Two years lost: A Journey through Addiction and Recovery

Two years lost.

No really. For two years of my life I have no memories. I'm no longer comfortable in my own skin. Or I guess I should say skeleton. Doctors took a year and change to figure out the problems. Surgery was a quick fix and gave me a shelf life of 10 years before I'd need another one. That timer's almost up. Only a few more years left, but really did it help at all?

Pieces of my spine broke off and had to be removed. That's the short end of it. The medication I was on to function stole two years from my mind. Throughout the years I've had to fall back on them to be able to move.

My pain is indescribable sometimes. Most days I manage to just suffer through, blindly shuffling. But sometimes I can't. When the pain is so bad I spend weeks in bed just trying to find a position that doesn't send shocks of fury through my hips and legs, I have to bend to the will of the medicine.

My friends and family have to force me to take it. I don't trust myself on it anymore. One doctor told me I could take narcotics for the rest of my life and be fine. I believed him and was hooked. Addicted to the feeling they gave me. The feeling of how I used to be. Happy. Functional. No pain.

At first I didn't realize that they were actually stealing my life. Taking time from me. Sneaking it off when I wasn't looking. I loved them. I thought they loved me back. My first set of withdrawals took months to over come.

I try and limit myself to only a week of use if I have to take them. But sometimes the pain wins out and I don't have a choice. I'm not talking about, owwie I hurt myself. I'm not talking, fuck I closed my finger in the door. I'm talking about a white hot burning that shoots through my body and forces me to convulse as I'm trying to stop the tears from streaming and I'm begging for someone to stop it.

I have kidney stones too. Those have been likened to childbirth. My back pain is worse. Now this has come up because I am once again detoxing from the pills that stop my pain. Problem is, the pain is still there this time. I started detoxing because I could feel the build up. The wanting to take another pill was over reaching the need for one. My body was craving and throwing temper tantrums when I refused to comply.

My depression has been yo-yoing like an out of control roller coaster. Narcotics affect it almost more than my hormones ever could. Time creeps by as I sit and wait a minute, stretching to an hour, as I watch time go in slow motion to my next pill. But the real bitch is after I've taken it and it speeds to double time, its greedy hands grabbing for my precious seconds of relief, pain free, bliss. My few hours of delighted freedom speed by in the blink of an eye and it's as if they were mere seconds.

My body betrays me, shivering under mounds of blankets. In an instant I'm too hot and can't breathe. I snap at everyone. I hide away in anger and self pity as I wait for my time to swallow down another few moments of peace.

I'll make it through the withdrawals if I stay away from everyone and take my misery out on myself. But I don't do that. I can't. It's as if my blurred mind enjoys drawing others into my self torture, and needs to let them see how bad I am. How shaken I am. How I'm sick to my stomach and ache all over. Is this real pain I'm feeling or are the narcotics wanting another hit and forcing me to be wracked with tremors so I'll give in?

I can't give in. To anyone out there. I get it. I fucking understand. I actually have to take the pills. The feelings that dance through my brain are euphoric. I feel like I become all I was meant to be. But the fall...this fall, these unending-withdrawals aren't worth it. So why don't I just keep taking the pills?

That's even worse. That isn't the real me. I think it is when the meds are working but I turn into a vengeful and hate-filled bitch when they stop. And that really isn't me. So I have to go through the withdrawals. Either stepping down or stopping in an instant.

They're the worst. But it's better than the two years of thoughts I lost. The two years of dreams I can't remember. It isn't even left in my mind as vapors. It's just a black mass that covers my early 20's.

So I'm laying here in bed. Down to one pill a day. Waiting to stop. Because I can't take these meds anymore. I just can't. I can't keep watching life pass me as I live four hours at a time. Watching as everything grows and I wither, stuck in place and forgotten by time. My memories just falling to the wayside of what I used to be.