Suicide is in the forefront of everyone's mind these days.
I'm gonna let you in to some of my dark history, some of the stuff I don't really talk about.
During my early to mid teen years I talked about suicide. Like a lot. I 'wanted' to end things, but I never had the 'courage'. I had a couple of friends that we had it all figured out, how we would do it, when, etc.
I'm beyond glad that I never was so incredibly stupid.
I'm not judging others, so let me make that clear. But when I look at all these wonderful, amazing things I have in my life, I think to myself about how I would have missed all that. How it never would have been. And that is a sad, sad thought to me. A scary thought.
All those bad things, the bad times, the difficulties when I had no idea how to handle the mass of feelings I was having during those tender years, I get why people do it. I don't agree with it. I am amazed by how my life has turned out though.
But I did lose one friend to suicide. That's what I'm here to tell you about.
I met Rachel through some mutual friends when I was around 16. It was during my downward spiral that was my life at that time. I was an addict, and it was getting worse during that time. I was in with a bad crowd, and barely making it through the things that I had obligations to do.
I was a teenager.
And don't get me wrong, I wasn't as bad as other kids out there. I'm not here to compare, I'm here to simply share my experiences.
Rachel was this calming force in our lives. She was about 18 at the time I met her. She was awesome. We all loved her. The guys in our group were infatuated with her.
I saw her as the balance to all of our craziness.
She was my anchor. When I was having a bad day, she's who I called.
When I needed to get away, she's who I called.
When I wanted to laugh and just hang out, she's who I called.
And when I was having a bad trip, she's who I called. She was the only one that could bring me down from the ledges. And there were plenty of times that happened, and plenty of times that she was called. The last time being the worst, and someone else had to call her, and she almost had to come to save me.
We spent a bit of time together for those next few years. We had a lot of fun, and partied hard.
But Rachel had her own demons. She took on everyone else's demons, and never took care of her own. She was in and out of treatment for mental health, but we all thought she was doing good.
Then she wasn't. She spent the better part of a few months in intensive treatment.
Then she tried to end it all.
And then she spent months in inpatient treatment.
It didn't work.
She found the key to her dad's gun cabinet.
She unlocked it and took out a gun.
She put it in her mouth, and pulled the trigger.
She ended those things that she couldn't figure out how to take care of in her own life, all the while taking care of everyone else's issues.
It was 1999, and I remember her funeral like it was yesterday.
And after the funeral, I went out with friends and partied like there was no tomorrow.
And in those moments, those days, those weeks of sorrow I was both jealous of her for having the courage that I didn't, and beyond pissed off at her that she could do that to us, to her friends, her family.
How could she make the decision to end our time with her? I didn't understand it then, and life experiences have helped me to get it in some ways, but not in others.
To this day I love that girl. I ache that she chose to end it when she did.
But it was in the aftermath of that death, the wake of emotions that tore me up beyond belief, that I realized I wanted only one thing.
To live.
To live my life in the best way possible.
To fix the person I was.
To choose life.
It wasn't easy, and it didn't happen overnight. But that was the start of the me that I am now. That was the start of a new life, the life that I live, and love today.
And I couldn't imagine it any other way.
Rachel, I miss you. I miss how giving you were, how thoughtful you were, and how badly you wanted to help everyone in your life, at the expense of your own happiness. I hope beyond hope that you have found peace, and that you are watching down on me now and proud of where I have ended up. I know that had you stuck it out you would be an amazing person today. You would have remained the selfless, loving, caring person that you were back then.
Showing posts with label drugs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drugs. Show all posts
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Monday, April 1, 2013
Addiction
I know I've mentioned addiction before, I don't remember how detailed I've gotten, but I think I've glossed over it mostly. But it's been on my mind a lot lately. I have fears about addiction, not for myself, but for my little miracles.
See, addiction runs in families. It's actually in the genes and hereditary. There have been studies on it, although I don't plan on citing them or anything, after all, it's a blog not a research paper :-)
Anyways, I've got it in scores. Both of my grandfathers were alcoholics. Both of my brothers are alcoholics and drug addicts. My father is a drug addict. I am a recovered drug addict. And that's just as far back as I know, I have no idea about my great-grandparents or back further. So you can probably see where my fears come from, a long line of addicts with a gene tucked away in there somewhere.
Sometimes I do wish I had made different decisions. I don't regret the choices I made, or the life I lived during that time of my life. It made me who I am, and I actually like the person I've become. But looking back I wonder if I might be living a different dream if I had made some different choices. But that thought scares me too, I LOVE my life, I wouldn't want anything different in terms of my husband and children. It would have been interesting to see what career path I would have chosen, but that's the only thing I'd be interested in.
Don't get me wrong, I actually have good memories from those years. Some good memories. But I also have bad memories, some scary memories, and entire blanks hidden away in there. I have a few friends that date back to before those years, and they will tell stories, of me, during that time and I will look at them like they're talking about a complete stranger. It's not like it strikes a chord and you think to yourself that you kind of remember that happening, it's not there, at all. You assume she is talking about someone else, or a book she read, but that's not the case. She remembers it clear as day, but the memories have been erased, dashed out by the drug riddled days.
I had this friend that I met my senior year in HS. She was a Freshman. We were in band together, and I was a group lead, and she was in my group. I was supposed to be someone that she could look up to. We became fast friends, having some of the same 'issues' and (lack of) feelings of self worth. I was ocean deep in my addiction by then. She was fresh and young and naive. One day I agreed to let her party with me, and she found that she couldn't stand the lack of control. She freaked out and swore she'd never touch drugs again. I'm glad that she made the decision. But it was really hard when by the end of the year she told me that she could no longer watch me waltz my way down the path to self destruction. That if I continued to partake then she was going to walk away from our friendship. She felt it was easier and better for her to lose the one person that she felt really understood her, then to watch me continue doing what I was doing.
I watched her walk away, sad that she was doing so, but in my haze wished her good riddance. I don't know where she is today, nor do I know how she is.
When I think back to the person that I was, it scares me that my children could follow in those footsteps. I remember the nights of partying so hard that I don't know how I made it home. That I wouldn't remember the night, that I honestly thought I was dying. I remember the suicidal thoughts, the 'friends' that would save me when I was having a particularly rough night, simply to take me out and feed the demons with more drugs.
I remember closing myself in a tent because I was so paranoid and scared of the world around me that I honestly could not leave. It was a crippling fear like I've never felt before. I remember locking myself in a bathroom and sitting on the rug in the middle because I was so afraid to step on the tiles. I was locked in there for hours before I was able to be talked down enough to gain the strength to reach across the 2 feet to the door and unlock it. They had to carry me out and then put me on the phone with the one person that could pull me down from those heights. That person took on everyone's demons, and never managed to deal with her own. She committed suicide a couple of years later.
I managed to pull myself out of the depths of this addiction, with help of some very good people in my life, along with the NEED to make something of myself, to be more than what my father and brothers ever became.
These are the memories that haunt me, that make me so afraid for my children. What if they fall prey to drugs, or alcohol? What if they don't have it in them to dig their way out of those trenches? My brother is still there, and has been for around 20 years. He's a wreck of an adult, living on peoples couches, jumping from state to state. Everything he owns fitting in a hiking bag that he uses when he's hitching from one town to the next. He was once a boy with a high IQ, and now only lives through books.
I worry. I know part of it is the environment. I was surrounded by it, I remember watching my dad roll joints when I was growing up. Then my brother started in. It was all around me, it seemed like the thing to do. I was lucky, not only that I got out, but that I got out with minimal scars. Not everyone is that lucky. And I know that our children will not be around it in a home environment.
But I still worry, with all my heart and soul and being. I am scared, scared that they will walk down that same path, fight those same demons that almost lost me to the world, the same way they stole other family members. I do not want that for them, I want better for them. It's a tough tough road, pitted with holes and snakes and hidden obstacles, and I hope and pray that they never walk down it.
See, addiction runs in families. It's actually in the genes and hereditary. There have been studies on it, although I don't plan on citing them or anything, after all, it's a blog not a research paper :-)
Anyways, I've got it in scores. Both of my grandfathers were alcoholics. Both of my brothers are alcoholics and drug addicts. My father is a drug addict. I am a recovered drug addict. And that's just as far back as I know, I have no idea about my great-grandparents or back further. So you can probably see where my fears come from, a long line of addicts with a gene tucked away in there somewhere.
Sometimes I do wish I had made different decisions. I don't regret the choices I made, or the life I lived during that time of my life. It made me who I am, and I actually like the person I've become. But looking back I wonder if I might be living a different dream if I had made some different choices. But that thought scares me too, I LOVE my life, I wouldn't want anything different in terms of my husband and children. It would have been interesting to see what career path I would have chosen, but that's the only thing I'd be interested in.
Don't get me wrong, I actually have good memories from those years. Some good memories. But I also have bad memories, some scary memories, and entire blanks hidden away in there. I have a few friends that date back to before those years, and they will tell stories, of me, during that time and I will look at them like they're talking about a complete stranger. It's not like it strikes a chord and you think to yourself that you kind of remember that happening, it's not there, at all. You assume she is talking about someone else, or a book she read, but that's not the case. She remembers it clear as day, but the memories have been erased, dashed out by the drug riddled days.
I had this friend that I met my senior year in HS. She was a Freshman. We were in band together, and I was a group lead, and she was in my group. I was supposed to be someone that she could look up to. We became fast friends, having some of the same 'issues' and (lack of) feelings of self worth. I was ocean deep in my addiction by then. She was fresh and young and naive. One day I agreed to let her party with me, and she found that she couldn't stand the lack of control. She freaked out and swore she'd never touch drugs again. I'm glad that she made the decision. But it was really hard when by the end of the year she told me that she could no longer watch me waltz my way down the path to self destruction. That if I continued to partake then she was going to walk away from our friendship. She felt it was easier and better for her to lose the one person that she felt really understood her, then to watch me continue doing what I was doing.
I watched her walk away, sad that she was doing so, but in my haze wished her good riddance. I don't know where she is today, nor do I know how she is.
When I think back to the person that I was, it scares me that my children could follow in those footsteps. I remember the nights of partying so hard that I don't know how I made it home. That I wouldn't remember the night, that I honestly thought I was dying. I remember the suicidal thoughts, the 'friends' that would save me when I was having a particularly rough night, simply to take me out and feed the demons with more drugs.
I remember closing myself in a tent because I was so paranoid and scared of the world around me that I honestly could not leave. It was a crippling fear like I've never felt before. I remember locking myself in a bathroom and sitting on the rug in the middle because I was so afraid to step on the tiles. I was locked in there for hours before I was able to be talked down enough to gain the strength to reach across the 2 feet to the door and unlock it. They had to carry me out and then put me on the phone with the one person that could pull me down from those heights. That person took on everyone's demons, and never managed to deal with her own. She committed suicide a couple of years later.
I managed to pull myself out of the depths of this addiction, with help of some very good people in my life, along with the NEED to make something of myself, to be more than what my father and brothers ever became.
These are the memories that haunt me, that make me so afraid for my children. What if they fall prey to drugs, or alcohol? What if they don't have it in them to dig their way out of those trenches? My brother is still there, and has been for around 20 years. He's a wreck of an adult, living on peoples couches, jumping from state to state. Everything he owns fitting in a hiking bag that he uses when he's hitching from one town to the next. He was once a boy with a high IQ, and now only lives through books.
I worry. I know part of it is the environment. I was surrounded by it, I remember watching my dad roll joints when I was growing up. Then my brother started in. It was all around me, it seemed like the thing to do. I was lucky, not only that I got out, but that I got out with minimal scars. Not everyone is that lucky. And I know that our children will not be around it in a home environment.
But I still worry, with all my heart and soul and being. I am scared, scared that they will walk down that same path, fight those same demons that almost lost me to the world, the same way they stole other family members. I do not want that for them, I want better for them. It's a tough tough road, pitted with holes and snakes and hidden obstacles, and I hope and pray that they never walk down it.
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