Never Underestimate the Power of Intoxication.
For starters I think its important to tell you what kind of environment I grew up in.
My dad works at an embassy, Ive gone to private schools all my life. The expectations were always high,but most of the pressure for grades,looks,friends and my entire life to be perfect (from the outside,at least) was created by myself.
Since I was 12 Ive been struggling with a mix of anorexia and bulimia (and Ive also been underweight since then). After 5 years we moved to Morocco, where,for some reason, my parents randomly decided to put me in a clinic.
I only did it cause I wanted to live in the only place Ive felt at home: Berlin. (due to my dads work we had to move every couple years and I spent all my life abroad, outside of Europe).
The 3 months in the clinic didnt help. They only helped me develop a love for weed (harmless right? no.)
I began smoking it compulsively. You gotta be a special kind of person to develop an addiction for WEED.
But thats was gonna be the very least of my problems.
I met the wrong people through a friend and began going to this place where people built their own houses and huts and there was a fire every night and you could live there whoever you were and basically I began spending all my time with homeless people amongst a bunch of huts and hanging out with dealers.
It took a while, of course, until I fell in love with just sitting in a broken hut all day consuming and consuming (Ecstasy and MDMa usually, I smoked weed all day every single day anyway so that was absolutely standard). And of course I tried amphetamine.
There have been times I considered prostitution. Legitimately.
There have been times I performed minor sexual acts just to get drugs.
I was consuming lines of MDMA and taking ecstasy pills, while smoking a joint after a line of meth and speed mixed.
On occasion, when I got my hand on it, I got ketamine,morphine,codeine and cocaine to make things at least a bit more interesting (at that point, a couple grams of weed and at LEAST 3 grams of speed by MYSELF was completely normal).
Im 1.6m and I weight 45kg (at that point,though,it was somewhat less,due to my eating disorder my weight was always fairly low,and it became even lower)
It was normal that I couldn't remember a thing I did for the past week or even weeks.
It scared me.
I have an insecure nature, and I began to hear voices, see people.
Hallucinations became permanent, so frequent that I became so used to them I would just ignore those eyeballs starring at me from a crack or the man standing right behind me at all times, or the poeple talking bad tihngs about me. They were always there.
I began picking my skin, of course, convinced there was dirt (not bugs, I dont know why but I was always aware they were not bugs) from underneath my skin. Sometimes i used scissors or a pait of tweezers to rip large pieces of skin off.
And the worst part is, I did all of this on my face.
The wounds became infected,of course, and I became hospitalized, where I was put into forced recovery.
The second I got out I went right back to my old habbits.
Overall I overdoes 8 times, each time a hospital stay.
My dad was stationed in Morocco all that time and my mom was alone with me.
She knew my behavior wasnt normal but you cant physically force your daughter to come home on time or not leave the house or whatnot.
However, her threat to kick me out of the house was that one thing she tried to make me stop.
Long story short, I met a punk who I fell in love with and quit school.
I didnt care about any of the poeple I was ever with. I just wanted the drugs (which I got in unlimited amounts and for free from my dealer friends).
Every day I was getting up (telling my mom I was going to school) and going to that place.
I took the first ecstasy pill of the day at 6am. No joke. (fun fact: when you take ecstasy every single day, you DO develop a tolerance. At least it felt like that to me)
The pill was followed by a fat speed shotgun and, most obviously, joint after joint after joint.
In between that, I basically spent my entire days running around form hut to hut, getting drugs from people and just consuming and consuming.
It was like we had our own city,
a big playgorund for where adults can do anything they want from running around naked to having sex with underage girls to beating each other just for fun to setting peoples huts on fire. (another fun fact: several "men" living in that place claimed they fell in love with me,and upon me not returning their "love" tried to kill me by locking me in a hut and wanting to set it on fire. I smelled the gasoline. I had to clime through a window one of them had smashed before, glass and all scraping off skin all over my body.)
After months of skipping school and lying and stealing my mom threatened to kick me out again, so I left.
Thankfully, the place (with all the huts and houses) was closed down, I met a guy that pulled me out of that place. He is my current boyfriend. We met because he was homeless, just like me at the time.
He had been brought to the place with the huts (we called it the "tent place") and seen me before, apparently he had fallen in love with me at first sight and watching me getting deeper and deeper into addiction.
Since then I have relapsed, many times, but the past months have been a success. Ive stuck to just smoking weed and on occasion take some ecstasy or MDMA (but honestly, when people offer it to me now all I can think about is the way I will feel coming down and the craving immediately disappears).
Basically,I went from private school living in a villa to an abandoned school building, sleeping on a pile of dirty clothes (cause we had no bed or anything like that) with a bunch on punks.I could write you a fucking book on all of this, but Ill spare you the long and exhausting read and just get to the main reason I even began writing this:
To this day I have craving every single day, sometimes more and sometimes less.
But when i think about the overdoses, my psychotic fits (that went on for days or literally weeks, I mean looked and acted like the stuff was meth), the huge infected wounds on my hands, arms,face...The scars will stay forever. The audial and visual hallucinations (that went on for MONTHS after being clean, no joke) and the permanent paranoia, not to mention a panic attacks every morning before my first hit. I began changing into this bundle of shaking bones.
I was lucky enough to have a boyfriend that sat through all the cold turkeys with me, that brought me back to my mother when my entire face was covered with infected scabs and I hadnt eaten for days so that I was literally too weak to even walk).
He saved my life.
Im happy to say that I have restored the relationship with my mom and my family, and my boyfriend and I were thankfully allowed to live with her,as a temporary solution.
I think that I never deserved her unconditional love. I never deserved her taking me back and helping me, yet she did,and I will forever be thankful every single day for the rest of my life.
This stuff brings so much uneeded pain, nobody deserves to feel that way,ever.
I do not wish this experience upon my worst enemies.
(on a side note: after this addiction, the whole expression of your eyes changes. They look miserable, tortured,just...the amount of pain you will see in the eyes of someone addicted or who was addicted recently...Ive met countless people that I knew had the same problems before they even told me just by the expression of their eyes...)
Honestly said, Ive been also struggling with depression since I was 12 (Im 19 now btw) and I can only say, I have no idea how, but Im happy Im still alive.
I dont know how Im still alive.
If a junky asks you how you are still alive after seeing the sheer amount of drugs you are able to shove into your body, you know something is wrong. (Im not proud or bragging: I just want to underline the fact that the amounts of that stuff I could consume...)
If you would have given me 10g I would have taken it. All of it. Even if I knew I could have died.
The craving for drugs, methamphetamine and amphetamine in particular, with stay till the day I die.
It never goes away,not even for a single day.
Below is a picture of me now. You can still see some of the scars. I never thought of myself as being attractive, and ripping large pieces of skin out of my face didnt exactly help.
Im sorry this post was rushed.