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Hi everyone, I'm not sure where to start. I guess I'm looking for some hope from people? For some support? I fear that I'm never going to find serenity or recovery. My mental health and depression are really bad right now and have been for quite some time. My depression has been at an all time high and my addiction at an all time low. I'm definitely struggling and things have been getting worse for me over the last two months. I had to quit my job back in mid November due to my mental health conditions and my addiction state.
I've struggled with addiction since I was a teenager and have been in and out of 3 residential rehabs over the years, the last one in about 2019 I believe. My addiction would fluctuate back and forth between controlled/functioning and severe from then to now. I had a month clean back in say May(?) of last year, then I got a few spots from my dealer and the rest was history for me. Before I knew it I was back to having to use near daily again or else I'd enter extreme withdrawal.
A week and a half ago, I checked myself into detox because I was stuck in that cycle where I had to use nearly every day simply to keep myself out of withdrawal. I truly wasn't even using anymore because I wanted to, it was because I had to. If I didn't I would get so sick it truly felt like death by day three. This was taking a substantial burden on my health, body, finances, and relationship. So I decided to go to detox so I could gain control over my addiction again, I knew I wasn't done using but I was ready to make changes to the frequency of my use. I had to. My journey began by initiating this process by going to the hospital ER first (as recommended by detox staff) for assistance. I was discharged to detox, and a few days into it, I began to experience the most horrid abdominal pains that would bring me back to the hospital ER again two more times. (They did little for me really the first time, just bloodwork and maintenence medications then discharge, no imaging/diagnostics) (Total ER=3x) They never did find anything significant in terms of the reason behind my abdominal pain, so they just chalked this off as part of my withdrawal symptoms. In the second visit they did however discover that I had pneomonia in my left lung upon doing a CT scan. Lucky me.
Upon discharge from the detox centre, my stupid *** went and picked up, having been white knuckling cravings for that last week. My doc is smoking fentanyl. Now I wasn't even thinking that I would be a) breathing compromised from the pneomonia and b) that my tolerance level would have dropped in this last week I had spent clean. I figured it took a lot more time than that for your tolerance level to drop. I picked up from my guy, used a small amount in a public bathroom, then went home. Upon being home, I continued to use the same amount as I would have used before detox.... a big no no. (And I should have known this!) I'll mention now that in my 10+ years of using fentanyl, I've never overdosed. I've always been VERY careful about WHO I got it from and HOW I went about using it. But I've never been naiive enough to think that an OD couldn't happen to me, so I kept narcan kits in the house just in case. Well, thank God I did.
I came home that night and used, and I went under. Thank God my girlfriend was home to save me. She came out from the washroom and found me unresponsive, blue and purple, not breathing and with no pulse. I also started to vomit. And aspirate. (How great for my lungs!) She immediately called 911, put me down, started cpr, and narcanned me. After a good amount of cpr she finally got my breath back. Paramedics, fire, and police all arrived and took over my care shortly after. Now I, have zero memory of taking the hit, going down, being down or even getting up - not until I was halfway through packing my bag for having to go back to the hospital (total ER visits in a week now = 4). And idk if I went back under or what, because I remember being rolled out of my building on the stretcher and onto the sidewalk, then nothing until I woke up in the hospital again. The memory gaps scare me...
I feel this tremendous horrible guilt about the burden I've now placed on my girlfriend though, to have to carry this memory and we have to carry it alone too, as there is no one we can talk to in our personal life about me even having an addiction, nevermind overdosing... no one who wouldn't judge harshly. It's a lot for them to have to deal with. It was always their worst fear, and I made it come true. I also feel a lot of gratitude though. That I was home when this happened, that it didn't happen to me in the washroom while I was out. That my girlfriend didn't panic and is trained in cpr and knew exactly what to do. And that whatever God is out there wasn't finished with me yet.
The following morning I was discharged from the hospital but had a follow up doctors appointment with my general practitioner in the afternoon to check my pneomonia. I went to this appointment and had horrible vitals. My 02 levels had dropped to 82 and my heart rate was 133. My doctor whom was concerned for hypoxia, insisted I return to the hospital... so away I went again, now to be ER visits #5. They actually admitted me this time and I remained in the hospital for two more days being treated for the pneomonia and remaining withdrawal. I'll add that during my hospital visits they had started me on oral suboxone and were trying to reach my stabilization dose of this medication. The idea of sublocade was introduced, discussed, and agreed upon.
I received the sublocade shot before discharge. Now I'll say that I've always wished I could just magically snap my fingers and make my addiction go away. I've expressed it countless times to my girlfriend in our arugments over my addiction, as I would try to explain how I have a disease and just can't snap out of it no matter how hard I tried. I think I finally got my wish? The sublocade shot has effectively blocked the opioid receptors on my brain - it seems that I can't get a high from using now, as I pathetically tried upon discharge from the hospital. Now the stuff I was using was pretty weak, so there's that little voice in the back of my head that's going "but what if I pick up the better/stronger fentanyl from my other guy instead? Will I get high then?" Oh when, when does the madness end?????
But something has changed in me.... Instead of these intense pressure cravings to use that have always been existent and oh so persisting, my brain now goes/asks - "but what's the point in trying?" A rebuttal? How odd. Normally I just give in to those urges and then my mind is made up that I'm using. I had the opportunity to go out today and meet said guy with stronger product if I wanted, but I didn't. I just couldn't be bothered...?? I even went as far as to throw away what remainded of the weak ***! (And I Never! Ever? Threw away drugs before!) but I didn't see the point in keeping it. It wasn't doing anything for me but hurting my body.
So now I've done this complete 180 turn from myself, my thoughts, and my cravings. I hate that a part of me still wants (needs?) To test the theory about whether or not the stronger *** will hit my receptors though. I feel like this wondering is going to drive me mental until I know for sure. I'm hoping I can continue to question the point of doing so though. I'm hoping, praying, that I can just say to myself that it probably won't work and there's no point in trying and to just not go down that road. I don't know how far I can get this momentum to go though... but I have to at least try, right?
Now I should be feeling a big sense of relief, right? Gratitude too? I finally got what I always wanted, no? To rid myself of my intense cravings, to be free from the chains of addiction once and for all. Yet I'm still numb to it all. I guess it doesn't even feel real that I'm fighting urges and not experiencing them as strongly. I'm still struggling to process what's happening and has happened too. I think I can feel a sense of relief down there somewhere though. But also a lot of remorse. Like I now need to mourn my addiction like the loss of a loved one/dear friend. Our times together weren't all bad, that's for sure. There was plenty of good. And I'm now leaving behind my biggest aid/coping skill/reward system that I've known and ever had. Drugs helped me feel better mentally and emotionally at a young age, and they also gave me a sense of belonging/connection to others that I didn't have prior. Saying goodbye to my addiction is going to be hard... but it should feel good, right? That's just my problem though. I'm not -feeling- much of anything. Emptiness and fear above all else.
I know for sure though that I've been feeling more connected to my higher power and spirituality since being brought back from the dead.. yet everything is such a tangled mess within me still. I don't know what to make of any of it all.
Thank you to anyone who reads this.
