Monsters in the Closet: How Drug Addiction Took Over My Life

I was the girl no one ever expected. A tiny boring girl who always smiled and laughed, but always kept herself apart. I didn’t go out. I didn’t hang out. I did not deal with the usual problems of adolescence. Even when I ran away at night, I had to go to Sonic or McDonald’s. I was bored, but addiction doesn’t care about boredom. He doesn’t care about your personality, your friends, or you.

The fact is that I knew about addiction even before I started using it. Both of my parents were drug addicts, and I watched my family break down over and over again. I watched the need for drugs take over their need for food, to have power in the house, to spend any time with me. Since I was 10, I have watched my parents become different people. In the end, I got angry.

I was angry at the drugs that turned my parents into these creatures I didn’t know. I was angry that my parents would rather spend money on drugs than feed me and my brothers. It angered me that by the time I was 15, I was already so traumatized that even now I have nightmares. My anxiety and depression skyrocketed. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. My grades in school dropped. I just wanted to know: why?

What made this drug so good that it cost my family apart? What made him so amazing that they always chose methamphetamine when choosing between me and methamphetamine? I tried to get these thoughts out of my head, but they kept coming back, invading my brain to the point that no matter what I did, I couldn’t get rid of the question. Why? Why? Why?! I should have known. I had to try it at least once, just to figure out what exactly is so fantastic about this substance.

And so I did. And everything stopped.

Depression. Anxiety. Feeling like I can never be good enough. Everything is lost. My mind rushed, then slowed, then rushed and faded. Do I feel normal or do I feel at all? My adrenaline pumped up. I had to go. Do something. So I cleaned the house 8 hours before leaving for school.

I didn’t sleep for two days, and when I crashed, I slept for almost 20 hours. At least I get it now. The worst part was that I wanted more.

I quickly developed and became a regular user. I didn’t need to sleep. I didn’t need food. All I needed was a drug that I saw was destroying my parents. I watched him destroy me, but I didn’t care. This stopped the pain, at least for a while.

Before dropping out, I was admitted to the hospital with severe malnutrition and severe infection, weighing 65 pounds. Withdrawals were terrible, but I don’t remember much except for about three months. You see, they don’t tell you that you are a regular user, they are that after a while it redirects your brain. So now I sometimes hear and see what is not. I have incredible paranoia, and after I quit, my depression and anxiety increased tenfold.

The physical pain was much worse. Broken bones, broken ribs, and a host of illnesses before and after I quit smoking gave me the bone and muscle structure of a person around the age of 40, not around the age of 20.

I have been clean for over two years now and never plan to return. God, does the craving ever stop?



Source by Amanda Batson

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