Category Archives: Addiction

Don’t Bring People Home From The Psych Ward


So I was admitted to the local psychiatric unit on March 8th I believe it was. While in there, I met quite a few people, as they were almost at full capacity. One of the people I met was a woman, Hannah we’ll call her, who was in there because she had drank herself nearly to death, a blood alcohol level of .60, she was on a ventilator, all kinds of crazy stuff, plus she has epileptic seizures too. I liked her, we got along and it turned out she knows my aunt and my uncle that passed away in October. Her and my aunt spent a lot of time together in jail/rehab. Anyway, Hannah was getting out on the same day as me and she had no place to go. She was supposed to go to the homeless shelter in town. For some messed up reason though, I was having a hard time with the thought of her having to go to the shelter like that, straight out of the psych unit. So, being the do now think later fool that I am, I suggested that maybe my husband would pick her up when he picked me up, and that maybe she could come stay the night with us and go to the shelter the next day. She came home with us and we started talking about it and I thought, well maybe she can stay here til she finds a living arrangement suitable for her. At this time she seemed fine, a bit slower in certain ways, but generally alright. I knew in the psych ward that she was kind of out of it a lot, but I figured that was the meds they had her on in there and coming down off alcohol. 

She had appointments that she had to go to for the next like two days after we got out, so the shelter was like less of a priority to her. She had made it clear that she didn’t want to go there at all. My husband and I were thinking of giving her two weeks and then she’d have to do something from there, but the longer she stayed, the more I realized just how sick she really was. It was like the first day was fine. The second day was alright, but the later it got, the more she changed, it was as if she were drunk, but I knew she couldn’t be, because I had been with her all day long. She was unsteady on her feet, walking into thing, etc. She slurred her words and often didn’t make much sense.Like I said, the later it got, the worse she got, falling asleep with cigarettes and food in her mouth. I literally had to make her lay down, so I knew she was safe and the rest of my house was safe, before I could go to bed; and she absolutely did not want to stay in bed, she kept getting up, saying “oh well I just need this” and “I’m just gonna smoke one last cigarette” and eventually I got to the point where I was losing my patience and starting to get snippy with her, raising my voice and losing my cool. 

It got to the point where I started talking my tobacco to bed with me, because that was what she was smoking, my stuff. Which wouldn’t have been so bad except that she went through over half a bag of tobacco in three days. I sat her down and explained to her that I needed her to respect the fact that I did not want her smoking in my house at night while everyone was sleeping, because she was not safe with a cigarette in that condition and that I did not need her setting my house on fire with my babies and husband in it. She objected of course, saying that she was fine with a cigarette at night, but I told her I knew better, that I’d seen her fall asleep before. She got upset about it and made a wise crack about how she’d just smoke cigarette butts. I turned around and looked at her and said, “If you can’t respect my children’s lives enough to not smoke at night, then I can’t have you here Hannah.” She got poutty and she finally went and laid down. Every night after that she got like that at night time, almost as if she were drunk. It started to get where she was like that during the day too. In a matter of days she declined. It was sad and fast and I wasn’t sure what to do with her, but I knew I couldn’t take care of her on m own. I felt very guilty and bad about that. Then the final straw happened. I got up on Friday or Saturday night and I happened to catch her in the smoking room, smoking cigarette butts. I was furious. The ONE thing I had asked her not to do in my home, she had done anyway and furthermore, she tried to make me feel guilty about it. Like I was the bad guy for being mad, but no, that’s bs, because she knew better and she just couldn’t see what she did that was wrong. 

That night she was like, “Fine, I’ll leave, I’m just causing more stress in your life and you don’t need that”, and I felt bad, but it was true. I couldn’t take care of her the way she needed to be taken care of and she wouldn’t really listen to me. I knew I had to get her somewhere where they had the resources to get her in touch with all the right channels. She didn’t wanna go anywhere I suggested, including a sober living treatment facility down state, but then all of a sudden she says that she never said she wouldn’t go down to one, so I was like, “okay, that’s another option” The next day comes and she is calling everyone she can think of to see if she can go stay with them…. and none of them wanted her, she either couldn’t, or they didn’t want her. She’s almost forty years old and she’s burned a lot of bridges. I want to be her friend, but I can’t be what she needs, I can only support her in doing the right things, I can’t take care of her in my home. I talked to her brother who’s living in his truck right now, and he said it, their parents have pretty much give up on them. It’s truly sad. So I watched her call around to all these friends and family members asking for help, and I keep seeing her get more and more frustrated because she’s not getting her own way. She ended up finding a girl she’d known a long time who’s a nurse at the hospital, who was willing to come get her, but just for the night. She has a life too, a kid and work, daycare she lives in low income based housing where they wanna know all your business. I don’t know what she’ doing now. 

I’ve tried to get a hold of someone in her family. I’d like to know what’s going on. But I haven’t heard anything and I know she’s mad at me for it. But if she would’ve kept staying here it would’ve enabled her to not do the right thing and it was time. Hopefully she’s at the shelter right now getting the help she needs. I just hope she is seeing the truth about how bad her brain damage really is. I care for the girl a lot and I’m praying for her constantly. It was just something that I found I couldn’t handle. I have too many problems of my own that I need to work on. I hope that doesn’t sound cold and callous.  I really like her and I care about what happens to her  but I just couldn’t take the responsibility for her. I pray she gets the help she needs, I believe she will. Hopefully I get a hold of her soon…. But for now, let’s just say, I learned you can’t save others, It has to come from within that person. 

I truly do wish her all the best. I’m just not well enough myself yet in order to be trying to help someone else. I should’ve seen it before, but I didn’t. Lesson learned. 

The Knock – (This is my pending title, I’m still looking for title ideas!!)

The Knock – (This is my pending title, I’m still looking for title ideas!!)

How does it feel with your head so low, but your mind has gone to the clouds?

The tracks on your arm that you hide with a shirt, the pipe burn that hurts each time you hit it. Your nose keeps bleeding, you’re sure that can’t be good. The pick marks on your face, wow they look bad. The burns on your couch from each time you take just one more. Your bottles run dry and you can’t see straight anymore, but it’s time to go to the store. These things are sucking you dry, taking your life, but you just can’t see, you don’t want to see, that would mean reality.

So you face these demons day after day, praying that if there’s a God won’t he just take it away. Tired of living in this shell they call a body, longing for something more, but not knowing how to get there, not wanting to try sometimes. There came a point where you just gave up, hope of a normal life escaped your thoughts and now you only dream of your next high. The next time you can make it go away, all this reality, all these thoughts, all this pain, you just want to be comfortably numb. The alternatives just seem too much for you and you’re figuring you’ve gone insane. Just when your low seems like it’s its lowest, when it seems there is no means to an end, you’re sure you’ve hit rock bottom, all the doors have closed…. and then you hear this knock, and it’s coming from you heart, and you meekly ask, “who’s there”, and the Lord answers back, “I am my child, I am”.

I am asking my readers and followers for their ideas on a title for this piece. If you think you’ve got something, please comment. What I have now is tentative. Thank you!!


My Darkness Part 2


As stated in Part 1 of this, after the incident where Sean, my future husband at the time, hugged me while I was crying, we started seeing each other regularly. He even left and went to his brothers downstate for a couple weeks and I found out what his brothers number was through some friends and called him down there and told him he better get his ass back up here because I was waiting for him…. lol, oh my. He was on the bus back up here the next day…. 🙂 He pretty much moved in with me at that point, I was living in a tiny efficiency apartment, sleeping on the floor while Travis slept in a play pen, and four months later we were married. I was so sure that it was the right thing to do, not taking into account that I depended on Sean to feed my addiction, even though he thought he was helping because he was controlling how much I took, making sure it wasn’t “too much”, just enough to keep me from getting sick. I now know that somewhere in the back of my mind, this was part of the reason I was with him, part of the reason I married him, this and the fact that he took excellent care of Travis, treating him as if he were his own and loving him that way too I think. Eventually as time went on, we began bickering as couples often do, but it turned into something way more than just bickering, it turned into arguing, fighting, and all out war sometimes. We fought over all kinds of things, but when I was an addict, we mostly fought over that and things related to it. I stole pain medication from him, lied to him, begged him to find ways to get me what I needed to keep from being sick, As I’ve said before, I went to rehab/detox several times and never completed it once, plus all the trips I took to the psychiatric ward. I was terrible, an awful mess. Also as I said before though, I had been praying for a couple of years for the Lord to just please take these cravings away, please take this addiction away…. and one day, I woke up, and it was just gone, the cravings weren’t there anymore. I’ve been clean since. This happened shortly after the birth of our son James, but I was an active addict all the way through his pregnancy. Actually, the doctor had me on a drug called Subutex to help keep me clean, it was supposed to take away the cravings for opiates, kind of in a similar fashion to Methadone. Anyway, Subutex is a main ingredient to Suboxone which is used to stop cravings in opiate addicts. Since I was pregnant I couldn’t take Suboxone. So I took Subutex for almost my whole pregnancy, the doctor who prescribed it told me that if my baby went through withdrawals, they would be a lot less severe than those of a baby born addicted to Methadone. Not true. My son James was born severely addicted and was flown out to the other side of the state within 24 hours of being born, he spent 31 days in the NICU weening off of opiates on Methadone. He went through withdrawals even after the hospital, just not as severe. All because of my stupid addiction, my selfishness, and no this is not a pity party, I don’t feel bad for myself, I do get angry at myself sometimes however. My son is now five years old, healthy, and smart as whip, but it could’ve been different. We’re lucky. So, like I said, shortly after James was born is when the cravings stopped and I stopped abusing opiates. It was great not battling that addiction everyday, trying to fight those cravings and losing…. but I was still battling bad bouts of depression, and they started lasting longer each time it seemed. At one point I was seriously considering shooting myself. I was having postpartum depression after having James and then not being able to take him home with us for thirty-one days, I think it was all getting to me. One day when no one was home I closed and locked our bedroom door, took one of my husbands guns out from behind the door, and I sat down on the bed with it, looking it over, seeing if I could figure out how to load it, and then, I put the gun in my mouth, to see if I could pull the trigger with it in my mouth. I ended up telling Sean about it within the next few days after that incident. I knew then that I needed some kind of help. I ended up being hospitalized like four times in one quarter that year, once for blacking out and trying to stab Sean in the shoulder, but when I spun him around, he had baby James in his arms and it snapped me out of it. I was in a bad way during that time of my life, as far as my depression went, and I was shifting from one mood to the next so rapidly. I have been diagnosed with Ultradian Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder. I’m not going to explain right now what that is, but lets just say that it feels like being on a roller coaster of emotions that can change at any given moment. With the help of a great primary care physician and a really good friend, Ms. Sally, whom I began calling my spiritual mom, I was able to start battling this. I was going to mental health regularly and I was doing my best to take my meds consistently. Eventually we received a notice that the man we were renting from had not been paying his land contract payments and that our home would go up for sheriff’s auction in a few weeks. Our only options were to take the house over on land contract, (which it had too many problems for us to do that on our budget), or move. So, we began the search for a place to live. My husband has a felony on his record from thirty something years ago, and hasn’t been in trouble since, but people still held that against us, and finding a place proved harder than we thought. We ended up in a basement apartment, with only one window in the whole place, underneath a tanning salon, on a main road, with no yard or anything else. We originally intended on staying for only a little while, a year at the most, but we ended up being there for almost three years…. and let me tell you, they were three miserable years. Living in a place with no natural light and already being depressed…. HA! I”m sure you can imagine what was bound to happen. My depression just kept getting worse, my marriage just kept getting worse. I also started working on the adult cam website and met D during this time. In my husband’s eyes I can do nothing right, and that is not just an exaggeration. In his mind, I am the cause of ALL of our problems, and he will/has even gone as far as to tell this to people we know, including pastors, and he’s completely serious about this. He truly believes that our problems are all from me, he says that he’ll admit he doesn’t make them better by being nasty and mean to me and yelling, etc, but that if I didn’t do what I do, he wouldn’t do what he does. He always tells me to fix my problems and our problems will go away. To me, that is just soooo infuriating. He’s almost fifty-five years old, I highly doubt he’s going to change his ways now. He is forever getting nasty with me, calling me names, putting me down. He has told me before that getting off drugs wasn’t enough. I know I am not a gem, I’m not easy to live with by any means, I am aware of this. I am not a good housewife, I don’t clean, or cook, or do laundry, or open mail and respond to it, I don’t pay the bills, (he does), I don’t do the things with my kids that I should do, don’t spend quality time with them like I should. We moved in October of 2014 to a house that we are buying on land contract. It is a beautiful home on 2.3 acres of land with a two car garage and like five outbuildings. Our property is beautiful, has a huge garden plot on it, lots of trees. The house is gorgeous. I have not unpacked one single box, with the exception of the main bathroom, and that’s it. We have a whole garage full of boxes, plus an enclosed porch full, and some in the house…. and I haven’t even started. And obviously I’m not keeping up on the cleaning either. I do not want for this house to end up nasty, it’s embarrassing, yet I just can’t seem to force myself to do anything. I’m tired literally ALL the time, all I ever wanna do is sleep, especially during the day, and then it seems I’m up til late at night. Even when I am awake during the day, I’m sluggish and I have no ambition. My diet is poor, I rarely eat, and when I do, it’s junk, it’s nothing that’s good for me. Yet we don’t have any kind of food assistance and so that doesn’t help, it’s not like we have a huge selection as to what we can buy. So I know my diet plays a part in the way that I feel. I saw a friend recently that I haven’t seen in several years, we sat down and caught up for a bit, and they said to me, “You’ve given up haven’t you…. I can see it in your face when you talk”, and they were right in a sense, I have given up to an extent. I mean, I’m married to a man that I don’t really want to be married to, yet I DO NOT have a choice, and no, no I don’t have a choice seriously. I cannot survive financially without my husband, and because of my physical issues, and mental ones too, I am not able to work the type of jobs that I have the education level to get, since I don’t have a G.E.D. or diploma. Not only that, but I would have to fight for my youngest son, and my chances of winning with my history aren’t that great. Not to mention, Sean is the type that would take off with him to a different state, he doesn’t care what the law says. Also, as sad as it may sound, pathetic, but I can’t raise these boys alone. They have no respect for me and I have no control over them. It’s their dad they listen to, not me, I’m a joke, and when I do try to spank them now or tell them to do something, they laugh. There are a lot of reasons that people just don’t understand as to why I can’t leave my husband. Trust me, if I could, I would. It is not easy being married to one man, but being totally in love with another, it’s not easy when you know you should have all these feelings for your husband, but you feel them for another man…. it is not easy knowing that this other man is happily married, and that even though he loves you, you will never be first place. I get so fucking tired of hurting, I am so tired of aching inside. I wouldn’t actually kill myself, but everyday when I wake up, I am disappointed that I woke up and have to face another day. I pray for the Lord to take me home, to let my time be up, I ask him daily. I am stuck in this life, I made my bed, and now I am lying in it. I married a man that I did not know long enough, and now I am suffering the consequences of it, along with trying to deal with my mental/emotional disorders, mainly depression. Because I did not think ahead like I thought I did. My boys are growing up in this environment that is just not good for them. They are learning things that they should not be learning. I am so afraid they are going to screwed in the head because of their father and myself, and it will be no one’s fault but my own for not saving them, for not protecting them. Everyone tells me how strong I am because of the things I’ve been through since childhood, but you know what, I get tired of being strong, and  maybe I just don’t have it in me to be strong any longer. This darkness, it wraps itself around me, as soon I start to see daylight, it wraps me in total darkness…… This is my darkness, and it’s not even the full shebang… the full story. This is a condensed version. Somewhere in this darkness, there has to be a light…. doesn’t there? 

My Darkness Part 1


I am drowning in my depression… it’s just not getting any better. I mean, I’ve been depressed off and on for years now, since I was twelve to be exact, and maybe earlier, but twelve is when it was first documented. It seems like most of my life I’ve been depressed in one form or another, even as a child. I always remember feeling this kind of like hole inside of me that needed to be filled somehow…. an emptiness deep inside of me, and I just wanted to fill it, to fill that hole, that emptiness. This dark void that needed to be occupied. I got stomach aches a lot and the doctors could find no physical reason for them. I ate a lot, food was my comfort. I was a heavy kid because of it, which only made things worse. As I started to get older, things started to change, they got worse. At the age of twelve, I started cutting myself, having outbursts…. I became sexually active at twelve and not just with one guy, but with whatever guy would have me… I began smoking pot, cigarettes, and drinking, hanging out with older teens. My mom, a then single, working mother, she couldn’t control me and didn’t know what to do…. and all along, there was this bitter depression, this woeful sadness, eating away at me. At that age, I had no idea what to do about what I was feeling, so I acted out in different ways, mainly sex, smoking pot, drinking, running off and doing what I wanted… you name it. From twelve years old to eighteen years old…. I was out of control with emotions, up and down constantly. I went to see my first psychiatrist at age twelve. He put me on the first of many medications I’d take over the years. If I took them right, the meds proved helpful, but if I stopped taking them correctly (which I often did and still do), I ended up being a mess again. I still to this day don’t know why it’s so hard for me to take my medications correctly. At sixteen I became addicted to cocaine and eventually crack. By eighteen I was a full blown crack addict. It was terrible, living in Flint I had constant access to it. When I was high I felt on top of the world, but when I started to come down, well, that was the worst, that’s when the depression hit me the worst. Finally my mom moved us back up north and I got clean. I still struggled with my bipolar/depression though, and my borderline personality disorder. A few months before I turned nineteen, my mom passed away one night while I was out partying. None of my family would take me in, my step dad had my stuff packed and out in the garage three days later. I was so lost and with nowhere to go, I felt even more lost. I ended up on Mackinac Island, taking a job I had already been hired for before my mom passed away. It didn’t last, I was fired. I ended up staying with friends until my aunt finally let me stay with her, and a few months after that, I ended up back with ex, Jason. Things were good with him at first, I got back on my meds regularly, he had always been good to me previously when we were together. I moved in with him and his dad, eventually we got our own place… eventually he started hitting me. I ended up being distanced from my family, I had no friends and wasn’t allowed to have any, he went everywhere with me, he took me to work and picked me up, I never had the car to myself, I couldn’t even go to the store around the block from us by myself. While he didn’t beat me on a daily basis, he hit me enough. He was controlling and he made me believe that everything was my fault. The whole time, I was depressed. I was however, taking my meds correctly at the time, and so things weren’t as bad as they could’ve been. My relationship with Jason ended a day or two after we moved just outside of town, I confronted him about cheating on me…. he tried to kill me. We split that night, he moved in with his new girl, someone who was supposed to be my friend. I didn’t think I’d make it through that break up, it hurt so bad…. I was so depressed. I made an impulsive decision a few days later and a friend took me down to Walbridge, OH where I moved in with a guy friend that I had that lived there. Big mistake. I was not ready to be in that sort of a relationship, and that’s what he wanted. I was running out of my psych meds and my pain meds and so I was starting to get sick. I got mixed up in some cocaine again one night… things just weren’t going well. I ended up taking my last paycheck from Michigan and getting a bus ticket to my dad’s in Flint. My dad and I have a sketchy relationship, we don’t know each other very well, he wasn’t around growing up. So I moved in with him, he was on the road a lot. Things were going well, my brother was going to get out of rehab soon…. and then one day, the next door neighbor guys came over to party, and they brought cocaine. After that, it was all downhill. I ended up getting kicked out of my dads and literally living on the streets or with people I barely knew. I was back on crack again, badly. I took a lot of money from a man I was staying with at the peak point of insanity, and ended up in the ER in downtown Flint, praying he didn’t come in there after me. They weren’t going to see me, the hospital wasn’t, it was like 4:30 a.m. and all of a sudden my cousin’s ex wife walked in, she lived forty-five minutes away, she took one look at me and said, “What in the hell are you doing!?” She’d come for a totally different reason, had no clue I was there, but she couldn’t leave me there. She got me back up north with my aunt, and I was off crack again, for the second time. I got my old job back at the Shell station, my aunt bought me a van and I was getting on my feet, I was on meds again. I got pregnant for my first son a few months later, I was twenty-one. I did good through my pregnancy, I also met a guy. We got an apartment together, I had my son, things were good. Although the guy I was with was an alcoholic. He ended up leaving me a few weeks after my son was born. I was extremely scared and depressed, but I knew I had this life to provide for…. I was also very addicted to opiates. Somewhere between moving back up here from Flint and getting pregnant, I had become a bad opiate addict, even using during my pregnancy. 😦 I was going to lose my apartment, he had left me behind on rent, I had just started working at Staples, but I wasn’t going to make it. I moved in with a guy that I had no interest in like that at all, because I knew it was a roof over my son and mine’s head. This guy was a drunk and had six kids of his own…. it was with him that I met my husband. My husband sold his pain pills sometimes, and being an opiate addict, that’s how I met him, as I’ve told you in another post, we started seeing each other when the drunk guy kicked me and my son out in the middle of the winter, no place to go. I ended up going to the house my husband was at, and he hugged me and told me everything would be alright when he saw me crying. After that, we were never apart. Always though, through everything, my depression has haunted me, plagued me, afflicting me sometimes and others just lurking in the shadows, waiting.   – To Be Continued