Ghosts Again.
It was ten years ago today that I first went into detox. I didn't even write the date down; I just remember it.
It was awful. I remember lots of things. I remember that they didn't really give me enough medicine, because I was still vomiting pretty nonstop even after several days. I remember that they kept telling me that I needed to admit that I had a problem, and I was like "Holy crap -- I just packed up my entire life and moved 500 miles to go into detox -- I think I'm pretty fucking aware that I've got a problem." I remember that when I was released, some counselor told me she was afraid that I was going to go out and look for heroin that weekend. I hadn't even thought of doing that, but her making that comment actually got me started thinking about it.
It was pretty courageous, and yet also a huge mistake to pack up my life and move to Pittsburgh to try to get clean. Because once I got out of detox and I was clean, I realized that I had nothing. I had quit my job, left my apartment, left my friends and moved to a new city. Suddenly I was nothing, nobody, a 25 year old living with her parents again for the first time in 8 years. No life to be glad to return to. No friends and coworkers to tell me "we're really glad to have you back." It was pretty fucking depressing.
And it was a big part of what made me want to use again. For the better part of a year, "junkie" was one of the labels that formed my identity. Something about the act of shooting up always made me feel important, though I was never able to understand why that was. And when I started looking around and seeing that I had nothing left of myself and my identity, I was more than eager to put that "junkie" label on again. I think it's part of why methadone ultimately worked for me -- I was able to be "clean" without totally letting go of the life and the label. I wasn't on heroin, but I was on methadone, and that felt like a more gradual step away. It wasn't like detox, where I was in and out of the hospital in 3 days -- that was just too abrupt, too much of a shock. I was able to do methadone at my own pace, and gradually restore my sense of faith in myself, and of pride.
Now it feels like an eternity ago. I suppose 10 years is a pretty long time. Pre-cell phones. Pre-email (well, for me, at any rate).
So today I'm realizing that I've got some time before work, and I think I'm gonna take my glasses down to Oakland so the guys can look at them and tell me what they think. This will also free me up to see ratphooey tomorrow. I haven't seen her in a year or two and am glad to know that she will be in town very very soon.
It was awful. I remember lots of things. I remember that they didn't really give me enough medicine, because I was still vomiting pretty nonstop even after several days. I remember that they kept telling me that I needed to admit that I had a problem, and I was like "Holy crap -- I just packed up my entire life and moved 500 miles to go into detox -- I think I'm pretty fucking aware that I've got a problem." I remember that when I was released, some counselor told me she was afraid that I was going to go out and look for heroin that weekend. I hadn't even thought of doing that, but her making that comment actually got me started thinking about it.
It was pretty courageous, and yet also a huge mistake to pack up my life and move to Pittsburgh to try to get clean. Because once I got out of detox and I was clean, I realized that I had nothing. I had quit my job, left my apartment, left my friends and moved to a new city. Suddenly I was nothing, nobody, a 25 year old living with her parents again for the first time in 8 years. No life to be glad to return to. No friends and coworkers to tell me "we're really glad to have you back." It was pretty fucking depressing.
And it was a big part of what made me want to use again. For the better part of a year, "junkie" was one of the labels that formed my identity. Something about the act of shooting up always made me feel important, though I was never able to understand why that was. And when I started looking around and seeing that I had nothing left of myself and my identity, I was more than eager to put that "junkie" label on again. I think it's part of why methadone ultimately worked for me -- I was able to be "clean" without totally letting go of the life and the label. I wasn't on heroin, but I was on methadone, and that felt like a more gradual step away. It wasn't like detox, where I was in and out of the hospital in 3 days -- that was just too abrupt, too much of a shock. I was able to do methadone at my own pace, and gradually restore my sense of faith in myself, and of pride.
Now it feels like an eternity ago. I suppose 10 years is a pretty long time. Pre-cell phones. Pre-email (well, for me, at any rate).
So today I'm realizing that I've got some time before work, and I think I'm gonna take my glasses down to Oakland so the guys can look at them and tell me what they think. This will also free me up to see ratphooey tomorrow. I haven't seen her in a year or two and am glad to know that she will be in town very very soon.