When one is in recovery, and SERIOUS about said recovery, you have to go through certain.. ‘levels’ of torture. For instance, like most of you know, I go to The Anti-Drug Warehouse (outpatient) 3 days a week. (It was 4, but I was dropped a day since I’ve been clean since 4/09/15.) And this place… Oh, lawd baby Jesus, this place is something else.
Just like the inpatient portion of the program, the outpatient is equally as incompetent. Yes, it got the job done, obviously. Yet the care they give, and the people they hire are seriously lacking. Personally, I like to have counselors and group leaders that are recovering addicts/alcoholics themselves, so there’s an understanding of “
Shit, I completely understand how fucked up you are, because I TOO was once a complete mess like yourself.” Not, “I’m sure its tough, I wouldn’t know exactly, but here’s some ‘tools’ to help you recover because I simply cannot relate to whatever the Hell you’re going through right now.” I mean, its like having someone with an amazing metabolism saying, “I know how hard not eating whatever you want to MUST be! However I don’t understand, I am sincerely sympathetic, and now I’ll tell you what you can do to loose weight,” while all along they’re shoving their face with chicken wing pizza, cannoli’s and carbohydrates by the butt load. I. Just. Hate. You.
Can you dig? That’s just my opinion though. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there that are drug rehabilitation counselors that have dealt with addicts all their lives, so can somewhat relate.. But besides that, I’m just not a fan of the non-addicted trying to tell me how to recover. Shrug.
- Our life is not over because we have a problem… Our REAL life is just about to begin. After we put the substance down – whether it be crack, dope, weed, booze – we find our true selves, and it is beautiful.
- Never underestimate a junkie. Statistics show we are usually smarter than people who aren’t addicted to anything.
- We have more ambition than most. Ever see a crackhead go without crack? Ha – not usually, because they will always find a way. Resourceful little buggers.
- “You’re addicted to heroin, but that doesn’t mean you can’t drink, right? LET’S PARTAAAAAY!” No, dip
shit. We can’t drink, smoke weed, or do any other kind of substance… Reason being, we will get a certain feeling from what we take, and immediately not be satisfied with it. It’s just a matter of time before we go and find our drug of choice. You’re either working towards recovery, or working towards your next relapse. Nothing in between.
- When living with an addict, and their sick and need money to feel better – do not enable them. Rehabs are easy to get into, so are detoxes. Unless it’s alcohol or benzos that they are addicted to, they cannot die from the withdrawals – even if it feels like they are. Or want to. No sympathizing. The cold, hard truth is way better than a cold, hard corpse.
- Just because we have a problem, doesn’t mean we’re scumbags living in a abandoned trailer letting our toddler run around with a diaper full of
shit, and letting them play with matches. I live in an upper middle-class neighborhood, have a car, a beautiful bedroom, and working towards my Nursing’s license.. The stereotypes on television kill me – Thank you, Breaking Bad.
Can you tell I have OCD? Always having lists – those little bullets are ADORBS. *dreamy smile while flipping hair*. Anyways, back to the Anti-Drug Warehouse… How lovely of a time I had.
Even getting to group on Saturday mornings is a fricking nightmare. Not only do I have to wake up at the crack of dawn, but I get to tip-toe around my little booger while he sleeps resisting the urge to scream and wake him up. If I’m up, you’re up, sucka. I get down to The Bunn, and pour my first cup of coffee which tastes like watered down
piss – thanks to someone not knowing how to make it properly. How hard is it to make jet fuel? Seriously, people. Get it together. Then, we wait for our cab (we as in J.Hubbs and I, he also comes with for groups) that comes 2 hours early due to group rides, and that in itself is a pain in the penis. It just so happens that this cab ride completely forgot about us, so we had to wake up Hubbs’ Mom, whom I like to call “Sandy” (In John Travolta’s voice, of course.)
When I actually stepped foot in the door and signed in, I was then ushered to the bathroom by a group leader with a mother effing surgical mask on! Why? Oh, because an idiot with a CONTAGIOUS viral infection – spread through touch and AIR?! (WTF – I hope I didn’t breathe, right?) came in and touched everything we touched (pen, sign in sheet, door handles – might as well have touched my
fucking pancreas at this point) then told everyone how sick he was and had to leave.
Blink. Blink. Kidding, right? Nope. Serious. Might I add, while I was washing my hands, I had to hold my breath due to someone blowing up the bathroom something fierce, which just added to the discomfort and panic. I could taste it. *shudder*
But after all that, the group was amazing… Not to mention I had a large man compliment my hair, saying I reminded him of a Mermaid. COMPLIMENT OF THE YEAR! Clam bra included? Yes, and surprisingly affordable.
This is what I learned in group…
My story creates my reality.
To live my life reading and repeating my stories undermines who I truly am, and what I can become. I am not my thoughts, not my stories, and I am not my experiences. I have a choice in every single moment to scrap the old story and start a new page…
If not a page, then at least a few paragraphs.
Absolutely beautiful, and true… Life is what you make it. ✌