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Part 1: Forgiving Yourself …

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WARNING: There are a lot of ‘trigger’ words in what you are fixing to read. Just being sure to give a heads-up in case you’d rather not read about someone else’s drug use.

How’s that for an eye catcher of a title?

Last week at my session with my counselor. She’d given me an assignment kinda sorta. Wanting me to write myself a letter, telling me to forgive myself. A mouthful right there I know. (I only hope when I finish with this it makes sense). Now I have another letter I gotta write to myself explaining why I feel unworthy of being forgiven.

After we got in her office and she closed the door, I took a seat across from her desk. Then I pulled the forgiveness letter I had to write myself outta my purse. When I handed it to her she feigned shock that it wasn’t like 10 pages long. ( Because I’m notoriously known for writing long ass letters). Both of us shared in a little laugh to break the ice and get the session started. She started reading what I had wrote to myself. Upon finishing it she asked me how I felt now that I forgave myself. I was honest and told her I felt like I was lying to myself. When she asked why I felt that way, it was hard for me to explain it. Saying the words out loud, rather than writing it down. During this time I was messing around with a color app on my phone. A much needed distraction that helped me to get the words in my head out in order, to explain what I meant.

I feel like I’m lying to myself because if ‘P’ hasn’t forgiven me (and I think she has) then how can I forgive myself? She said I hurt her feelings. I did puposefully distance myself from her. But because it was something she said to me while we were leaving group one day (this was months ago). I had been fuckin-up in handling my ‘recovery’. I had been taking some of the 2mg Xanax that’s been floating around for sell lately. After group was over that day, she was ahead of me walking to the exit. When she turned around and out of nowhere and said, “I wish you’d relapse on heroin using a point. It’s the same outcome as you taking Xanax bars”.

WTF?!

I was completely shocked and struck dumb. Rendered speechless not knowing what to say. I was stuck. Folding it and tucking it away, I made a mental note to come back to it later. I continued following her outside to her car. She was my ride home that day, as she usually was. We kicked it together with some new people we met that afternoon.

‘P’s drug of choice is, and has always been hallucinogens (acid, shrooms, any psychedelic drug, & methamphetamine). Me being the complete opposite preferring downers. Heroin, xanax, Soma (narcotic muscle relaxers) and anything else that will give me the benzo buzz I’ve come to find myself in love with. She’s also never seen me in active addiction on heroin. I wanna say I’d feel like if she did, then she’d never have said it to me. But me knowing her and how she is, she would of said it regardless of whether she’d seen me like that or not. That’s just the way she is.

Initially that’s what caused the ripple between us. The following week I had group. While she and ‘B’ just had individuals (one-on-one with the counselor). Being finished already, I was waiting for them outside to be done, because ‘P’ was my ride home. Not just that but it was that one day a week I got to hang out and chill (and if lucky enough be able to find some bars) away from the house. Some me time, ya know?Before I know it she comes strutting out like always. Having that killer smile plastered on her face. Lookin at me with her beautiful grey eyes. She messaged me before coming out informing me she had “goodies”. Knowing she knew the “goodies” I liked, I was actually hoping she had some bars. Nope. It was meth. We went to sit in her car to wait for ‘B’s session to be over. ‘P’ doesn’t smoke in her car, so, I was smoking outside the passenger door. After I put it out, I sat down and noticed she got her paraphernalia bag out. Then she asked if I had anything to put a line out on. Giving her my little notebook I keep with me all the time, we used that. We made a tooter from a rolled up $5 bill. It was rolled very loose though. Causing it to be insufficient to use for doing the job we were hoping to use it for.

She let me go first informing me before doing it that it was some strong shit. I was like okay, and proceeded to do it. Since the bill was still loose I coudn’t get all of what I did where I wanted it to go. So I dipped down to get the little bit on my side that I had left. But when I did, I accidentally did half of her half. Instantly thinking “fuck”! I told her that I didn’t mean to. She laughed about it and told me go ahead and do finish it. She wasn’t lying when she said it was strong shit. Finally arriving at her house, I knew I had to run for the bathroom. I had my dose of suboxone that morning, immediately telling me I knew why it made me sick. It had been cut with fentanyl. It’s the only reasonable explanation for me puking my guts up when we got there. And I told them both what I thought too. Neither of them acting surprised when hearing it. In fact they agreed with me. (100%) Because there really is meth bein sold around here and in the surrounding counties, that’s been cut with fentanyl. A lot of people died by overdose. Because it being cut with that mixed with a combination of other drugs they might of used prior to using it or after using it. Then it causes respriatory distress, trouble being able to breath, causing an instant overdose.

Then ‘P’, started picking on me, saying I was greedy. And thats what I got for doing the whole thing. I was armed and ready with my personal barrage of come-backs. Shit I could say an call her out on. Makin it clear she ain’t the one to be talking about someone else bein greedy. Only I wouldn’t of called her greedy. A better derogatory name to label her with would be selfishness. And that’s saying it without anger or anomosity in my heart.

When we first started hanging out, I gave her dope every fucking day for I know the first 2 months, after we rekindled our friendship. Not once charging her or asking to be paid back for it. Even the times I really did pay for it so she’d not be without.

I was close to finishing what I was sayin, only for her to ‘shush’ me. That was just because she didn’t want ‘B’ to know how generous I was in providing her, her habit on a daily basis for that long. Not because it’s what I wanted to be doing (trust me, I’d rather of spent all the money I did spend, on buying me bars instead). But because she told me she’d get ‘dope-sick’ if she went too long (3days) without it. And I didn’t want her going through that!

Being an addict myself, I know exactly what being ‘dope-sick’ is all about. How it feels when goin through it. That shit is horrible you guys. If you haven’t any clue about being “dope-sick”, and haven’t experienced it on your own. Thank God right now you don’t. Because when someone is ‘dope-sick’ they feel so bad, so awful, and so shitty it make them wanna crawl outta their skin. Wring their hands out like they can shake it away by doing so. Or wanting to curl-up in a ball and die.

Literally.

To be continued …

About Post Author

BooBoo

I'd rather read a good book, VS watching the movie made from it on TV. Most thoughts on that are 'why'. Well, my answer for that is that there aren't any limitations to your imagination. Therefore, when I'm reading an action packed thriller that I can't put down or stop turning the pages of is because the details are written by the author describing the scene/situation with such clarity, that I think it's far better than what anyone can visibly see on TV. That being my opinion only, I'm sure millions and billions of avid readers out there agree with me 100% on that reason alone. I've always had an active imagination growing up. I'd use the almost empty cans of shaving cream my dad would give me, as the whipped cream on top of the mud pies I made.Of course dad got the first one. After all, he did give me the topping. I was very versatile also. I was the biggest tom boy of a little girl you'd ever see one day. To dividing Barbie clothes between me and my older sister (when I was lucky enough to get her to play with me). I had to play by her rules though. Perks of being the older sibling I guess. I loved playing with the Hot Wheel's cars in the dirt. Making race tracks and underground tunnels I'd dig out for them. Sometimes my dad would be outside with me showing me all kinds of different things I could pretend to do when playing cars. I have one day in particular that stands out among the rest. It was when I learned to do the underground tunnels for the cars to go through. He showed me by taking a simple stick off the ground and using it like a tool to push the dirt out from one side to the other. It wasn't a tunnel without keeping the top part intact. I acted like there was a cave-in, and then accidents, crashing the cars together. No one ever got hurt in my imagination though, just the cars got hurt. Growing up with a sister 6-years older than me taught me lots of things, both good and bad. If I kept her secrets, she kept mine. And the only reason I even had any secrets was because she allowed me to. I got to sneak and smoke in her bedroom at night after our parents went to bed. I had to be very quiet because I got caught most of the time. But I was always caught by our momma. And then all she made me do was get back in bed. I came from a poor family so anything name brand wasn't known to me for a long time. I was bullied and made fun of all throughout my school years. It doesn't matter which year you pick. From the 1st grade, all the way through high school. I know that's terrible to have to admit, but I think it'd be even worse having to admit to being the bully. I swore to myself I'd never treat anyone the way those kids treated me and made me feel. It bothered me so bad I'd dream about standing up for, and actually fighting over other kids getting bullied. I woke up all of a sudden one morning after punching the lights out of a bully in my dream. When I really punched the headboard and made my knuckles bleed. Come on! When a child is taking on the burden of other bullied kids, you know that's a heavy burden to bear. It was also very hard on me. I never talked about it to my parents though. Yeah, they knew. But back then no one really knew what to do about that problem like they do now. Or, well, think they do. I've been in counseling since starting school. I can't remember a day going by without me seeing the school guidance counselor. Shout out to Mrs. Reeves though, at Lone Oak High School. She made the biggest impression on me as far as wanting to help other kids like me. The bullies were actually the kids who came from well-to-do families. Kids who never knew what it was like to experience the disappointment of being told 'No'. Or that there wasn't enough money to buy what they wanted. Kids that figured there wasn't anything better to do except make fun of the less fortunate to get them through their day or to have a conversation piece. The anger and hatred that built up inside of me was, and still is undescribable. The thoughts they caused me to have. Picturing the tables being turned and the bad things said back to them, bad things being done back to them. It only made me feel better on the inside. I've been asked by numerous doctors in my life if I'm suicidal. I've answered no, being completely honest each time. But never have they asked if I've felt homicidal! I know, scary right? The outcome of such thoughts is what triggered the start of mass school shootings. Coming into adulthood was strange territory for me as well, and actually caused me a lot of uncomfortable times, knowing things I knew I could now do but never felt comfortable ever talking about. Even with my sister, the person I was closest to, I couldn't open up and freely talk about anything of the sexual nature. I guess because bad things have happened to me on more than one occasion when I was still very much an innocent child. With me hiding such horrid things from my parents, along with everyone else, I felt I couldn't talk about the good kind of sex either. Man did that ever set me back, keeping me immature of certain things I should've known already but didn't. Because in my mind I was still that child who was hurt in a bad way. They were called 'Red Touches' back then. What we were taught to call them in school anyways. Then just when I was becoming independent and living on my own, learning to stand up for myself in a way that would make my sister proud of me, I lost her. That caused me to go into a deep depression I didn't come out of for many years afterwards. March 29, 2003 changed my life forever. I lost my 2-year old nephew that night to a raging house fire. My sister passed 17 days later in the burn unit in Vanderbilt, Tennessee. However, if you've read 'My Story', a post on my blog. Then you'll know that in order for me to know what I now know, and to be the person that I now am, all of the bad shit had to happen first or else I wouldn't have caught and held onto the message so vital for me to have acquired in my life. Helping the less fortunate. Being someone's somebody they can depend on being there when they need them the most. After receiving confirmation that my nephew didn't suffer, not for one second in that house fire... Was I able to let that burden go, only to let in that oxygen, that life support I desperately needed to save myself from a lifetime of misery. Even though I know my sister, Jennifer, isn't physically here to cheer and root me on. I know without a shadow of a doubt, her and Lil Jesse (my nephew) are both doing so from Heaven today, and everyday that follows. If you're suffering from addiction of any kind and you want or need someone to talk to I'm a damn good listener! My contact information is listed on my contact page. Please call, reach out for support. You're not alone no matter what negative thoughts are telling you that you are. God is always there for you as well. If you'd like to learn more about Jesus and how He died to save us, don't hesitate to ask. I'll share what I know is all good, and positive about God. Whom I choose to call my higher power. If you don't believe in God, then the subject will not be pushed. EVER! If you're battling mental health issues and feel alone like no one knows what you feel like. Then I'm here to tell you there's billions of people out there that will share with you that they too, feel just like you do. Hit me up on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. All of my accounts should be connected to my website. If you're waiting on me to respond and it's been a while since you tried getting in touch with me, then by all means be more persistent and bug the shit out of me. Make me see your messages. I will eventually and I'll always reply when I can. This is the best I think I've written in this 'about me' section. It's the most I've opened up publicly I know that. I'm open minded, I keep it 100 all of the time, even if it's something I don't like myself, or for others, I still have to keep it 100 with myself in order for me to keep it that way with everyone else. I hope this told everyone a little bit about me, maybe more than I originally intended. But it's all accurate and up to date with where I'm at in my life right now. Thank you all and God Bless
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