A Cocaine Addicts Morning Pt1

I remember the first time I did a line of cocaine. It was at a time where I felt like I needed something more in my life. Something was missing within my soul. My soul was lifeless. And I was dead, mentally and emotionally.

That first line was the best line. And I spent my every waking moment searching for that first line. Television and movies has put a certain look to a typical addict. Addicts are often portrayed as being dirty, beggar’s, homeless or psycho. Although some addicts are like that, I was nothing like that. None of my friends were like that, and none of my dealers were like that. I had a great paying job, a nice car, and a nice home. I was very well-kept and so were my children. They attended school every day and they were always dressed nicely. Their grades were always top-notch and I attended every teacher-parent conference.

Looking at me you would have never known I was an addict. Only my friends closest to me knew and they knew because they were addicts too. My family members never knew. I didn’t want them to know. Although I always felt that I being an addict was something that was expected of me. My family always expected the worst from me.

On the outside I was an extraordinary woman. However, on the inside I was severely damaged. I hated myself! And I wanted something to make me feel exceptional. Nothing compared to feeling that I felt when I was high. Many cocaine users describe this feeling as euphoric. Some feel a sense of supremacy. It was so much more too me. It was the key to my existence. All my happiness was chemically created. I felt untouchable, like I could do or be anything. There aren’t words in the dictionary to describe how it truly made me feel.

There was only one way I could start my day. Every morning was the same for me. I was always awake before anyone, even before the sun had fully risen. I would lie in bed and stare at the ceiling in a soporific manner. With over a million thoughts going on in my brain, I’d contemplate suicide. I didn’t want to die; I just wanted to be free from my own thoughts.

The thoughts I had were atrocious. I was my own worst enemy. No one hated me more than me! I felt I was unworthy to be loved, to be seen, to be alive. Why on earth did I feel so heinous about myself?

That’s all I knew. I was never shown anything different as a child. Love was shown through inappropriate touching and kissing. Hate was shown through the constant disregard of all the “love” I was receiving. I wasn’t worth a damn to others. So why should I give a damn about myself. But, the small part of me that was good and sane thought about my children. I love my children. They were the only great thing I had done with my life. If I died who would take care of them? I most certainly couldn’t allow them to be raised by the same people who raised me. I never want them to be “loved” how I was as a child.

So, I reach over to my nightstand and I open the drawer. I had this tiny heart box in my drawer. It was black and made of glass. There was a small crack on the side. When I first bought this box it was white, and the crack was already there. The store clerk gave me a discount because of the crack. I don’t know why I bought it, or why I was even in that store. Once I took it home I decided that I would make it my “drug holder.” Changing the color was a must because I associate the color white with purity. And I was far from pure. Black seemed to be an appropriate color.

I grabbed the box and I opened it. There lied my chemical key to my happiness. I set myself up a thin but long line of happiness. I grabbed my straw and as always I second guessed what I was about to do. That thought always seemed to pass fairly quickly. I take a deep breath and I inhale what I thought to be my gateway to a better day, a better life, a better me.

So I thought…..

If you know someone who is an addict or is going through the recovery journey please refer them to out support group called Nacaros Life Support. Please Like and share to your social media of choice.

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Originally published at nacaroinc.com on August 17, 2015.

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