The first time was amazing.
I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff. As if I was I invincible, and I could fly at that moment. Nothing could touch me.
Since I was 12 years old. I had spent most of my life chasing a high. By 15, I was addicted to Adderall and I was binge drinking daily. It was obvious that I had an extreme aversion to sobriety, but I didn’t care. I felt that I was functioning normally because I still went to school and was able to maintain a B average.
When I was 16 I was sent to juvenile hall for stealing alcohol from SaveMart. By then, my alcohol dependency required at least 4 bottles a week, and I was taking an average of 125mg of Adderall daily. I met a lot of people in Juvy that were just like me. They needed to escape reality. I admired them because they all lacked the same things in their lives that I did. Attention, guidance, love. But they didn’t seem to care that they didn’t have those things, and I saw that as strength.
The second time I went to Juvy, it was for running away. I was sentenced to a 6 month substance abuse program in custody and that was the second time I tried meth. A girl had snuck some in when she was arrested, and I traded my snack for a few lines. I also traded stamps for another girl’s Vyvanse prescription. I still hated being sober.
When I was released, I was 18 and I immediately threw myself into the world I felt I was apart from by being in Juvy. I hung out with thugs, I was in a relationship with a killer, but mostly I was smoking crystal meth.
I was soon homeless and I did what I had to do to stay alive.
My boyfriend began pimping me and we lived mostly out of motels. He became abusive, and the beatings were growing worse every day. I was practically skin and bones; I never slept if I could help it; I was always bruised and constantly afraid; and I could no longer look in the mirror because I didn’t recognize the girl staring back. My eyes were hollow, my skin sunken in. I could see the emptiness in my face, but leaving this life meant I had to quit using. And that was not something I was willing to consider.
I eventually met someone who could help me, despite the fact that I didn’t think I needed help. I left that relationship and stopped prostituting. I fell in love with this man and I knew how lucky I was to have him in my life. I was able to look back at how my life had been, and understand that he saved me from misery and an early death. But I still can’t get meth out of my head.
Trying to quit is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
I have to face my emotions, and my memories of the abuse grows clearer every day. Every time I relapse, I put the man I love more than anything through hell. I disappear and ignore his phone calls, I make choices that completely jeopardize our relationship and everything he has been helping me to become. Yet I still do it. And I hate myself for that.
If I don’t win this battle, I will lose everything I care about. I’m fighting for the strength I need, but the hold meth has on me wins out occasionally.
I know that I have to be stronger, I’m just not sure how…