It’s no secret that my 20’s were… Well, we’ll call them
adventurous. Drug addiction, homelessness, abusive relationships… Not to
mention surviving multiple rapes and attempts at suicide.
And then I looked around and realized if I didn’t turn my life around, no one else would. I got sober on my own, started therapy, and chose a career helping the women of my community. I met my husband at the lowest time in my life and he has been my rock through all of it. I finally went back to college. I volunteered at an alcohol and drug rehabilitation center for women with children. My life was wonderful.
When I got sick last year, I was shaken but not broken. I could get through this. I had A Plan: find a neurosurgeon, have the decompression surgery I need to get my life back, spend six months to a year in recovery. My life after surgery would go on as before.
Then, doctor after doctor began rejecting me. Treating me like I was an imbecile, less than a person. Rejecting me because of my weight, because my herniation wasn’t big enough, because they didn’t believe the Chiari was my problem (but wouldn’t tell me what they believed these crippling symptoms were).
It’s been over a year since my diagnosis and my hope is gone. The Great Plan has failed. The depression I battled all my life and thought I’d overcome has come back with a vengeance. I constantly feel as though there’s a vice around my chest getting tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t make the smallest decision.
This September on my birthday marks the eleventh year of my sobriety. Getting sober was hard but after a couple of years, things got easier until getting high was the last thing on my mind. After everything I’ve been though this last year…
….I don’t want to be sober anymore.
I don’t see the point. I don’t want to constantly think about the horror of being me, being sick, being in pain. I don’t want to remember all the things I’ve lost, things I may never get back. I don’t want to look into the future and see misery, loneliness, and pain pain pain. At least with drugs I can forget, dull that pain. The craving to let go and self-medicate is overwhelming. It’s all I can think about sometimes.
And if it shortens my life span, well, I’ve got nothing good going at the moment. Maybe I’ll never do anything good ever again. I can’t even take care of myself, how will I ever get through the stress of being my own advocate. I can’t handle researching my options, finding a doctor, being rejected, and starting over again. And again. And again…
It’s enough to drive a girl back to insobriety.
And then I looked around and realized if I didn’t turn my life around, no one else would. I got sober on my own, started therapy, and chose a career helping the women of my community. I met my husband at the lowest time in my life and he has been my rock through all of it. I finally went back to college. I volunteered at an alcohol and drug rehabilitation center for women with children. My life was wonderful.
When I got sick last year, I was shaken but not broken. I could get through this. I had A Plan: find a neurosurgeon, have the decompression surgery I need to get my life back, spend six months to a year in recovery. My life after surgery would go on as before.
Then, doctor after doctor began rejecting me. Treating me like I was an imbecile, less than a person. Rejecting me because of my weight, because my herniation wasn’t big enough, because they didn’t believe the Chiari was my problem (but wouldn’t tell me what they believed these crippling symptoms were).
It’s been over a year since my diagnosis and my hope is gone. The Great Plan has failed. The depression I battled all my life and thought I’d overcome has come back with a vengeance. I constantly feel as though there’s a vice around my chest getting tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t make the smallest decision.
This September on my birthday marks the eleventh year of my sobriety. Getting sober was hard but after a couple of years, things got easier until getting high was the last thing on my mind. After everything I’ve been though this last year…
….I don’t want to be sober anymore.
I don’t see the point. I don’t want to constantly think about the horror of being me, being sick, being in pain. I don’t want to remember all the things I’ve lost, things I may never get back. I don’t want to look into the future and see misery, loneliness, and pain pain pain. At least with drugs I can forget, dull that pain. The craving to let go and self-medicate is overwhelming. It’s all I can think about sometimes.
And if it shortens my life span, well, I’ve got nothing good going at the moment. Maybe I’ll never do anything good ever again. I can’t even take care of myself, how will I ever get through the stress of being my own advocate. I can’t handle researching my options, finding a doctor, being rejected, and starting over again. And again. And again…
It’s enough to drive a girl back to insobriety.