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[ Personal Narratives ]

On My Way To Rehab #3…What’s Blue and White And Wrecks Your Life?

Oxycodone is literally my best friend and worst enemy rolled into a little blue (sometimes white) pill. I wish I could say no one warned me before trying one, because they did. An avid cocaine addict, who was able to stop and start with minimal withdrawal, if any at all, I thought I knew better. Doesn’t every addict think they’re invincible? I remember my first dose like it was yesterday. I did half of one, got super hot, and threw up everywhere. Sounds like something I wouldn’t want to try again. Wrong. The second time, my body didn’t violently revolt and that was it. I was hooked.


The first few months, I had the typical nods and had to be real careful about using, because I couldn’t look like a dope head at work. Gradually though, the opposite effect took place. Felt more like a cocaine high than a downer. With pinned pupils I was able to get through my work day, which by the way I hate-hate-hate to admit to this, but I was in the field of childcare. Spending each day with the children either high on cocaine or oxycodone, and by the grace of God nothing bad happened while I was responsible for such precious souls. That’s the nature of addiction though, unable to see the kids deserved better than me, I kept on keeping on because I needed my paycheck to finance my drug habit.

I remember when I was sixteen and thought spending $20 a day for a bag of weed was ridiculous, unaware that was a drop in the bucket compared to the $600 a day I would eventually need to pay for painkillers. Ridiculous. If I stopped using for two days I would have had my rent paid.

If it’s one thing I got amazing at, it was finding money. The most creative people on this earth are dope heads needing to find money to use. I swear, I can’t name one thing—aside from selling myself—I didn’t try.


Eventually it caught up to me, a $20K theft charge. Sitting in that jail cell (which actually I shared with someone from rehab) I swore to myself I would never let myself fall victim to addiction again. After all, I quit cocaine cold turkey—same with every other drug I’ve tried—but opiates are different. Conniving little guys, those pills are. I’m not even sure what I like so much about them. I’ve seen them destroy people, and was on a crash course to self destruct, but they were still my best friend. Oxycodone is the devil on earth. They take you into the depths of hell and actually have you content with taking residency there.

“Everything that enchants also deceives” is a quote that was spoken to me in a meeting one day and it really hit home. Something so enjoyable and awful for you at the same time. I’ve done two stints in rehab and swore to myself that I could beat this, and still find myself missing my best friend. A complete love hate relationship. I love them, hate what they do to me, and everyone around me, but love them anyway. Like the crazy ex you can’t get away from, that’s the best thing I can relate it to. My dysfunctional relationship that I knew was wrong way before it was ended, and even after it was over, I found myself sad that it was. Even though I was miserable the whole time.

I remember in rehab we had to write down a list of things we lost because of our drug of choice and were asked to read it every time we thought of using. Among a few of those things were, sense of self, self esteem, self worth, family, friends, finances, stability, employment, employability (with a felony it’s real hard), etc. I read that list when I got out and somehow didn’t care. I figured because I already lost all of that why bother staying clean? Counterproductive exercise if you ask me. Made me feel more hopeless than ever. But there was my best friend to comfort me, what could go wrong?


So here we are, a few days away from my third stint in rehab, this time even longer than before. I know at this point I’m wasting no one’s time but my own, especially since I’m paying to be there. Not working the program hurts no one but me, but still I’m oh-so-skeptical, because my enticing best friend will still be a phone call away when I get out. I’ve been blessed, somehow with the most supportive boyfriend a girl could ask for. A recovering addict himself with a commendable amount of clean time, he gets me, my urges, and loves me despite this insane roller coaster I am on. Somehow, my mom’s still in my corner as well, even though I can’t count how many times I’ve stolen from her and helped her look for it.

I have two of the best gifts a girl could ask for at this point, and want so badly to get clean for them, but it doesn’t work when you do it for others. I wish to God I could just flip a switch and be selfish and do this for me but I find myself stuck unable to care about myself anymore. It’s almost that I enjoy being stuck, because the way out has been proven again and again and I choose to turn my head and go the other way every single day. That’s the nature of addiction, legit insanity. Knowing the right way, but continuing going the wrong direction.

To everyone struggling, I wish I could say I have this all figured out, and for a little while even I thought I did, but relapsing is so easy. Staying clean is hard. Probably the hardest thing I’ve ever attempted to do. But, I will never stop trying to save myself. I don’t care if it takes me 32 times in rehab, I will fight back until I have victory over this disease.

So here’s to my third trip to rehab in a year. Here’s to fighting back for what’s left of my sanity. Here’s to fighting the good fight. One day, I hope to be able to write about how I overcame this, but until then, just know I’m suffering with you. I don’t know much about this recovery deal, but I do know never be afraid to admit—to the world, at this point—that you’re struggling. There’s safety in numbers. Ask for help, and never stop fighting. Ever.