addiction

The realities of addition; the truth about living under, above and beyond the influence of drugs and alcohol.

My Life as an Alcoholic: Entry 1
I've decided to share my very personal struggle with alcoholism and type out excerpts from my sobriety journal for the first time. This will be a multiple-entry project, and is intended in no way, shape or form to glorify a very real and DEADLY affliction that, unfortunately, afflicts millions of lives on a daily basis. I'm hoping maybe my story will act as a stepping stone for a much bigger conversation for any fellow alcoholics out there. You are not alone in your struggles. I'm two years and six months sober and have moments where I question my will and strength. But I choose to not drink every single day because I know even one sip will send me right back to where I was before, and that thought frightens me more than anything else. This is my story. My name is Henry. I'm 26 years old and am a recovering alcoholic.
By Henry Sheperd7 years ago in Psyche
Addiction + Depression
I am an Addict. I have been clean five years. I have been to the depths of hell, I have been a slave to addiction and depression, but I am here to tell you that it is possible to take your life back and not just survive but live again. My journey to peace and freedom didn't happen over night and neither will yours. It wasn't easy and life still isn't perfect but I don't spend the majority of my days sick, crying, worrying, laying in bed, contemplating suicide, or in physical and emotional pain anymore.
By Breeanna Blalock7 years ago in Psyche
Life of an Addict (Pt. 3)
After spending a little over a month in the hospital, and another month and some days in a rehab center, I finally got to go home. It wasn't the "welcome home" I'd hoped for, considering I had gotten involved with a girl that ended up being crazier than I thought I was. Being as which, it was a short-lived relationship, thank the Lord. I'll leave it without much description. Trust me, you're not missing much.
By Fellow Knee7 years ago in Psyche
Life of an Addict (Pt. 2)
Hearing the Doctor tell me that I had shattered my L1 vertebrae and was paralyzed from the waist down was an indescribable feeling. You think I would have been crushed, numbed or brought to the thought that I couldn't go on living. But, actually with the addict mind set that I had, it made me think, "at least I don't have to drive to the methadone clinic and pay the $80 per week fee anymore." Because I just knew, that if anything was gonna get me put on some good pain pills it had to be this. I mean, what doctor is going to make someone that will never walk again and be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of their lives, do it without some good ass drugs, right?
By Fellow Knee7 years ago in Psyche
The Beginning
Being awoken by police banging on the door at 6 AM when you’ve been hiding for a month is surreal. In that moment I knew shit was about to change. My 3-year-old is freaking out as they cuff her dad right in front of her, who she’d only just gotten back after witnessing the same thing 23 months prior. Only this time, they’re taking me too. I had never spent a day away from her. Not one. And I had to make sure she’d be fine. They waited for my friend's husband to pick her up to handcuff me. By this time I can already feel the dope sick. It had been 12 hours since my last dope shot and heroin just doesn’t last the way you’d expect.
By Arielle J7 years ago in Psyche
Not If but When Your Kid Is Offered Drugs
"You girls be careful! What are you two up to tonight, anyway?" Me: "We are going to sell drugs, mom." My mom laughed and playfully said, "Yeah, ok well, then for sure you two be careful out there." My best friend and I giggled and darted out the door. The truth was that we were going out to sell drugs. I was 17 years old and I was on my way to meet my 26 year old dealer. He was sitting in front of my house at that very moment. He was "fronting me" a thousand dollars worth of methamphetamine and marijuana to sell to my friends.
By Teresa Enca Grimaldo7 years ago in Psyche
Living in Honor of S.H.A.Y.E
The Need for a Purposeful Life There is nothing more horrifying than the thought of losing your child; other than the realization you have lost your child.
By Monica Hill7 years ago in Psyche
Vengeance at the Bottom of a Bottle
The dirt smeared mirror doesn’t give much of a reflection, but it is enough for me to see my ruined appearance. My mangled hair, split bottom lip, the dark purple goose egg that has started to sprout beneath my right eye. While this is not the worst I have looked after one of his beatings, that does little to satiate my overflowing anger. There was a time when I used to feel sorry for myself. I used to feel like the world had wronged me in so many ways. Bringing me this sweet and loving man. The first man I ever trusted since my father left me 19 years ago. This man who I thought was loving, godly, and kind. It only took him two years, two years for him to finally lash out at me. And that was it, that man I thought I knew was gone. And all that was left was an angry, drunk ass.
By Kelly Sapien7 years ago in Psyche
Only the Good Die Young
It's a life altering experience. You find out the news and it's as if your whole reality somehow becomes altered. You're brain starts to turn off, I think this is your body's natural way of trying to desensitize the experience of the death of a friend.
By Julia L7 years ago in Psyche
Unbecoming The First Teacher
My icy fade. The window is black. The star's light gaze is to save me from the pain of going insane in aloneness. No level of awokeness can restore me to eternal bliss amidst the suffering and the plight amongst the addict generation. I sink, I sink, I sink into the affirmation of the 3 c's. I didn't cause it. I can't control it. I can't cure it.
By Kels Finex7 years ago in Psyche
Drug of Choice
I remember very vividly the last time I did coke. I also remember how in my youth, I swore I’d never touch the hard stuff. How could I have known that the day I was pressured into it would also be the day that I fell in love with it.
By Just Another Pretty Face7 years ago in Psyche
The Short Walk Home
Walking the short journey from the bus stop to my house for the millionth time, I become suddenly drawn into the characters that I encounter on this short trip, little more than a minute from stepping off and escaping from the UTTER CHAOS that the 18 bus consists of most evenings, to my front door. It is usually this moment in my day when I can reflect on the latest of unreal occurrences that I, and the rest of the minority of normal people, have had to bear witness to on this vessel of unpredictable horrors. But not on this night. No.
By Grayson Articles7 years ago in Psyche