Recovery is a Temptation

"It doesn't count if you're already planning your defeat, Manderz. I know you have it in you." This is a phrase that my mom uttered to me when I began my journey to recovery, and as a recovering addict, I can now appreciate it.

"Hi, my name is Amanda, and I'm an addict. I was addicted to painkillers and crack cocaine for over ten years. Over a decade of my life, destroyed by thoughts of where my next fix would come from, how would I get the money for another dub, another percocet for morning so I won't be sick, and the constant struggle to hide what I was doing. I damn sure didn't want to broadcast my addiction to anyone! I wanted it to be my own little secret. Ha! That was the delusion talking. It was a constant battle for money, for drugs, with my family (trying to hide it from them), and with boyfriends (trying to hide it from them or having to buy their drugs too, which only caused fights that resulted in a forty-eight hour hold in the county jail). When I first decided to turn my life around for the better, the first thing I wanted to do was just give up. 'It's too hard,' 'I don't want to go through the withdrawals,' 'I really don't have a problem, I only do it to keep from getting sick,' 'I wonder how I can get my hands in some percocets, I'm broke,' 'maybe I can smoke this dub in the shower...no one will smell it." These thoughts haunted my waking and sleeping moments. I even dreamed about smoking crack and would wake up with the taste in my mouth. And all it would take was one thought about snorting a pill and I would be craving one. These excuses, and so many more, came to mind and slipped off my tongue like crack-flavored poison. And the desperation that hit any time I thought about quitting was world ending. I was terrified to tell my mom. She had so much faith in me; in the beginning...

About seven years ago, I was arrested for a felony larceny charge (unfortunately, jail was a regular thing in my life at the time). When the cops showed up at my apartment, I had just walked out the door with my two year old daughter. I was headed to the methadone clinic for my daily dose. I ended up having to call my boyfriend at the time, who was at work, to come and take care of my little girl while I was placed in handcuffs and carted off to jail in the back of a police cruiser in front of her. And this wasn't even the lowest point for me. Oh, no! My lowest point didn't come until years later. Not even having to live in my car could stop me from using. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was charged, and later convicted, for felony larceny. What did I steal? Well, I stole a bunch of jewelry from my mom and pawned it so I could get more crack and pills. I could have had the whole thing dropped, if I had been a good little girl and stayed clean. But that definitely did not happen. I just had to keep using. I had to keep chasing that high. See, the funny part about my addiction, if any of it could be considered funny, was that, in my first three years of high school, I was so vehemently against even smoking cigarettes and drinking! I even broke up with a boyfriend because he was out partying, drinking and smoking. What the hell happened to me? How the hell did I end up like that? I really, truly wish I could blame it on peer pressure or hanging out with the wrong crowd. But, in all honesty, it was just me, acting out, being a dumbass. I started using my senior year of high school, I was swimming on a junior olympic swim team, had a 5.8 GPA on a 6.0 scale. So, all me! I did this to myself. I did end up graduating and going to university, but that did not last long. As I'm sure any addict could relate, I didn't have much time or care for my education. Just the high. Just the freedom and escape that drugs offered me. At first, anyway.

I remember the exact moment I became dependent on painkillers. I was on my way to work and, at the time, I had been taking fifteen milligram oxycodones to stay energized at home so I could clean the hell out of my house, and at work so I'd have the energy to make it through double shifts. So, I was sitting in my car, looking at this little green pill thinking, 'I know this moment is it. The moment I get addicted to these little green pieces of glorious energy. I hope I can get more later.' It wasn't so glorious after that. I took that little green devil (the current color of the devil that had been resting on my shoulder at the time). I went to work. I was energized, felt good. The following morning, when I woke up, I felt like pure crap. And there wasn't a pill to be found! 'Why did I do this?' 'What am I doing with my life?' 'Why did I drop out of school for this?!' Oh, I knew I had screwed up; big time!

Being an addict is like being locked up in a high security prison. It's a rigid heirarchy of money, sex, and drugs. Money, sex, and drugs... that's it. There's no room for anything else; not family, not school, not a relationship. It's you and the drug, bound in blood in a marriage of death. Because anytime I used, I courted death. I looked death in the face and flipped him off with a smile. Some might think that getting high is all fun and games. And it was at first. Just something to do on the weekends to have fun with your friends. Or get amped up for work or a test. But once your body starts demanding the drug, when getting up in the morning is something you begin to dread because you're so sick, when you will do absolutely and literally anything for your next fix, for just one more...it's not so fun anymore, is it?

When someone uses drugs, the chemicals in their brain are completely changed. These changes are responsible for the 'do anything for the next high' mentality. And 'do anything for the next high' means to do literally anything. This was my lowest point...the greatest shame of my life. It's hard to even think about, let alone write it down for the world to see. But, by so doing, maybe my story will help someone. So, here goes nothing...I sold my body for drugs, Yes, I made the decision to completely abandon reason, abandon pride, abandon any dignity I may have had left. At the time, I was living in my car. I had nowhere to take a shower (so I needed money for that), I had nowhere to lay my head, except on a pile of clothes and books (so I needed money for a motel room), and I needed drugs, of course. My body demanded drugs, so I gave it drugs any way I could. I knew what people saw when they looked at me; a piece of shit junkie. I didn't care. Of course I didn't. I wanted what i wanted, when i wanted it, and there was nothing anyone could do or say to stop me. Hell, I couldn't even stop me. It's not that I didn't want to stop, I couldn't.

When my body began to depend on drugs, the first thing I did was get help. Yes, I got help, as disbelieving as it sounds. I knew that I was on the road to destruction, overdose, or jail. So, I told my mom that I was addicted to painkillers. She wanted for me to go to an inpatient treatment center ('rehab'). I, on the other hand, wanted to stay the hell away from any place that would essentially lock me up. Far away from it. Hell no, no way, not happening! Sorry bout your luck, mom. So, instead, I started going to a methadone clinic. Now, let me just say that this was a blessing and a curse. Methadone is a great way to come off of pills or heroin. Yes, I completely support this point of view. But, methadone is also very hard to come off of. It has to be done extremely slowly. That being said, I did great for over a year and a half on the methadone. But, one day, for some reason, I just wanted to start smoking crack again. It's said that relapse is a part of recovery. Well, I should have been 'recovered' over and over. I relapsed more than seven or eight times over the years. It is very difficult to think about all the times that I could have stayed clean but decided to screw it up. That's me! The screw up, the black sheep. But, eventually, it did start to stick. Took forever, but it happened. It's not impossible to change. It's not impossible to stay clean. I should know. It takes years of work, a 'I want this' mentality, and a village. I had to have a good support system, a 'village' of people willing to help me or just talk to me, talk me down from the ledge. Four years is a fantastic accomplishment, I'm proud to say. And I am also proud to say that I am back in school and completely over the drug scene. I know this may sound like malarkey, but I can't even stand the thought of going back to all that crap I went through for drugs. 'It doesn't count if you're already planning your defeat.' You can't get clean if you're planning on failing. So I want anyone who may be in the same position I was in, or those who may have it worse, to know that you do have support and people who love you and are willing to do anything for you. I wish you bonne chance! You CAN do this!"

I know I said that the desperation I felt was world ending, but the applause I got after speaking in front of almost a hundred people in AA...that was world ending. I can see my mom in the crowd, tears running down her cheeks, pride shining in her eyes.

"Thank you, mom. For all the faith you put in me over the years. For never giving up on me," I said, hugging my mom as tight as I could, tears of my own streaming nonstop as we stood in the parking lot of the church.

"I'm so proud of you honey," mom said.

Being able to get up there and tell my story in front of all those people help lift that final weight off my shoulders. Now I am truly free of the demons of my past.