My life the past years.

During my high school years, while this blog was started, I was struggling with several demons I kept hidden. Addiction overtook my life; I was using copious amounts of street drugs to self-medicate. I started using at the age of fourteen. Introduced to them during a physically and sexually abusive relationship with a man four years older than myself. Not only did the drugs keep me quiet during these encounters, but they also allowed me to escape from my history of domestic abuse from my biological father during my upbringing. I was raised to believe that a woman's worth was established by what men thought of them and how they were treated accordingly. Abuse was thought to be normal, let alone expected in my life. From broken ribs to empty words and promises to do better. "I'm sorry, you just made me so angry..." swarmed my head constantly. Evolving into changing myself consistently to fit the mold of a woman who wouldn't anger the beast to see its wrath. My personality was fading, becoming compulsively submissive to every comment. Flinching at any sudden movements, afraid of impact. These drugs allowed me to numb myself, erasing all memories, good or bad. Many crucial moments were lost in fried neuropathways; some I still mourn today while trying to recall my life. My addiction spiraled out of control by eighteen, using several kinds of pills and powders to keep myself afloat. Waking up having to not only fight the withdrawals but also keep the suicidal ideation at bay. It led to a gastro bleed where I tore the major vein in my stomach in twenty-twenty-one. Left all alone, covered in my own vomit. Vomiting up blood, painting my appearance and the apartment.  Barely able to maintain consciousness. The doctor looked at my frail body and told me that if I continued, it would be a death sentence. I wish I could say that was my wake-up call, but it wasn't. I moved out of California. Leaving my home broke my spirit, but I knew I had to leave to find myself. I stayed clean from drugs for one whole year but made the costly mistake to relapse on my anniversary. Saying how I couldn't imagine not feeling the synthetic high again. That euphoric bliss of not feeling emotions or any sadness within my heart. Until the comedown, of course. That carried on for a few months before the ultimate reality check. I overdosed on fentanyl, which was laced into the drugs I was using. I was craving so intensely I threw all caution out the window. Not testing my batch from a new supplier in a city where I knew no one. One line in a stranger's kitchen and my heart stopped. I was then narcaned, once put in the back of someone's car. To be thrown out at an emergency room like a piece of discarded trash. I was then narcaned again, with CPR being administered. My heart rate was brought back by the grace of those watching over me and medical intervention. An overdose at twenty-one wasn't the only price I paid that night. Once taken inside and receiving treatment, I was told I was pregnant. My world shattered into a million pieces. Not only was I a drug addict who almost died, but I was carrying a child during all of that. I started to think, How is that it. I'm going to change everything. This baby deserves more in this world than anyone. I always wanted to be a mother, have that family I never had. I began to bleed. Doctors told me the stress of the drug use and the events that occurred probably meant the baby wasn't viable. How could I have caused all this? I was just trying to survive the best I could. I had to undergo a DNC, a medical abortion. Feeling my child being ripped out of my body, with a mixture of blood and tears pooling on the cold, sterile floor. Nurses held my thrashing body down while my screams filled the surgical room. Shaking as it was finished, my child's blood smeared all over my legs and in between. I was then wheeled out into recovery, where I was monitored until I was released days later. From that day on, I've never touched another drug again. Not only did I almost give my life, but also the life of my child, whom I didn't know about until it was too late. I'll be four years sober this coming October. I've struggled with smoking and drinking since, but it's been over half a year since I quit all that. I'm finally going back to school in a few weeks. Reclaiming my life to who I was before that young girl, so full of life and love. Helping others whenever I can. I am so much more than a drug addict, a victim, and seeing myself as worthless. I'll love myself unconditionally while I continue to grow and heal my wounds one day at a time. If you ever need help, please call or seek it out. Life is too precious not to fight for. You are wanted, you are loved. Thank you for being here with me.

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