I have suffered severe (to the point of suicidal ideation and two past suicide attempts) depression, as well as PTSD for a good part of my life. The latter is something science is only now beginning to understand,.as the very real and crippling condition that it is. Since there are no visible scars, many people discount PTSD as psychosomatic disorder and not much more. This has led to years of pretending too be alright, and carrying the burden of shame for having it. But my lover can tell you, I scream through the might, beg for mercy and cry in my sleep sometimes. Often I wake up to her caressing my head and looking at me in a way that although full of concern, I hate, and I never remember the dreams just waking in a panic.
These were largely the reasons I descended into a heroin addiction that ate up half of my 44 year long life. Only in the last five or so have I taken the a steps to aquire the self knowledge required to end it. Five years ago this month,i entered a methadone clinic; I was dying o of depression and addiction and didn't know what else to do. I was on crutches from having almost lost my left leg to a infection from non sterile needles, I was blind from cataracts at 40. I was a criminal, stealing to pay for a stupendously expensive habit. I did not care about nor have any real human relationships,, I had no friends, my family were distant strangers. I had begun using heroin to amelikioorate the pain of PTSD, hut the addiction to it caused its own traumas., andI used to fix that. I used to not be sick, tnot to get high, so much. I was in "treatment" for ten years, dying of my condition- I'm not going to open that can of worms, only to say its miraculous I survived that as much as it is an addiction.
Anyway, i began methadone clinic with the idea that I needed opiate replacement therapy so I could deal with the emotional issues behind my addiction and deal with it, once and for all, and worry about the physical part later. I gave myself five years to do it, and despite all odds, I did. I've been off the clinic for two months now. Physically, I'm fine, but I'm feeling like I want to cry half the time because of the chemical imbalance in my brain known as post acute withdrawal syndrome (PAWS), My serotonin levels are all % ¿©##ed up. (I micro-dose psilocybin as an anti-depressant, which, wwhich has wonders so far. unfortunately, my supply ran out before season hit and my hunts so far have been fruitless, my only known cyan patches having literally been destroyed by weather)
It's been the most anti climatic experience of my life. I didn't tell people I was doing it, since the only response I ever got from people were patronizing "good for you"s,.or "so, you strung out yet? You'll be back". This is from clients, counselors and others.
I have used a psilocybin micro dose regimen too maintain my mood, but have no access too my meds right now. Since leaving, where i expected to feel some sense of well-being, of accomplishment, i feel nothing. I saw one off the most beautiful sunrises the other week, normally an inspiring event. Nothing. I couldn't even continue to look.
I know it's a chemical thing, but it's a life thing too. No matter where you go, there you are. I cannot escape my past.
I feel i went too far, that I'll never be able to reach my potential because I'll never be given another chance. Heroin addiction is a about s far a you can go "across the tracks". There is no return. I can't relate, people can't relate to me. I've been looking fur work, but my mug shots are all over the internet. I don't have family, friends to disk of, nor resources.
I'm afraid, lonely, angry, and tired.
The world seems alien to me, the people in it strangers. They look at me and see one thing. I don't know what too do. I need help, but don't know where to go. I need housing, work, I need a life, but I'm afraid it's all to far gone, even in recovery.
These were largely the reasons I descended into a heroin addiction that ate up half of my 44 year long life. Only in the last five or so have I taken the a steps to aquire the self knowledge required to end it. Five years ago this month,i entered a methadone clinic; I was dying o of depression and addiction and didn't know what else to do. I was on crutches from having almost lost my left leg to a infection from non sterile needles, I was blind from cataracts at 40. I was a criminal, stealing to pay for a stupendously expensive habit. I did not care about nor have any real human relationships,, I had no friends, my family were distant strangers. I had begun using heroin to amelikioorate the pain of PTSD, hut the addiction to it caused its own traumas., andI used to fix that. I used to not be sick, tnot to get high, so much. I was in "treatment" for ten years, dying of my condition- I'm not going to open that can of worms, only to say its miraculous I survived that as much as it is an addiction.
Anyway, i began methadone clinic with the idea that I needed opiate replacement therapy so I could deal with the emotional issues behind my addiction and deal with it, once and for all, and worry about the physical part later. I gave myself five years to do it, and despite all odds, I did. I've been off the clinic for two months now. Physically, I'm fine, but I'm feeling like I want to cry half the time because of the chemical imbalance in my brain known as post acute withdrawal syndrome (PAWS), My serotonin levels are all % ¿©##ed up. (I micro-dose psilocybin as an anti-depressant, which, wwhich has wonders so far. unfortunately, my supply ran out before season hit and my hunts so far have been fruitless, my only known cyan patches having literally been destroyed by weather)
It's been the most anti climatic experience of my life. I didn't tell people I was doing it, since the only response I ever got from people were patronizing "good for you"s,.or "so, you strung out yet? You'll be back". This is from clients, counselors and others.
I have used a psilocybin micro dose regimen too maintain my mood, but have no access too my meds right now. Since leaving, where i expected to feel some sense of well-being, of accomplishment, i feel nothing. I saw one off the most beautiful sunrises the other week, normally an inspiring event. Nothing. I couldn't even continue to look.
I know it's a chemical thing, but it's a life thing too. No matter where you go, there you are. I cannot escape my past.
I feel i went too far, that I'll never be able to reach my potential because I'll never be given another chance. Heroin addiction is a about s far a you can go "across the tracks". There is no return. I can't relate, people can't relate to me. I've been looking fur work, but my mug shots are all over the internet. I don't have family, friends to disk of, nor resources.
I'm afraid, lonely, angry, and tired.
The world seems alien to me, the people in it strangers. They look at me and see one thing. I don't know what too do. I need help, but don't know where to go. I need housing, work, I need a life, but I'm afraid it's all to far gone, even in recovery.
