Zoloft, coffee, graduation, and PTSD.

Not necessarily in that order, of course. I’ve been seeing my shrink for about a month now, and I’ve gotta say it’s made a HUGE impact on my life. One, my self esteem is quite a bit higher every time I see other nut jobs in the waiting room. Some talk to themselves, others stare off into some self made oblivion… While, it is probably not so bad since the facial expressions aren’t of horror, but a smile of sorts. Kind of like, a creepy Dahmer smile. Well… Hmm. Ok, actually I’m not sure how frightened they are, but I am now that I’ve had a second to recap on what it looked like… Yikes.

We all have our quirks. Our.problems. Some physical, some mental. These problems derive from my childhood, when others could be from war or something traumatic happening that we don’t really know about. Some even fake sickness to gain some ‘good’ anti-psychotics meds so they can be fucked up all the time without actually having a screw loose in the head. Which is totally unfair once you think about it.

Cheaters.

My father was like that, actually. One night he was all doped up on Oxycontin 80s, and while slumped in the corner of his room on the floor, confesses he’d lied to the same doctors I now go to. He would shake hands with the wall, and completely ignore everyone for days saying he didn’t know he was there – just to get some bipolar and schizophrenia meds.. His goal? Drooling on himself. Eating napkins for dinner, thinking it was rice. And he nailed that goal, ladies and gents.

“Dawn, this rice is amazingggggg… gargle, nom….” He’d slur.

“BOB, youre eating a fucking napkin!” Diva yelled, being completely exasperated in every aspect of being with this man.

Who could blame her? Not me. Not at all. Even though I basically raised this man (yes, he was my father), I still couldn’t wait to get away from him. His sickness was effecting me more than I knew, and I am the living proof of that today.

I was recently diagnosed with complex PTSD, which makes a ton of sense with my prolonged child abuse. It’s just crazy for me to write that, and have it be true. It is truly insane how much a parent can affect their child, and then, their adulthood. Who’da thunk it?

Never will I ever be able to get a pistol permit – so I won’t be able to be a badass WHEN the zombie apocalpyse hits. Not like there will be a police officer hunting people down to ask if they have a permit mid-shoot out, but weirder things have happened. Being on Zoloft also hinders my badass gun-wielding abilities as well, since anyone on it cannot get a permit either.. You know what, I really could care less about HAVING a gun, I just hate the fact that now I’m unable to get one if a certain type of air were to slip up my ass, just because I have a problem with authority. I.e. fuck you laws, how dare you tell me what I can or cannot have.

Prick.

Being on this anti-depressant, I am tired more than often, with a mix of super peppy. Like, one of those dogs with the droopy face that always looks exhausted, but can’t stop humping your leg or licking your face. I’m on that level. So, writing has been a bit difficult for me because I wake up, take my meds, and while being so stoked to sit down and write something for myself and you awesome people, I’m nearly drooling on myself a few minutes after my fingers have grazed the keyboard.

It’s rude as shit, really.

My remedy, like any rational human, is to suck down coffee like it’s my life force – which it kinda is now. That’s the only reason behind me actually getting this done today.. No complaints here, I guess.

On some more good news (ha), I graduated from The Anti-Drug Warehouse! Yes, I fucking did! With no problems, whatsoever. Not one dirty screen. No homicides, and surprisingly no suicidal tendencies.
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Although, during my 4 months absence from here, I had a warrant for my arrest again, but managed to square up with my amazing judge and was let go on the promise of graduating – which is now promise fulfilled. No, no – nothing huge happened, I just missed a court date like a douchebag and had a bench warrant. Still scared the dickens right out of me though, I’ll tell ya. Heart hammering and hands shaking while I stood up at that podium, praying he’d take pity on my mildly ridiculous woman-child self. Thank God he did, is all I’m saying. I do not look good in orange, yall. Not. One. Bit. In my case, Orange is NOT the new black. Nope.

Anyways, I’m super stoked, yet nervous. Now what? I’m thinking plenty of meetings, so I can continue on with my “The Anti-Drug Warehouse Woes”, because that was a huge part to this whole sobriety thing.. I definitely enjoy making fun of everything and everyone around me, so I wont be letting that go anytime soon. Not that meetings wouldn’t help me stay sober or anything, but the point being is I like writing about it, to let all you ‘normals’ get a glimpse into the horror/hell like world us addicts live in. Don’t get me wrong, it’s warm here and we have cookies, so it isn’t all that bad.

So, being on this anti-depressant seems to be working, and as an added bonus, I will never mistake a napkin for rice. Ever.

Expect more posts more frequently, because I’m back, and semi-awake.

 

 

 

 

 

After darkness, the light follows.

I am the poster child for procrastinating my life away. At 29, I’ve accomplished basically nothing besides my sobriety, and giving birth to an absolutely amazing little boy who has the world at his fingertips.

Regrets are huge in the addiction recovery lifestyle, causing most addicts to continue using – the weight of the guilt overpowering the will to become clean and start fresh.

Honestly, I do have some regrets (who the hell doesn’t?), but mostly I am grateful for where, and who I am now. If it wasn’t for my crazy, horrible past, I wouldn’t be the strong-minded woman that I am today. My struggles and past experiences are a part of me, no matter how shitty they were, no matter how hard I wish that they weren’t, they aren’t going anywhere. Personally, I find it’s better to embrace them then try to fight against something that cannot be changed.

At 17, I was in a tragic car accident which left 2 of my friends permanently disabled.. I had survivors guilt for a long time, since mentally, I was fine. Or so I thought. I’ve broken more bones than most. I’ve fallen off cliffs, I’ve been homeless, and I’ve been in more trouble with the law than any respectable mother should ever be. I’ve lost friends to overdoses, to freak accidents, and to suicide because of their addictions… It’s a wake-up call every single time.

The turning point of my pointless existence happened when I found God – not when I hit rock bottom. I had hit that years ago. Shit, I lived there for 6 years. For a long time I resented what happened in my life, and couldn’t follow someone who was supposed to be my ‘savior’, supposed to ‘shield me from evil’. Where was he when I needed him? THAT was the damn question that continuously went unanswered.

Until recently.

When I was in inpatient, I was withdrawing so horribly I couldn’t sleep, my arms and legs were restless, my skin crawling constantly, and I was so damn exhausted from the chase.

The chase of getting the money everyday to get what I needed, the chase of finding the drug, the chase of that initial feeling of carelessness that you experienced when you first started. I needed something else in my life. Something was definitely missing.

Something big.

I laid there thrashing, and looked over at the night stand and saw the Bible. In a last attempt to get some sort of sleep for sanity, I begged Him to take away the pain and to help me get some peace. Some fucking rest. I pleaded, I sobbed. I snotted. I have never felt so low and pathetic as I did that night.

Amazingly, a few moments later, I was fast asleep – dried tears stained my face, and when I woke, I was still gripping the Bible like it was the hand of God itself… If that’s not a sign I needed faith in my life, I don’t know what is.


Now, I wake up every morning with a new found sense of ambition. This inner light that I can literally feel with every breath I take..

It’s about damn time, because I’ve been in the dark for far too long; it is indeed my time to shine.

The worlds a rollercoaster, and I am not strapped in…

retro-rollercoaster

I’ve never been the one to wallow in my own shit. I usually wash myself right off, look to the brighter side of being covered in poo, or I remove myself from the situation. Recently I’ve been looking through ‘recovery’ posts and I can’t help but think “what the fuck, this is depressing as SHIT drivel.” Not saying I can write any better than anyone, please don’t take that the wrong way. What I’m saying is, is that being in recovery isn’t supposed to be sad… It’s an adventure. It’s just the beginning of the life you were meant to lead. Recovery, my friends, is a stepping-stone to greatness.

When stuck in a rut, I try different methods to try and get myself feeling like my actual SELF, which come on now, let’s be serious – I’m fucking awesome.. As is ice cream. WHICH, for example, is afuckenmazing. I love you, frozen treat of deliciousness. But when that goddess of a snack doesn’t hack it, I actually have to firmly plant my heels down to stop myself from jumping out of my own skin, fists bawled up in “Ill beat your ass” mode, and take action. Here’s a few that work for me:

Positive Self Talk –

  • “Ive got this shit, mang.”
  • “I’m human, we all make mistakes. But I make them 2 or 3 or 7 times just to make sure.”
  • “Even though I did ___, my ass still looks fantastic. Spankable, even.”
  • “I am as capable as anyone else out there – if they can do it, so can I. I am smart, confident, and capable. Not to mention really, really good-looking.”
  • I will give 100% today, and not fear things out of my control. God wouldn’t give me anything I cannot handle.”

Finding Everyday Pleasure –

  • Coffee or meal with a good bud, being out with friends and relaxing is something we all need – social interaction can help.
  • Rekindle a hobby. Remember making that ridiculous lop-sided sculpture in 3rd grade? Odds are you’re better at it now, so give it another try. Maybe even get a little “Ghost” action while doing so? That’s right, Patrick. Use those hands.
  • I, myself, love reading. Whether it be a crazy magazine, or fantasy novel, or even a blog post – it takes me to a different place. A place with no worries, or stress. It is my drug of choice, without a doubt.
  • Create a list of things you still wanna do in your life. Not so much a ‘bucketlist’, per say, but more of a Wish List… And get to making that happen. Get a jar, label it, and when you have a extra few bucks slide some of that hard-earned cash in it… It’ll be full before you know it. 💸
  • I don’t know about you, but I can never be satisfied without learning something. I recently signed back up for classes at my local college and I am ready to crack open those books! Like I said, it distracts you and distraction is good.

Distraction is what keeps me going, because boredom = relapse. Now, I am not going to sit here and say that life is a bunch o’ peaches, because we all know it’s not. I’m not going to be that FB friend that says “Oh em gee, Maria pooped on the potty today and then told me the meaning of pi!”

Bitch, please. We all know ‘little pants shitter’ is nowhere near poopin’ on the throne, let alone telling everyone that pi = 3.1415926535. (Yep, I googled that.) We know you IRL, sweetie. So, let’s keep it real.

I have been depressed – many times in my life. I know how it feels to be in bed, and have absolutely no desire to get my lazy butt out of it. It’s torture. Its a feeling that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.. You feel worthless, useless, and not to mention, you feel like life is spiraling out of control and you have ZERO control over it.

It hurts. Physically, and mentally. But the way I see it, there’s a very bright light at the end of this tunnel… Pain makes us appreciate joy. If you weren’t going through Hell, when you arrive in Heaven would you cherish it as much as you would if not?

I sincerely doubt that. So, endure the pain. Feel it. Take all of it in… But, if you find yourself slipping deeper into the darkness, remember this.

twodogsfighting

Let’s reclaim our lives. Empower ourselves. Whether it be eating disorders, self-mutilation, or being addicted to a substance – we do not have to sit back and take it. However, we do have to accept it and DO something about it. Otherwise we are just repeating the same story – the same horrible, sad ending. You have a choice. We all have a choice. Now, what you do after that is how your story ends. Personally, mines going to say ‘and she lived, happily ever after’. What’s yours gonna say?