snugsnug
04-25-2008, 08:08 PM
Hey family, this is my story in essay form. I wrote this last year for a class. The assignment was what experience changed your life?
Dopeless Hope Addict
Some folks describe it as the sound of electricity, others say it sounds like energy and still others describe it as the sound of comfort. All I know is it sounds like that of nothing else. A wonderful rush of excitement! An instant flash of invigoration! I have tried them all; angel dust, rag, muffin man, crystal and horse. I believe of all the dope I have shot, crystal is as close as I have gotten to coke.
As I was checking into the emergency room my only motive was to get my arm healed enough so I could get another shot. I had been shooting dope for about a week straight. My arm had been hurting for a few days, but I did not care. I just wanted another hit. Maybe they would give me some antibiotics and some pain pills. I could trade the pain pills for some more stuff. I was already feeling sick and anxious. I knew that feeling too well…when I didn’t know when or how I would get my next hit.
I had to come up with a good story so the nurses would not find out I had been shooting dope. I could tell them I got bit by a spider while I was working in the yard. Yea I will stick with that. **** I hated hospitals. The nurse put me in an exam room; she checked my vital signs and basically left me alone. My temperature was one-hundred and two and I was sick. I was cold and my whole body started to ache. My head was throbbing and my neck was hurting. The lights were on and I felt like they were watching me through the window. I could not get comfortable, every time I got some relief my back would hurt or my knees and ankles cramped up. I felt like a hopeless dope addict. The doctor finally came into the room.
This all started when I was about twelve years old. We were living in Cocoa, Florida. My friend Pat asked me if I wanted to get high. I did not know what he meant, but I said yes anyway. Pat gave me some little blue pills; I think he gave me three of them. He said he stole them from his grandmother. We took them with some soda. It did not take very long before my head became numb, I mean like I was floating on the clouds and there were no worries in the world. What was this that made me feel this way? How could three little pills make me feel so good? I began to wonder, if three could make me feel this way, how good six would make me feel.
From elementary school until high school Pat and I would continue to use drugs. We used everything available back then: pot, coke, speed, ludes and acid. The pills were ok but I enjoyed the other drugs better. Speed and coke became my favorites. There were plenty of times I took too much and ended up in the hospital. My thinking was, if one made me feel this way, I know four will make me feel even better. By the time I was in high school I was using drugs every day just to do the things normal people do like getting up in the morning, going to school, using the bathroom and just interacting with other people. I had this overwhelming feeling of not belonging. I always felt I was less than, not equal too. Everything I did, I did to fit in. I would skip school in a minute if you asked; I would steal or fight just because someone said it was cool. All I wanted was to feel a part of, to belong to the crowd.
Then my schooling began to interfere with my drug use. I was not getting as high when I took a hit then went to class, as I did when I took a hit and just hung out with the crowd. So I started skipping school to get high. I would leave my house in the morning just like I was going to school, and when I would go around the corner I would ditch my book bag, fire up a doobie and head over to someone’s house to get loaded. During my second year of high school I skipped forty-one of the first forty-five days of school. My folks found out and I denied it till the end. I went to five different high schools, usually getting expelled for drug or alcohol use.
The Navy was going to clean me up. I promised my mother and father I would not use drugs and learn a trade. I even thought about going on to college once I got my high school diploma. The first year was just what I had promised. I went to several different training schools, including Hospital Corpsman School and Field Medical School. These schools were in California. I had heard stories about California and I found out first hand those stories were true. About a week after I was there I found some dope. I had basically been clean for about a year or so, this dope was super good.
During the examination the doctor asked me several times if I had ever used drugs, I always answered no. He had several other doctors to exam me as well. There was a hospitalist, an infectious disease specialist, a surgeon and an internal medicine doctor. They all asked me about drug use. I continued to deny the fact I had been using drugs most of my life, and recently had been using IV drugs and sharing the needles with other drug addicts. I was getting a little scared. I needed to get high.
The nurse started an IV of antibiotics and gave me something for pain; I was becoming tired and even more scared. The doctor came back into the room and said he wanted to admit me to the hospital. He said there were some tests he wanted to perform on my arm and it would take a few days. He suspected I had a staph infection and it seemed to be a real bad one. He indicated to me it was a serious situation and I could loose my arm. They admitted me to the hospital onto the surgical floor.
I woke up about a day or two later as I had been sedated to keep me comfortable. I had an IV in each arm and I was real scared. The surgeon came in and said he had to wait until the fever went down before he could operate on my arm and he was still not sure if I would loose my arm. I stayed medicated for the next few days, on some powerful medications. Those few days were very vague, almost dream like, with me coming in and out of the dream only to fall back to sleep. I was not too sure how long I had been in the hospital, but I was sure I was very sick. I was sure I was very scared. I was sure I was alone. I was sure I wanted to live. I began to cry uncontrollably, and for no apparent reason. Was it self pity, shame or guilt? I don’t know what it was, but I kept crying. I tried to hide it from the nurses whenever they came in to check on me. They knew already I had a problem, and stayed with me through the nights. The nurses would ask me if I wanted to see someone, but all I knew was I had left everyone I loved. All I knew was I had abandoned my family. All I knew was I was alone, sick and scared.
The surgery went well, my prognosis was good. I stayed in the hospital for seventeen day. The surgeon had to leave the wound open to make sure the infection healed all the way. During my stay the technicians had to clean and scrape my wound daily. If he told me once he told me a million times, the good Lord is watching over you. This seemed to bother me, it bothered me tremendously. I knew there was a God; I just did not know Him. I had an uneasy feeling, a feeling something had taken over my emotions. I had a feeling to reconnect with my family.
I was transferred to the psychiatric ward for an assessment for my uncontrollable crying. They continued to ask me about my drug use. I had several meetings with a counselor and I was involved with some small counseling therapy groups, all of the folks in the group seemed to have a drug problem, some were sick, scary sick. I began to realize I might have a problem and I wanted to do something about it. The psychiatrist prescribed me some medicine. I really could not feel the effects of the medicine; I had never gone without any drugs in my system before. I watched television, ate and read a bible a nurse gave me one night when I could not sleep. He suggested I call my father. I did not want to call my father, I had done so many dreadful things over the years, and surely he did not want to talk to me either. I finally mustered up the courage to call my dad; the call went better than I thought it would go. He told me he loved me, he told me he missed me, he told me he wanted me to get better, no matter what it took. I was overwhelmed, for the first time in, I don’t know how long, I felt some hope, and for the first time in, I don’t know how long, I felt some love. After five days I was discharged with some recommendations; go to the homeless shelter to get a bed, go to Alcohol Drug Services of North Carolina (ADS) to get an assessment for my drug use, and go to some Narcotics Anonymous meetings. I followed these suggestions exactly. I wanted to live, not die.
At ADS I was interviewed by a man named William, he was a recovering addict, he said he knew what I was going through. I began to cry uncontrollably again, he was empathizing with me. I was crying because I did not have to hide anymore. I was crying because I felt safe with him. I was crying because it felt good to cry this time. He explained some of the feelings I was going through and what I could do about them. I was admitted into a residential treatment facility. This program helped me to understand my addiction and what my addiction had been doing to me and my family. For the first time since I was twelve years old I was not under the influence of some mind or mood altering substance. For the first time since I was twelve years old I began to feel a part of. For the first time since I was twelve years old I had made a decision to help me, not a decision that would hurt me. The treatment was eight weeks. It was a very intensive group therapy type of treatment. We were encouraged to get honest with our selves. We were taught our addiction was a disease.
The experience in my life that changed me in an important way was the day I graduated from the treatment facility. It was June 26th 2005. I stopped using drugs on April 23th 2005. My father and younger brother drove up here from South Carolina to support me and show me their love. My graduation from treatment was the single most important event in my life. My graduation from rehab was the first time I have finished anything. I remain clean today and am pursuing a degree in Substance Abuse Treatment so I can help other men like me kick the drug habit. Today I am a Dopeless Hope Addict.
Thanks for lettign me share.:D
Dopeless Hope Addict
Some folks describe it as the sound of electricity, others say it sounds like energy and still others describe it as the sound of comfort. All I know is it sounds like that of nothing else. A wonderful rush of excitement! An instant flash of invigoration! I have tried them all; angel dust, rag, muffin man, crystal and horse. I believe of all the dope I have shot, crystal is as close as I have gotten to coke.
As I was checking into the emergency room my only motive was to get my arm healed enough so I could get another shot. I had been shooting dope for about a week straight. My arm had been hurting for a few days, but I did not care. I just wanted another hit. Maybe they would give me some antibiotics and some pain pills. I could trade the pain pills for some more stuff. I was already feeling sick and anxious. I knew that feeling too well…when I didn’t know when or how I would get my next hit.
I had to come up with a good story so the nurses would not find out I had been shooting dope. I could tell them I got bit by a spider while I was working in the yard. Yea I will stick with that. **** I hated hospitals. The nurse put me in an exam room; she checked my vital signs and basically left me alone. My temperature was one-hundred and two and I was sick. I was cold and my whole body started to ache. My head was throbbing and my neck was hurting. The lights were on and I felt like they were watching me through the window. I could not get comfortable, every time I got some relief my back would hurt or my knees and ankles cramped up. I felt like a hopeless dope addict. The doctor finally came into the room.
This all started when I was about twelve years old. We were living in Cocoa, Florida. My friend Pat asked me if I wanted to get high. I did not know what he meant, but I said yes anyway. Pat gave me some little blue pills; I think he gave me three of them. He said he stole them from his grandmother. We took them with some soda. It did not take very long before my head became numb, I mean like I was floating on the clouds and there were no worries in the world. What was this that made me feel this way? How could three little pills make me feel so good? I began to wonder, if three could make me feel this way, how good six would make me feel.
From elementary school until high school Pat and I would continue to use drugs. We used everything available back then: pot, coke, speed, ludes and acid. The pills were ok but I enjoyed the other drugs better. Speed and coke became my favorites. There were plenty of times I took too much and ended up in the hospital. My thinking was, if one made me feel this way, I know four will make me feel even better. By the time I was in high school I was using drugs every day just to do the things normal people do like getting up in the morning, going to school, using the bathroom and just interacting with other people. I had this overwhelming feeling of not belonging. I always felt I was less than, not equal too. Everything I did, I did to fit in. I would skip school in a minute if you asked; I would steal or fight just because someone said it was cool. All I wanted was to feel a part of, to belong to the crowd.
Then my schooling began to interfere with my drug use. I was not getting as high when I took a hit then went to class, as I did when I took a hit and just hung out with the crowd. So I started skipping school to get high. I would leave my house in the morning just like I was going to school, and when I would go around the corner I would ditch my book bag, fire up a doobie and head over to someone’s house to get loaded. During my second year of high school I skipped forty-one of the first forty-five days of school. My folks found out and I denied it till the end. I went to five different high schools, usually getting expelled for drug or alcohol use.
The Navy was going to clean me up. I promised my mother and father I would not use drugs and learn a trade. I even thought about going on to college once I got my high school diploma. The first year was just what I had promised. I went to several different training schools, including Hospital Corpsman School and Field Medical School. These schools were in California. I had heard stories about California and I found out first hand those stories were true. About a week after I was there I found some dope. I had basically been clean for about a year or so, this dope was super good.
During the examination the doctor asked me several times if I had ever used drugs, I always answered no. He had several other doctors to exam me as well. There was a hospitalist, an infectious disease specialist, a surgeon and an internal medicine doctor. They all asked me about drug use. I continued to deny the fact I had been using drugs most of my life, and recently had been using IV drugs and sharing the needles with other drug addicts. I was getting a little scared. I needed to get high.
The nurse started an IV of antibiotics and gave me something for pain; I was becoming tired and even more scared. The doctor came back into the room and said he wanted to admit me to the hospital. He said there were some tests he wanted to perform on my arm and it would take a few days. He suspected I had a staph infection and it seemed to be a real bad one. He indicated to me it was a serious situation and I could loose my arm. They admitted me to the hospital onto the surgical floor.
I woke up about a day or two later as I had been sedated to keep me comfortable. I had an IV in each arm and I was real scared. The surgeon came in and said he had to wait until the fever went down before he could operate on my arm and he was still not sure if I would loose my arm. I stayed medicated for the next few days, on some powerful medications. Those few days were very vague, almost dream like, with me coming in and out of the dream only to fall back to sleep. I was not too sure how long I had been in the hospital, but I was sure I was very sick. I was sure I was very scared. I was sure I was alone. I was sure I wanted to live. I began to cry uncontrollably, and for no apparent reason. Was it self pity, shame or guilt? I don’t know what it was, but I kept crying. I tried to hide it from the nurses whenever they came in to check on me. They knew already I had a problem, and stayed with me through the nights. The nurses would ask me if I wanted to see someone, but all I knew was I had left everyone I loved. All I knew was I had abandoned my family. All I knew was I was alone, sick and scared.
The surgery went well, my prognosis was good. I stayed in the hospital for seventeen day. The surgeon had to leave the wound open to make sure the infection healed all the way. During my stay the technicians had to clean and scrape my wound daily. If he told me once he told me a million times, the good Lord is watching over you. This seemed to bother me, it bothered me tremendously. I knew there was a God; I just did not know Him. I had an uneasy feeling, a feeling something had taken over my emotions. I had a feeling to reconnect with my family.
I was transferred to the psychiatric ward for an assessment for my uncontrollable crying. They continued to ask me about my drug use. I had several meetings with a counselor and I was involved with some small counseling therapy groups, all of the folks in the group seemed to have a drug problem, some were sick, scary sick. I began to realize I might have a problem and I wanted to do something about it. The psychiatrist prescribed me some medicine. I really could not feel the effects of the medicine; I had never gone without any drugs in my system before. I watched television, ate and read a bible a nurse gave me one night when I could not sleep. He suggested I call my father. I did not want to call my father, I had done so many dreadful things over the years, and surely he did not want to talk to me either. I finally mustered up the courage to call my dad; the call went better than I thought it would go. He told me he loved me, he told me he missed me, he told me he wanted me to get better, no matter what it took. I was overwhelmed, for the first time in, I don’t know how long, I felt some hope, and for the first time in, I don’t know how long, I felt some love. After five days I was discharged with some recommendations; go to the homeless shelter to get a bed, go to Alcohol Drug Services of North Carolina (ADS) to get an assessment for my drug use, and go to some Narcotics Anonymous meetings. I followed these suggestions exactly. I wanted to live, not die.
At ADS I was interviewed by a man named William, he was a recovering addict, he said he knew what I was going through. I began to cry uncontrollably again, he was empathizing with me. I was crying because I did not have to hide anymore. I was crying because I felt safe with him. I was crying because it felt good to cry this time. He explained some of the feelings I was going through and what I could do about them. I was admitted into a residential treatment facility. This program helped me to understand my addiction and what my addiction had been doing to me and my family. For the first time since I was twelve years old I was not under the influence of some mind or mood altering substance. For the first time since I was twelve years old I began to feel a part of. For the first time since I was twelve years old I had made a decision to help me, not a decision that would hurt me. The treatment was eight weeks. It was a very intensive group therapy type of treatment. We were encouraged to get honest with our selves. We were taught our addiction was a disease.
The experience in my life that changed me in an important way was the day I graduated from the treatment facility. It was June 26th 2005. I stopped using drugs on April 23th 2005. My father and younger brother drove up here from South Carolina to support me and show me their love. My graduation from treatment was the single most important event in my life. My graduation from rehab was the first time I have finished anything. I remain clean today and am pursuing a degree in Substance Abuse Treatment so I can help other men like me kick the drug habit. Today I am a Dopeless Hope Addict.
Thanks for lettign me share.:D