at risk because I decided to take that one pill. And my good looks. My dashing good looks! What if I lose all my teeth and have sores all over my face? Of course, I didn’t know the difference between a crystal meth addict and an opiate addict. On top of that, I became a hypocrite again! I’d always claim that I’d never get into drugs but so much for that.

Excuse the profanity and repetition but I don’t know how else to express my anger in myself. That night I made my own bed. At first, I started to hesitate quietly and felt nothing but embarrassment and fear.. 20 minutes of mental torture pass and as I began to feel relief and thought, “okay it wasn’t enough, I’m good.” I look at B to act my tough usual self and I pause. There it was.

My eyes dropped, my heart slowed, it felt as if my face was slowly melting off. For the first few seconds, my vision goes black and slowly comes back. It felt as if that breathtaking feeling just slapped me to make its presence known. I close my mouth, smile, and that’s all she wrote. I became obsessed. I forgot about my heartbreak, I forgot about why I was so scared, shit I didn’t even think about how taking this pill almost scared me straight. Nothing mattered anymore, I didn’t care about that damn pedestal I stood on, I didn’t care that I may have ruined my life. I thought I needed a woman’s love. Wrong. I wanted to feel like this forever. To me this was love.

## In control

The thing about drug addicts, is that at first we really think we can control our habit. For the first few years, I did a decent job. Id pop pills every other weekend, which I would desperately look forward to. By that time I had an even better job, a junior in college, I felt like I was the damn Wolf of Wall Street, successful as fuck, reaching every goal I’ve ever listed in my notes. I was untouchable. Mix that feeling with the perk high I was so obsessed with. Bulletproof.

I even had the first and only woman to ever truly make me feel loved and appreciated by my side at all times. She became my biggest supporter and absolutely worshipped me. Curly headed what? Nope, I have a queen by my side and she was having my prince. Yup, my first son was on the way.

All this financial success and newfound love and support added to how I viewed myself. I went from being so torn about taking one pill to make opiates a priority. I became my own story’s antagonist. I was a stuck up little prick who loved only himself and lived only for himself but loved the euphoric effects of opiates even more.

I was such a hypocrite that I would look at addicts in disgust because I thought they were weak-minded for letting their favorite drug take over their lives. Even after popping my first perk and eventually adding it to my schedule and to my bi-weekly budget, I still Refused to admit that I had developed a habit. Although it wasn’t physical dependence, I’d still have strong cravings at times. “But I’m not an addict” I always thought after satisfying that powerful urge. My “little” secret; she loves me… she loves me not.

I strongly believe that all the times that I frowned upon drug addicts and all the times I’ve talked so much shit about my friends who did cocaine, dope, shrooms, etc, is what led me to become an addict. I should’ve known that my ignorance would keep me blind to the fact that I had eventually become worse than the friends I talked shit about, realistically I became worse than many of those addicts whose weakness disgusted me so much. As much as tried to ignore it, I slowly began to realize that karma really is a bitch. And God doesn’t like ugly.

I can only describe my first perc high as love. I wanted nothing more but to be perk high and I swear I’ll never forget it because after that, I have never experienced a feeling as beautiful. I quickly jumped from one perc every other week, to two every week. As time passed I increased doses more and more frequently. I had quickly started to build tolerance and the highs were barely ever the same again. Even when I was told to try heroin that it was “so much better“ than being perc high, I never felt that beautiful euphoria. Don’t get me wrong, I still loved the feeling but only opiate addicts can understand how much the feeling begins to fade as your dependence grows.

Even though it was still a year before my addiction to sniffing began, I had gone from having a pill-popping schedule to literally pop 20 at a time every other day. No, I’m not exaggerating. Obviously, it wasn’t all at once, although I did once try and almost choked. I’d do three or four each time, but Within 2-3 minutes, all 20 would be in my stomach. Eventually, I moved on to perc 30s because they were easier to swallow and everyone had them. I’d even take pills every morning at work because it was “too boring” or at parties because “I worked hard all week so I deserve to feel good.” I wanted to keep forgetting about my daily stresses and have fun so half the time I wouldn’t just take percs. I had begun to experiment and started to take Xanax, kpins, Adderall and sometimes OxyContin. Eventually, it got to the point where I’d a blackout at parties and would get woken up the next day, still completely fucked up, from random friends telling me;

> Hey it’s 6 am. you gotta get ready for work

Work? What was I thinking mixing all these drugs on a work night? A quick slap to the face and warm shower, maybe a donut from Dunkin’ Donuts to start off my day was never enough. I’d fall asleep standing up, fall asleep in front of customers. And of course, I was 19-20 working in a bank in a rich town so they don’t know what addicts are like because addicts couldn’t afford to even get to this town. “Sorry I had a long night” or laugh it off, “sorry I was at a college party”, was my go-to excuse. That was just the start of the trouble I began to make for myself.

From the day I popped my first pill, to a year later, my tolerance skyrocketed, I had spent thousands and I had even started selling cocaine to help maintain my habit. Did I need it? Not really, but an extra $1000 a week didn’t hurt seeing that I had to pay bills, save for my son, save for our house and provide for my pregnant girlfriend and her daughter all while buying pills at a growing rate.

Even though money was never an issue, my queen was closer and closer to giving birth and yeah we started looking for a house to buy, but I was also looking for my next batch to buy as well. I’d spend $100 a day for a few pills that were barely getting me high anymore. Yes, it’s still an amazing feeling but I’m praying that my next high resembles that first time. Even if it’s for a second.

By this time I was a successful loan officer at a military credit union, I hadn’t graduated college yet but I was finally a senior. I even started lifting weights and working out. Yes, I’m bragging by the way. The pedestal I stood on was taller and stronger than ever. After switching jobs three times, I finally found a job that I made enough to pay our bills and buy my pills. That didn’t even matter for too much longer because shortly after my son’s birth, the hardships slowly began.

## Out of control

As addicts, we never realize when we’re about to hit rock bottom, nor do we see the damage our addiction is causing. Before I caused emotional and physical damage, I started to put my financial stability at risk. Of course, I wasn’t aware of how much I was actually spending but either way, the amount of money I was making made it barely noticeable.

I had fallen in love. That’s the only way I know how to describe the feeling I’d get throughout the process of acquiring these pills. This was enough for me to put all of my worries and responsibilities aside. I needed to chase her. I needed her to wrap herself around me. ”I’ll never lose myself and I’ll never hit rock bottom”, I thought to myself. My strive was so prosperous that even after months of using, only blessings were coming my way. I felt invincible, I felt bulletproof. I’m aware of the risks but I felt so stable and comfortable with the path my life was going I was unfazed. I felt I was in control and I there’s no way I could even lose. I stood firmly on my pedestal and this euphoric feeling she’d bless me extended my reach to the heavens. I knew in my heart that I would never fall off. What I didn’t know was that I was hanging so close to the edge of my pedestal, it slowly began to tilt from the weight of my growing addiction.

The day my son was born I had bought about $200 worth of pills. My first child is about to be born, this is the best day of my life. Yeah, I’m going to celebrate. Though that day my definition of “celebration” included my daily dose of percs and sitting beside my beautiful pregnant girlfriend. I can still remember how stunning she looked pregnant. Eventually, I go to the bathroom and pull out the pills from my pocket. I had them wrapped in an ATM receipt paper, enough for two days. As I looked at them I thought to myself,

> “I should just take all of them now, I mean I am going to be here a while, right?”

So that I did. It was an easy decision, I had the money so I could easily just buy more if I wanted to, it’s whatever.

I come back out, sit with the love of my life and our conversation about God knows what continues. I soon start experiencing a very familiar but very vague feeling. I pause, look down at my hands and start to focus on that familiar feeling. Could it be? Could it really and finally be?

And again, there. It. Was. My eyes dropped, my heart slowed, my face felt as if it was slowly melting off. A beautiful slap to the face and I did not mind at all. My vision goes black and slowly comes back, and for those few seconds, it feels as if I was moving in slow motion. After thousands of dollars and failed attempts to catch this demon, I finally grasped her. I reached out and did not want to let go. For whatever reason, it felt exactly like my first time and I was unbelievably happy. In a few hours my son was born and I finally caught her, the demon I chased and continued to chase for years after.

Did I ever feel the same? No. That was the last time I ever felt that glorious euphoria that felt like an escape but was actually a prison. I wasn’t escaping anything at all, and realistically speaking, there’s no way to escape the responsibilities of fatherhood, being a provider, being a boyfriend and making sure my family is fed and has a roof over their head. Shit, there’s no escaping life, but my mind became clouded. The whiny, stuck up, self-loving, arrogant and self-proclaimed “hood rich” brat I once was, faded away.

My personality was changing, I didn’t care to help out “friends” anymore, I slowly stopped being a sweetheart and spoiling my love and her daughter, shit I didn’t even take care of myself. I wasn’t lifting anymore, I wasn’t in school anymore. I began to sell cocaine to those “friends” I used to look down on and it was much more lucrative than selling to strangers in the streets. I started trafficking guns from city to city, trafficking drugs from state to state all for the extra income to feed my cravings. The only trait that I convinced myself that I still had was being a “good” father to my son. I still thought I was in control. Maybe a little more careless, but I got this. This addiction let me believe I was in control and she was almost ready to show her surprisingly ugly self and I still thought I was in love with a beauty.

My love for that one euphoria hoping I would feel it again became an obsession to the point that it overlapped the love I had for my girl. Even it was never truly the same again, I basically ruined my life and destroyed so many relationships chasing that demon. I was too proud to verbally admit it but I saw it. I saw it the moment I struggled to maintain a steady source of income. My addiction is out of control.