Self Abuse

I am powerless over any kind of stimulant, and if taken in any form, my life will become unmanageable. I have known this to some degree, since I was 15 years old, so why would the first step be hard for me? Because, I did not understand why. I did not know I was an addict. I did not know you could get addicted to speed. I thought you had to stay high all the time, before you could get addicted to a drug, and speed was a drug you couldn't do all the time. You had to come down, and let your body rest.

I was 13 when I first started doing speed. I started with the usual black market caffeine pills, and quickly advanced to crystal meth. I think I was still 13 the first time I did "crank" [as we called it] intravenously. At the age of 15, I got strung out. I didn't know what "strung out" meant. A friend explained it to me in this way: "You can't get high for a couple of months. You have to let your body rest, or you won't get the rush anymore." She made it sound simple enough, but I couldn't imagine going two whole months without speed. Towards the end of the two months, I tried to commit suicide, and my parents had me hospitalized. I never connected the suicide attempt with the drugs, because I had been off of them for 2 months. All the anti drug movies shown to us in school made withdrawal look like something that could kill you, and I never went through anything like that. In the hospital, I was treated for depression. I was told I had a chemical imbalance that seem to run in the family, and put on antidepressants. Drug addiction was never discussed, so when I left the hospital, I knew that I could not do drugs anymore, but I believed it was because I had a chemical imbalance, and the drugs would make my depression worse. I struggled with the addiction for 3 more years, before I finally decided that this was not how I wanted to live my life, left the people that I was getting it from, and never went back. Still, I did not know that speed was addicting, or that I was an addict.

Later, in my twenties, I learned that speed was in fact addicting, but still didn't see myself as an addict. In my thirties, a therapist told me that I was an untreated addict, and would benefit from working the 12 steps. It seemed ridiculous to me at the time. How could I admit that I'm powerless over something I had quit when I was 18 years old? I obviously had enough power to quit. Since then, I began to notice that any kind of stimulant, even chocolate or decongestants, had the same effect as the speed. I could never get enough, my life would become very obviously unmanageable, and my depression would soar out of control. So, I am powerless, in that I can never do any kind of stimulant ever again.

I can't remember the last time I have had any stimulants, so I wondered how it was that I have been able to quit successfully. Is it because, unknowingly, I began working the the 12 steps in my own way back when I was 15, when I first admitted that speed was a problem, even though I didn't know why? Not long after quitting, I began to study the Bible with Jehovah's Witnesses. I also began to look into many other religions as well. I think that without the drugs, I must have instinctively began looking for a higher power. It was at that time, in my early twenties, that I came to believe there was definitely a higher power that could restore my sanity. I just didn't know why my sanity needed restoring.

I thought I was turning my life over to Him back then, but I realize now that I have never been successful with the third step. My therapy now is helping me to realize, that even though I know God is loving and forgiving, it's hard for me to see Him that way, when my picture of a father figure is demanding and controlling. I also have trouble with asking for forgiveness, when I've been unable to forgive myself, and thus feel unworthy of it. So, I've been working on forgiving myself, seeing myself as worthy of forgiveness, and letting go of the anger at myself for being so weak.

About a month ago, I began writing a book about my life, in an attempt to let go of the past. I have written about the first 15 years of my life. While writing it, memories of anger, that I had long forgotten about, came back to me. Anger that my body has been hanging onto, even though I had forgotten. It stirred up a hornet's nest of pain in my joints. I stopped writing, because I thought it was making my rheumatoid arthritis [RA] worse, but then I realized it wasn't the writing. It was because, for the first time, I started to see myself as an angry person. I had always seen myself as depressed, not angry, but depression is anger turned inward. This is how I learned that I need to be working on forgiving myself. Anger is a form of fear, so to forgive myself, I need to face the fears.

The past few days, I've been trying to face one of these fears, failure. I have failed for the past 3 years to get my mom's and my taxes done. I don't have the money to pay them, but I was determined to get them filed, and work out a payment plan. This has not been an easy step for me, because I've been so angry at myself for being so stupid about this, and this anger has literally frozen me in my tracks every time I try to do something about it. Not yesterday. I made up my mind, gathered my files, drove around town in search of free help, and waited in line for an hour. I was the last person they would take. They turned everyone else away. I sat down in front of the smiling elderly gentleman, pulled out my files, and couldn't find my 1099. Not only that, I couldn't find anything for my mom on 2007. I just started crying. I felt like such a fool. I apologized for wasting his time, and rushed out of there before I started bawling. I searched for these forms when I got home, but with no luck. I spent the rest of the day in bed. Skipped yoga. Didn't eat. Just cried and slept. Didn't eat this morning, either, which is not good for hypoglycemia. Didn't get out of bed until 10:30. A friend of mine came by to take me to lunch. I didn't want to go. I just can't seem to make myself eat when I get this depressed. She talked me into going by mentioning queso and Margaritas. The two worst things for me at the moment, cheese and alcohol [I think I mentioned before that dairy affects my RA]. I will really be hurting tomorrow. I failed again, and instead of turning to God for help, I beat myself up. I know He's been there guiding me, even though I don't ask for help. I think I really need to work on the third step.