It’s not really a matter of what I’m addicted to, I always have been and think I always will be addicted to something. In high school I was a serious bulimic. Every day after school, I would come home and binge for two hours before purging in the shower until there was nothing left. I was dedicated to my addiction. I enjoyed it. It made me feel better. The same with the cutting and cigarettes.
No one noticed.
Then I went to college and it was impossible to continue in the shared dorms without attracting suspicion so I moved on the marijuana. Boy, did that make me feel even better. My grades slipped a little, but not enough to be a concern to anyone. This time I had my boyfriend to get it for me so I didn’t have to deal with any drug dealers. Awesome. It’s not a problem if you’re just doing it with your boyfriend all day, every day because you don’t have a dealer.
In my junior year, I met A. She was great and we hit it off. I think I was a little jealous of her to be honest. One Halloween she had a party at her house and bought a little cocaine to make the night even more special. Of course I did some lines. Now, I had done a drugs here and there in high school, but wasn’t really into it. This time however was totally different. I felt amazing. Of course we did everything that she had and wanted to buy more. Her friend M said he could hook us up, so the next day we went over to his house. The stuff he showed us didn’t look the same, but the novice doesn’t question the master. Plus he was giving us some for free so who cares. Ah, the classic ‘get them in the door with free stuff’ trick. It was meth of course.
What followed was a year of crippling addiction. I didn’t get kicked out of college, but I sure came close. Thankfully, I had taken the max amount of units in previous years and had excellent grades so I could just limp along. I was able to do most of the assignments the night b
efore they were due or lie my way out of the altogether. I was also a Resident Advisor, great right. Again, I was able to fake my way through it and managed not to get fired until the last week of school. That doesn’t sound so bad, right. I lost tons of weight and thought I was edgy and cool. I never called it meth, too dirty. I called it speed, much better. I’ve always been a loner, so losing all my friends didn’t seem weird and my boyfriend trusted my enough never to suspect that I would do something so insane. There went my dreams of grad school.
I would still be smoking and snorting to this day if everyone I knew hadn’t been busted, including A and M. Detoxing from meth is horrible and I had no one to lean on, so I turned to the one thing that I knew I could get legally, alcohol and illegally, marijuana.
I would drink all day if I could. When I get home from work and all day on the weekends I drink until I pass out. I don’t stop if I throw up, I keep going. I’ve lost three jobs and countless (all) friendships because of it. I’ve driven drunk. It makes my stomach hurt constantly, but I don’t stop. I’ve tried though. I can even make it a few days or even a week before relapsing, hard. When I’m in my ‘dry’ periods, the bulimia comes back. If I can get my hands on any pills, I will take them all and I’m sure if I was around harder drugs, I would do all of those too. Last week I hid a bottle of vodka underneath my dresser so that my boyfriend wouldn’t know that I had it. I’m no longer functional. I rely on it to forget how depressed I am about my life, but it’s the thing that causing me to have a depressing life.
Why am I like this? I could give a million reasons, poor self-esteem, my parents’ divorce, boredom, stress, loneliness… If I knew, maybe I could stop, but that would require introspection, which is impossible while loaded.
I want to stop more than anything. I want my life back. I want to be me again or find out who I am. I can’t live like this any longer. I know that I’m going to drink myself to death and I don’t want to die.