Aside from a post on Instagram I've kept my past addiction issues private on the internet, for fear of my family seeing them. In the past couple of days I realized that not only are they very unlikely to see it given that no one really reads my blog, I also have limited interest in my mother's opinion of me since her recent anorexia relapse.
I first took drugs when I was 17, starting with a line of ketamine at a house party my boyfriend was dj-ing at. It wasn't awful, it wasn't amazing, but it started what can only be described as my love of sticking things up my nose. After that my use of ketamine increased and I found myself drowning in k-holes, getting friends to pick up for me before nights out and passing out in public bathrooms after snorting an entire line in one sitting.
After dabbling in ketamine for a couple of years a friend of mine gave me a line of cocaine and, to be honest, I was pretty indifferent to it. Yes it got me high, but it wasn't as amazing of an experience as I thought it would be. I could take it or leave it.
The next time was different.
Snorting another line at a club in my home town, the part of my brain affected by cocaine caught fire. It was the best thing I'd ever felt and I'd soon find myself progressing to full blown drug use.
In comparison to the highs of my addiction, my initial use didn't seem that bad when in reality I was already in deep. My drug use escalated quickly and I would have to go home from college to sneak a line in between classes and found myself stealing from my brother to buy drugs. I was already in too deep.
Even when I had no access to cocaine I still needed to get high, returning to ketamine and dabbling in MDMA. A brief dalliance with speed soon followed, and was further exacerbated by my eating disorder and all-consuming need to be thin. I saw speed as a gateway to emaciation, and I researched the possibilities for hours on end. Soon however, I returned to my drug of choice.
They talk about hitting "rock bottom" in addiction and a brief arrest for possession of cocaine could have thrown me to the ground. One "intervention" from my parents could have opened my eyes to the path that I was taking, but instead I left the restaurant they had taken me too and went straight to my dealer. Despite the youth of my addiction, I was already too far gone.
Although I still returned to ketamine, MDMA and speed when I had no access to my drug of choice, cocaine was all I cared about.
I first attempted to stop using at university, addiction cursing through my body after only a few months. Thing is, misery loves company, and I soon found people with similar histories of drug use and we fell into patterns of helping each other get high. I had yet to be diagnosed with my condition at this time and used cocaine to feel happy, to feel content, to feel anything at all. I remember finding myself lying on the floor after a particularly long binge, only to sit up and do another line. Picking crumbs of my euphoria off of the floor, I could see that drugs were taking over my life, I just couldn't see that I had a problem.
However, after years of juggling drug dealers, meeting fellow users with the ability to put down the rolled notes in their hands and spending every penny I had on getting high, nothing could prepare me for how bad my drug use would get after I was raped.
But that's a story for another day.
Stay safe on the road
Jess
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