EPTThe onset of my depression came when I was 13; it was so subtle that by the time it became impossible for me experience happiness I had come to believe that how I felt was how I was. I didn't know I wasn't happy because I couldn't remember what being happy felt like.
I get to my room, Dig around in my dresser until I find what I'm looking for. I have two bottles of oxycodone left over from my two knee surgeries. I also have a bottle of hydrocodone from my wisdom teeth coming out and some ambien for my persistent insomnia. The oxy is good for now, I feel pretty savvy but I'm not keen to mix drugs.
I remove 7 pills at 10mg each, then walk quietly to the bathroom. I immediately take 5 of the pills and set two on a small plate I keep deep in the cabinet. I don't know why but I can't help but watch myself in the mirror, I look into my own eyes constantly not sure what I expect to see. I find the two spoons I keep in the back of the top drawer. I don't know why I feel the need to hide these innocent objects yet I do. I begin to crush the two pills with the spoons; not very efficient and it gets the job done.
I use a razor blade I take from a box cutter also hidden in the cabinet to push the powder into a line. Its very long; the pills are 10mg oxy and 500mg generic otc painkiller. As usual I am not deterred, I take a $20 from my wallet and roll it up. I lean down close to the plate and the mirror, give myself one more long look before I exhale.
I inhale as smoothly and as deeply as I can, I manage most of the line but I can't quite finish it off. Some power sticks in my nose, the taste overpowers me, I cough some if it into my mouth and have to fight the urge to spit it out. I swallow what I can and already feel most of one side of my face going numb as are parts of my tongue. I steel myself and finish the line. The taste is not so much just a taste as it is a feel. Its like ice cold liquid sheet metal being poured into my nose and mouth. I think of the scene in the first matrix movie where Neo turns all metallic after he takes the red pill.
I lean on the counter waiting for the bitterness to dull. I stare into my eyes in the mirror, I watch them become red and bloodshot. In just minutes my pupils dilate and I begin to feel the oxy working in my head. I feel a sick sense of satisfaction, I feel like I'm getting good at this. The high from the 20mg that just went through my nose will be sharp and fast but as it comes down the high from the 50mg I swallowed will pick me back up. I will take 10-20mg for every forty minutes until I fall asleep and this high will keep rolling. I feel very smart.
I will probably end the night at about 120-130mg. As I relax I stare at myself; my eyes are red and bloodshot and I have white power on my face. I feel so good, I can't even comprehend how messed up I've become. I cannot feel happy at this time, I am literally incapable of experiencing it because of my depression. I have come to rely on the high for relief from the endless despair I have felt.
I will overdose on Ambien in just under 2 months from this time. My parents will commit me to a mental hospital because the overdose will look like an attempted suicide. My depression will be diagnosed and I will begin treatment but it will still be 2 years before I can admit that I am an addict and actually start shedding the weight of my depression.
I am not sure exactly what the point of telling this story from my life was. Someone posted a kind of similar blog about heroin earlier and it just got me thinking about it I guess.
I am now happy now after years of not knowing what it meant to feel happy. Between the time I was diagnosed and the time I was able admit that I am an addict to myself I still could not shake my despair. I know that the internet is generally unfriendly to religion but I stand firm in saying that of all the things I tried in my journey to overcome my depression and addictions the only thing that got me over the edge and set me free from it was getting back to church and coming to know Christ. Today I am a proud and active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and I am happy.
I will always be an addict and some days are hard. When I get really stressed or my depression creeps back into my head my first thought is often "I just need some pills, I just need a break". But I have come to a place where I am aware of the signs of potential relapse and a place where I can manage them. I am just happy; it sounds kind of strange but its a new feeling for me, I'm still getting used to it.
I hope those last two paragraphs don't come off as preachy. I do not intend to say that church is the only way to overcome addiction but it helped me do it.
Thanks for reading my wall of text of you made it all the way through, I hope that maybe my story might be helpful to someone in some way.
