Hi there, my name is ‘Tails’, and I am an addict….

Welcome to my blog, which I’ve revamped for 2019 to document some of my life in recovery.

I am a recovering addict, who has been in recovery since June 2018. Do you want to know my story? Is there really one to tell…it’s all the same, drugs, unmanageability, alcohol, losing control, etc etc. The same old tired story.

What I can tell you though, is that like many other addicts I:

  ~suffer from a personality/mental disorder. Mine is Borderline Personality Disorder;
  ~tried to distract myself from who I was by using drugs;
  ~used drugs as a way of coping with feelings and emotions I wasn’t prepared to face;
  ~became self-centered in my way of thinking; and
  ~eventually let drugs control my life.

I went through many different types of drugs and I can say that I pushed my body to limits I never knew possible. I was also playing dangerously near the edge of death at times. It started for me with cocaine. I still remember my first time using it, and I was all excited (while still trying to look cool and nonchelant) when it came to my turn to do a line. I remember not knowing how it was going to feel and I remember (less vividely nowadays) how my first high was. It was a weekend thing in the beginning, but eventually I took it home and it became an every-other-day thing.
Next up was meth. It was only logical I guess, given the price of coke and the consistancy I was doing it, it was certainly cheaper on my pocket. And so meth took hold, and I ran with that for the good part of a year. Next up was MDMA and E (yes, they are two different things but essentially have the same result). And then finally, after months of not eating properly, not sleeping for days at a time, and losing more weight than I ever knew possible (I went from 58kgs to 46kgs in 3 months!), I moved on to what was the final straw in the end: heroin.

I might make a blog post about my first time using heroin. When they say it’s like a love affair that was no joke, at least not to me. It’s exactly how I felt. It offered all the escape I needed (or should I say, wanted) from life. I latched on to it like an infant to a teat. And it latched back. It took everything from me: loved ones (through my own doing, make no mistake), everyday joys like a good meal, a nice chat with a friend, a walk in the park. Everything became tunnel visioned and all I saw was the lover that really didn’t love me at all. Eventually when life became to unmanageable, I tried to come off. I went cold turkey twice, making it to 72 hours the first time, and 58 hours the next time, a few weeks after the first failed attempt.
  Eventually I decided I needed medication to help me break free and I found a doctor (which was not the easiest thing to do) and I was prescribed Suboxone to come off. It went successfully but I relapsed two or so months later (stupidly thinking I could use again recreationally and not become addicted again).

It was about this time that I had my breakdown, mentally, and it happened while at work. I had a panic attack (why it happened I don’t remember) and all I remember is getting permission from my boss to go to the doctor to calm me down. From here it’s a blur. I remember driving to what I thought was the doctor and from here on out this is what other’s have told me happened:
I drove home and my Gent Ubered us both to my doctor and from there the doc sent us to the nearby mental health facility. I was checked in by a psychiatrist and I was still very much out of it physically (I was still speaking fine apparently). According to the Gent, I had taken 4 anti-anxiety tablets I had at home and they hadn’t helped (and had in fact only made it worse, sending me into sporadic rages). I couldn’t walk straight and had to be helped all the way. It was truly a psychosis moment for me.
  I stayed the night at the clinic and was still in a rage the next morning so I promptly checked myself out, promising that same psychiatrist I would see her the next day for an appointment (which I had no intention at that time of doing, regardless what I agreed). I dont remember how I got to my mother’s place but apparently I went there and yelled at her for my broken childhood and then somehow I got to my house (I think my sister ended up lifting me home). That night I was home alone and I took all the pills in the house in an attempt to end it all (my dealer wouldn’t deliver any more on credit) but I awoke the next morning at 6am.

I remember this was my lowest point as I sat up, groggy and still unable to walk properly. I realised I needed help and that I had turned away from the help that was being extended to me. So I packed my bags and Ubered my way back to the clinic. I checked myself back in, much to the joy of my father who had turned up to take my appointment had I not been there. From there I went on to get prescribed an antidepressant and an antipsychotic (for my BDP) and my moods have evened out so much since then and my suicidal thoughts have diminished significantly.

I stayed a full two weeks and for the first time in years I was able to focus on myself and my recovery.

That was the story of my addiction, the pages on this site will be the story of my recovery. I hope you join me.

And if you’re ever feeling like you need help, please reach out to those who need you and love you. You’re never alone, even if you think you are.

You are loved.