mercoledì 22 giugno 2011

The Pill And The Damage Done

Recently, the person i possibly love most in the world, if not more than that, is facing a very bad time in her life. So, in her words, she tried to escape once from the pain and stress of her condition with the help of codine. It was an occasional thing. She is strong and i trust her knowing better, but it was enough of a call back to personal demons to make my blood cturn to ice with black terror.

It's the idea of needing something for "escape" that frightens me, because its basically the blood that fuels the addiction that runs through my life and my family's life before that and still is the most constant presence in my existence.

People talk about addiction in the most colourful ways. Some call it a choice and a weakness of character. Others call it a disease. It's both and neither of those things, to me. I have the strong belief that the majority if not the totality of people have had or have some sort of addiction to them.

There's also people who define themselves as "addictive personalities", which is such a cop-out sentence, its almost disgusting. I heard it uttered by people, like it was some bragging statement on their "lust for life" and their tendency to crave things they like or enjoy. That is bullshite and it is offensive to people who experince the real thing. It's similar to disgruntled teenagers naming their ordinary bad days as depression.

Addiction isnt fun. You can do drugs and not necessarily be addicted. And no, even if you like chocolate or coffee a lot, it will never be a real addicition.

I have a bunch of distinct memory that come up to my head when i try to define what addiction is.

One is my mother, at the dinner table, so drunk she cannot hold her food or drool. She isnt tipsy or very drunk, she is somethiung beyond that. She litterally cannot speak and spews un-chewed food and drool all over herslef. And then, while i try to tell her to stop, she gathers all her strength, left lucidity and cohordination to pour herslef another glass.

Another is a daily feeling to me. I used to bge an addict to many things. aI am a sleeping pill addict now. And all those spirals start and live the same way. It 's one thought:

"I just need this, to feel good for a moment. Only this time"

I am not saying this in a preachy way. That thought is not a lie. Every time its true. And every time it gets its claws deeper.

The consequences of that simple sentence are always the same. I used to go out to social gatherings and needed to drink, because i felt that the reptition of life trapped me. Because my head would never stop thinking. Because being around others and putting on a pleasant mask was torture, and after a few minutes in a pub, i needed to get drunk quick and strong, so alcohol would ease my inhibitions and make me not care about what was happening and make me indifferent to what my head was elaborating. Cause it made the despair less edgy and the complete loneliness i feel even when i'm surrounded by a bunch of people, less painful. And because being drunk made things easier.

And it was the same with drugs. The good was shorter and shorter but it was good enough to forget the side efects. And the moments between those were harder and harder, so i always incresed the dosage and stopped taking breaks. And my brain, who's a son of a bitch, just stopped giving me the good thing and made everything look the same. No more high and lows. But at that moment i needed to do it just not to feel ten times worse.

And that couldve been anything.

Now its antidepressants and sleeping piulls. It started as a test. my father did those, and he rshurgged it off with an "it's just pills". He always was like that. He doesnt believe in addiction and rehabilitation. He always said that a man has the right to do whatever, even if it kills them. He started giving me those pills when i was a kid., cause every night my mother got drunk and spent the night screaming as loud as she could, he wanted me to shut up and sleep, so he gave me Tavors and Xanax.

Then i started taking them myself. they made me feel at peace. Good. The best high, with cocaine. A moment of indifference and peace.

But themn it became harder and harder, cause the effects were incresignly difficult to obtain. I increased the dosage. Mixed them with alcohol. Most of the time it wasnt with suicidal purposes. I knbew that was a possibility but it was like gambling. If it worked it worked great. If it didnt, whatever.

And it became throwing up. Fainting. Having withdrawal.

Now i'm cleaner, but i still take a lot of those, every night. I have to. If i dont, pain, panic and terror fill me up like a bursting bubble. I need to organize my days around them. when i trtavel, i need written stuff by doctors to be able to bring those with me. Once, i lost my backpack, which had my pills in it and had a panick attack in public. I wanted to kill myself.

They dont even work anymore. All they do is make me feel worse.

I also have to face people telling me "why dont you just quit?". And everytime i want to punch them. No one understands until they try.

And this thing scarred me forever. I dont like being around people anymore. My days are often mechanical, try to keep my head into a routine so the craving will be under control. An d i'm more tired each day. All i would lo0ve some times is for all of it to be over.

There's still moments that make me forget. And make me feel like i can work it out, and maybe clean up, one day. They're short moments but strong.

I dont know if this will ever end, but some hope is there. Thanks ViVi. Thanks Daniel. Thanks Tony. And mostly thanks Rhi. Hold my hand so i can hold yours.

2 commenti:

  1. Great post, hang in there, talking about this openly is the best foot forward.

  2. Absolutely profound post...very real and very painful. I don't know what the solution is but being able to recognize and write down truths like this has to be a positive step in the right direction.