Face of an Addict

***I wrote this during the last week of December.***
I was sitting here trying to read and having a bit of difficulty concentrating. The reason being is that I have nothing to focus on. And without having something to focus on I begin to think. As I begin to think I begin to compare and I begin to remember.
I believe that my body, once I acknowledge that something is wrong, goes into free fall. Everything comes at me so hard and so fast, that I am unable to cope. Than I use the pills to stop it all from hurting. I am not excusing my behaviour I am trying so hard to understand why I do what I do. Why do I so desperately not want to feel that I am willing to risk my son, my life, my job with this addiction?
Three and a half years ago, the day before I went on short term disability I went into work as usual. My anxiety was at an all time high. I had taken half an ativan to help me relax. Once inside it continued. I was feeling so low. I was destroying myself. I was killing myself. What good was I to anyone. I took some Robax on top of the ativan. I began crying and could not stop. How the hell I got home without killing myself or someone else, I have no idea. The very next day I was told I needed to deal with my depression and to go see my doctor.
Let’s jump forward to December 23, 2017 and the only difference was the amount of Robax I took and there was no ativan in the mix. I wanted it to stop. I no longer wanted to do this to myself. I was still trying to cover up my addiction lying to my supervisor who found me even though I knew damn well that she knew I was. I have been lying to everyone for years. And this is really hard to face.
I am the face of an addict. I am not on the streets. I pay my bills. My rent. I feed my son and clothe him. I interact with others. I work. But an addict I be. I am unsure why I want to feel less? I keep looking for triggers and can find several of them, but each time the choice was mine. And every few days I would dump the bottle and I would have a stern chat with myself. That this could not go on, it had to stop.
I tried scare tactics. Such as, did I really want T waking up one morning and finding me dead? Was that what I wanted for my son? NO! Big and resounding. I do not want to be remembered as his drug addled mother. But even that was not enough to make me quit. And soon I would find myself going and buying more pills and consuming them. Pushing aside the lonliness that I was feeling because I felt I could not talk to anyone. That no one wants to hear my self pity. And I consumed more pills.
I keep pausing as I type this because this is really hard for me to process. Both times that I went on short term disability I behaved in the exact same manner.  Three and a half years apart. Only this time I was ready, I had had enough. And I took that helping hand that reached out to me and I grasped it like a life line. I have more retrospection to do. I have more that I need to digest. But for now, I need to rest, because these are hard truths that I am learning about myself.
I am an addict.
I will not allow my addiction to define me.
I will beat my addiction.
I will finally be the best me that I can be.
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