Confessions of a Crack Head

Confessions. That's such a funny concept. Even in a confession is there truth? For most people it is really hard to admit to anything fully. Then again I've known more than my fair share of narcissists so my faith in humanity isn't strong. I have a whole list of confessions I'd like to release. Real confession. Soul cleansing, scar opening, honesty. So, here starts what I hope to be a series of works. I hope you all can enjoy my transparency. I'm hiding behind the keyboard for sure. There are just so many things I've not said. This is the perfect opportunity.

I'm winging it guys, as is my style. It's how I write. I sit down with an idea and start telling a story. It's never been professional at all, but lately I'm being called to create and writing just seems to fit. It comes naturally. I'm flattered when people reply to my emails telling me how poetic my words were that day. Then I remember I can barely put together a sentence out loud. So great. I can form a solid opinion or input in my head, it just gets lost on the way to expression. I sound like a fucking idiot. That said:

I did a lot of what seems to be permanent brain damage through hard drug use. The longer I go without drugs the clearer it becomes that I can no longer function properly. The last time I had my drug of choice was June 2021. I haven't touched meth since December 2019, I took a percocet that I wasn't prescribed in September 2022 and counted it against my clean time. but let me say that percocet was necessary for the physical pain I'm left with from my years running at full throttle.

I've had a chest infection for 3 years. Duh, I smoked cocaine and crystal meth for weeks at a time. I spent weeks binging, days coming down, days leveling out, then the reality of the depression. The shame of being an addict, the physical pain of needing more. I'm free now, but then, then was a Hell I can't put into words. I could stay clean for months then relapse and lose everything all over again. I was addicted to more than just smoking it. I was addicted to the process of working up an interveneous hit. The process of dissolving it, loading the syringe, finding the vein, the blood return the plunger moving that whole 5 second wait for the ride of a lifetime. Never knowing it if was too much. The goal was to be as high as possible without dying. That line that addicts dance is so fine, too many don't make it out, but there's no fear. Only curiosity. What would it be like?

My lungs are just the beginning. I can't seem to handle any level of cardio exercise. I cant carry more than 10lbs without collapsing. I've lost my ability to memorize anything or develop ideas. My hands, feet, arms are all twitchy, numb and painful from desperately trying to find a vein to inject cocaine. I needed it, that rush. The "ring". The freight train rolling through my whole being like I stood inside a huge bell tower just under the bell and let the vibration envelop every part of me. Orgasmic. There are no words to really say how good that feels. Then the come down, leveling out and depression. The "I'll never do that again" that fades within a few hours or the next time the opportunity to use arises.

I already have depression and ptsd (comes with a dissociative disorder and extreme anxiety). I survived a lot as a young child that took it's toll later on in life. Abusing stimulants drains the ability of the brain to supply dopamine and serotonin. On top of already severe MDD (major depressive disorder) and dissociative panic attacks I lost all sense of reality. I was convinced that the best thing I could do as a mother would be to kill myself. I could just go get some dope, I'd seen enough heroine overdoses and I knew enough opiate addicts to know you just fall asleep. Just work up a hit you know is way too much and push the plunger. It's that easy. No one would even know I did it on purpose. I was just a junkie anyway and my boy was too young to know anything. Thank the Gods for my husband and his love for me. My son's love was validation of my insanity. "He deserves more than me" "Without me he'll be with family who have money" "All I can provide is this motel and half of my attention"... Then the thought that saved my life. The idea that changed it all...

"You can't be a good mother and a crack head, you have to pick"