Need anyone’s help

This is a very important post. I have been detoxing for nearly a year and have yet to actually speak face to face with someone that has detoxed from methadone. This cannot be good news. If this isn’t evidence that something is very wrong I do not know what is.

There is also something very wrong with a (methadone) clinic that rapes a person of their riches and many times eventually their life; all this while offering no program for escape. Please do not tell me of the few clinics that do because I believe they are just that- few. I have a problem with even those few too, because of the nature of the drug they push.

For many hooked on opiates including me, the clinic is a welcome respite from the street drug dealers we are used to interacting with. The clinical settings and all the perfectly crafted words combined with our desire to keep using lulls us into a feeling of security. That would be fine if the drug didn’t quietly take every other piece of you that the drug dealers left behind.

Silently at first, this drug weaves its way into every part of your being. It entangles then squeezes out everything down to the calcium in your bone marrow. I know because there is a permanent layer of calcium coating my toilet bowl. I have pictures, and I am not alone. Most just don’t realize or don’t want to realize what it is. If you survive, there will be a time you will realize what methadone did to you.

If you are on methadone, there will come a day when you will feel it woven around your neck. You will struggle because it will be uncomfortable, and sadly many will be choked to death. If you are one that begins the process of un-weaving, it will be a very slow and painful process. It is done one string at a time and every one is painful when pulled. It still can be done, and then you will think of want to do next.

I have come to believe life can be viewed hypothetically as a big scale. Rights and wrongs are on either side, and I believe we cannot be right until the rights outweigh the wrongs. Many of us dealt drugs to support our habit amongst other things, and some things worse than dealing. Many of the wrongs were done to ourselves, but wrongs they still are.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I know better than anyone that I never want to sit around a room and rehash my past over and over. That’s not what I’m saying. I mean helping others with the terribly painful process of pulling methadone strings. This is an awful experience and I believe it is our responsibility to help others never go through it alone.

It’s our responsibility because we need to balance the scales. I believe the clinics know this and that is why they have flooded the internet with so much pro-methadone bullshit. I know there are those out there that have quit, but finding them is the issue.

It can be done, but the methadone clinics will be damned if they facilitate a connection between us. That is why we must do it. We have to band together and pull people from the methadone clinic lines one by one. Then they start pulling their own strings.

I believe methadone is an evil in our society that we all must band together to rid. I know because I’m living it and there is nothing natural about it down to its manufacture. It is a synthetic opiate.

Methadone is man made by the worst in humans- the Nazis. Don’t believe me, look it up. It was name Dolophine after Adolf Hitler. If that isn’t enough proof for you, get addicted and see from where this evil comes. When it is choking the life from you, you will know.

One day I hope we can all look around and see many people we have helped regain all their senses. We were given these senses for a reason, and it wasn’t for them to be snuffed. After all, I believe we all deserve to smell the rain.

Dad-one special Dad

Towards the beginning of this blog, I wrote a post named “Dad-one weird dude”. It is truly amazing to see the difference in my perception with a little truth injection. I am the type of person, as I’m sure I’ve written, that must find these truths on my own. I listen to very little and believe less; unless I come to believe it on my own.

I have believed for many years that the barrier between my father and I was the result of the strange punishments he dealt to me when I was younger. I know that now to be completely false. My Dad is a great man that tried hard for many years to raise me in some terrible situations. He fed me in small portions at times to make sure I had dinner to eat the next day, but that’s not all.

My Mom had some serious issues and was in general a very sneaky person in my early childhood. My Dad couldn’t have known about all the sneaky things she was doing because she made sure I never spoke of them. Some of the things were so bad that I am positive I was directed not to tell. How could I have grown up with confidence in my Dad if I couldn’t speak to him about my terrors?

I know for certain those barriers were placed there for my Mom to hide who she was. The unfortunate result is that my Dad and I have rarely had any conversations based in truth. If I have learned one thing throughout this whole process, it is the fact that I am now sure my Dad loved me. Sad that we never had a chance back then because he gave up so very much to give me his last name. Thank you Dad- for everything.

In that first post, I wrote that Dad taught me the most about life. I still believe that, but I would like to go even further. I owe finding the strength to quit this methadone nonsense to him because he taught me to notice the beauty of this world we live in. Not many see it the way he does and I am so thankful he taught me. It’s just sad there were barriers there to prevent me from seeing earlier.

My Grad

I’ve written most of this blog about my three young kids as if they were the only ones. It’s because I have been ashamed of the father I’ve been to my oldest. That is very difficult for me to admit. My oldest, Dev was born when I was really young, and me and her Mom (ex g/f) always been best friends. It’s not surprising that Dev has never known for sure- that she is a treasure I most treasure.

She is a perfect combination of her Mom and me. I think she got the best parts of both because she was given the smarts and beauty of her Mom, but she got my heart. My heart is something I’m happy with. She hasn’t yet learned how to express hers, but she’s still young. When she finds the voice to go with her gorgeous and everything, she will beast the world.

I recently took her to dinner for “the talk”. I have railed on her for years about the dangers of drugs, but always as if I was an outsider. My wife advised me many times to “just be honest with her”, but there was no way. Call it what you will, but I wasn’t looking in her eyes like that. Until now it would surely have been a talk AA would have praised. It would have gone something like this:

“Dev, I am an addict with a disease. I want you to know that drugs control me. I have been a terrible father because of it.  I am so sorry for everything, and hopefully one day I can find a way to stop. Hopefully one day I will be able turn all my problems over, and be given the power to face them. If I do, I promise to call once a week to remind you of the shithead I’ve been; right after my meeting.”

That is not a talk I was interested in having. I would have died drugging first. Would that have been better? I don’t know for sure. She would have never had answers to her questions, but her Mom did a wonderful job with her in my absence. I think Dev would have ovecome, but she didn’t have to. I gave her the talk I have always wanted to give her.

No, I wasn’t the best father in the world. I did take steps to shield her from what I was doing, but that wasn’t enough. I know she questioned whether or not I ever cared. That question is now answered. She knows I care. There was a hole in her heart that is now filled so she doesn’t have to waste her life looking for artificial things to fill it.

Our blood has a chink in its armor with regards to addiction, but Dev knows that the blood also contains the antidote. Anyone can look at stories and stats of the many that have attempted to pull these methadone hooks from their person. Very few have done it, and even fewer in the way that I am doing it. Its called fire in the blood, and a person is born with it or they weren’t. Devan was.

To Dev:

I’m almost done and I’m coming out of this hole to show you there is nothing on earth more powerful than us. Just the two of us. There is nothing you don’t posses the power to do. Be ever conscious that you have the power, and never be afraid to use it. I want you to always be thankful for it because I believe it is a gift not of this world.

You know I would have never spoken to you if it meant telling you I couldn’t do this. If I can do this, you can go to college and be whatever you dream. You live in the greatest country on earth. It is the perfect atmosphere to foster and birth dreams. Now do it! If you ever doubt yourself, come find me. I will take your hands, turn them palm down and show you the fire in your veins.

I love you so, my beautiful honor graduate!

Uggghhhh!

I am officially at 15mgs/day and I’m not feeling swell.

My guts feel like they’re turned inside out and I wish I could flush them down the toilet.

I’ve done so much writing today my head feels like it might explode in 5 minutes.

I’m busy doubting everything I know I have to do, and it sucks bad.

Anybody that shows me compassion I appreciate, but I can’t tell you that now.

I wish I had never taken a pill in my life, but I wanted to stop today from being so fucking yesterday.

Methadone has the absolute worst hooks of all pain killers.

When I dig hooks it hurts until I understand why it hurts.

I’m going to get up tomorrow and start writing this thing of mine right.

House not a mansion

How is it that methadone can trick a mind into thinking so many crazy things? The drug is supposed to mess with pain receptors right? I was thinking today about all the perceptions opiates distort. Sometimes it’s hard to think back to my life before pain pills, but I do remember a time.

Just down the block from my home there stood a mansion that I would walk by on my way to and from school. Every day when I was young, I would pass it, and dream of one day growing old in that house. It was most beautiful to me. Then I took my first pain pill, and found all I needed for the next however many years.

I was good and numb, but I still kept that mansion in the back of my mind. Silently I would cut myself to pieces as I thought of the time I wasted chasing a high. If only I had been working, putting all my money into the acquisition of that mansion.  At the very least, these thoughts gave me a reason to continue fucking myself up.

One day though, I found that something (nobody knows what) that people get when they finally decide to get their shit together. I’m rebuilding my life when that mansion comes back up again. I’m searching for answers, and I can’t help but think about it. I’m going to tell you of a funny thing that happened at a certain point.

I looked around, and knew that no matter what I thought I wanted, I am right where I’m supposed to be. I know because I drove past that mansion the other day. I admired it still for all that it was to me when I was so young and foolish. However, it was a prolific moment because I finally realized that it wasn’t a mansion after all- it was just a house.

It still looked the same, but I had changed. Besides, the home I live in has walls of gold, marble floors and an open roof so I can watch the stars. It was a good day when I realized; I don’t miss a fucking thing because I know now, in my heart, that I am in the exact home I was meant for. The best thing…it came with a Queen. Thank you!

I Pulled a Post

I was talking on the phone to my brother last night, and he gave me some advice. That’s very hard for me to take because I have never been one with taking advice. However, I can admit now that I don’t know everything, so I pulled the “6 Skips” post.

While we were talking, I was surprised when he told me that he knew all along that I was still on pills/methadone. His exact words, “Dude, when you gained all that weight and were nodding off with this stupid look on your face at grandma’s, it was obvious”. And here I thought I was being inconspicuous.

I asked him why he never said anything because, “I would have”, I told him. “Because you weren’t very approachable” he says. Haha, how true is that of all addicts? We are not very approachable indeed. Then, when someone does get the balls to approach, we rip their fucking head off for trying to make us feel something.

I am going to do something with my brother this weekend to find out if my feelings are true, or if they are built upon a foundation of sand. For me it will be a true test, but a test I must take. I will come here, and admit I was wrong, if that is what I learn. Until then at least, I’ll drop the “6 Skips”, and be comfortable admitting that I don’t have all the answers.

Thx a lot numb-nut 😉

Burn black hole

I want to say first how exceptional I feel today. It was a little less than a week ago that I sat in the very spot I am sitting now, and crumbled. All the pain, sorrow, loss and regret visited me when I was alone.  I’m alone now, and no, I’m not clean, but I’m cleaner than I was two weeks ago. I woke up on Sunday, and desired the beach.

Do you have any idea how long it has been since I wanted, needed that white sand between my toes? I’ll tell you- it’s been many years. That salt air hit my nostrils, and I knew heaven on earth. I played with my kids , played in the waves like I was a kid, and it felt. I went under the water to let the waves churn me then spit me back out again. I was conscious and thankful for every second me, my wife, and kids had there together.

On the way home the kids slept a deep sleep that only play at the beach brings. Me and my wife actually talked about the future, and all the opportunities now opening. All this only possible because I pulled from within, a desire for a life free from a black hole- a black hole that consumes so much, yet gives so empty. Good God I hope every single person that reads this finds theirs. I don’t care what the vice, just dig deep because we all have it- I truly believe that. You have to find it, and feed it full every day.

I’m burnt badly today and it hurts- can you understand why this brings me unbelievable joy?

I survived

I love the tv show on Biography called “I Survived”. I have loved it since the very first episode I watched a few years ago. I was watching a similar show on 48hrs tonight called “Live to Tell”. I saw these words scroll across the screen: “What if someone wanted you dead, but you-Lived To Tell”. That gives me goose bumps.

These shows are life in its rawest form. Usually, it’s one person on their own, against a foe or foes, and for different reasons they decide, “I’m fighting with my life, for my life”. Very simply they know they will live, or they will die fighting. How can a person not get chills from stories like that?

I remember reading of the massacre at the college in Virginia a few years back. I read how Seung-Hui Cho lined up something like 12 people, and shot them one-by-one-in a line. This story really bothered me too, and I thought of many, “if I were there” scenarios.

If I were there, there really is no way of knowing what I would have done. However, I believe that if I were any other number than the first to be shot, I would not be in that line of dead souls. I may very well have been dead, but my dead ass would have been outside that line. So I have always thought, “what was number seven thinking when he saw the first three get shot?”

Did number seven think hopefully the gun would jam, or that maybe the shooter would decided to take a pee-break, allowing him/her time for a getaway? C’mon now, Cho has just shot the first 1,2,3 point blank range- in the head- what the fuck are you still standing there for? Cho wasn’t even skipping around for confusion’s sake, he was killing them in order!

As I was saying, it usually takes one person with the overwhelming desire to “live”. I can relate to that particular part of their story’s now. I have the overwhelming desire to live, and not just live, but “live long and healthy”. It’s what we’re supposed to want to do as livers. I want to live for my wife, my kids, my family, my friends, and most of all- FOR ME.

There are a few things at the end of each show that I always watch for. The victims always verbalize “why” they think they survived. Some are as simple, yet poignant as, “I wanted to raise my kids” to as strange (or not) as, “I turned to look (in the direction of a mountain lion) and saw a transparent view of Jesus’ face”. And although the reasons differ from person to person, there is one thing that is always static. Each person says they no longer take life for granted.

By staring death in its eye, they all come to know how fragile life is. They appreciate every moment on this earth after that because one thing is for sure- we have one shot at our life (on earth), and then it’s wrapped. That’s a very powerful realization to have. It helps me to know that even though I wasted 18 years of my life, I could actually get more out of the remaining, than people not having been through this get in their whole life. Very, very positive thing to keep in mind through this withdrawal.

I feel that I feel

As I dust myself of the misery of the many years of opiate addiction, I have been processing, and dealing with some very harsh realizations. Some of the realizations are of those no longer with me such as my cousin Josh, and step-sister Ashley.

When they died, I was doing drugs and I was numb. Of course I felt remorse, but it was completely different from truly “feeling” remorse. More like I knew I should be remorseful so therefor I was- or I thought I was. Was I? I really don’t know so I can’t say for sure.

I know I was concerned enough about the appearance that I wasn’t remorseful. My consciousness of the appearance caused me to take extra time arriving to my cousin’s funeral. I didn’t want to sit up front with my wife and family crying, and me- nothing.

I remember looking at my wife, make-up streaming down her face, and asking myself, “does she wonder why I don’t cry?” I didn’t know why myself, but it certainly wasn’t the opiates- not in my mind at that time. It was the opiates, and I know that now.

I know that it was the drugs with more certainty now than ever before because all the tears are flowing now. I am so conscious now of a life without them that there are times I feel my insides are going to burst with sorrow. I never dealt with this pain then, and because of that, it’s like they just died last night.

Sometimes it is very hard to deal with all these old, but brand new emotions rushing in. It really is an exhilarating time to be smelling, tasting, eating the food of lives again. And while it is true that most taste divine, some taste bitter, some are nauseating, and some bite back.

I had a dream about Ashley (step-sister) last night for maybe the first time since she died. Of my sisters, brothers, and cousins in our youth, she would have been the one picked to go furthest in life. She was the most responsible, most trusted, and received the most scholastic accolades. Her going far in life was never to be.

Ashley’s love for one guy ended up being the catalyst into that which took her soul, and ultimately her life. She married “one guy” and this selfish fuck caused her great pain. He destroyed her credit, her ego, her life, and then led her down a path, and wed her to another- a pain killing love. This new love gave her the attention she craved, but it was of the worst sort. It wrapped her in it’s numbing arms, and squeezed the life from her body on May 8, 2007.

My cousin Josh died in a car accident in the early morning hours of Nov. 21, 2010. He was a beautiful person with a zeal for living like I’ve never known. If I’m great with words, Josh was the Jedi master. He always knew exactly what to say, and when to say it. There is a huge hole in family gatherings without him, and I miss him deeply. I am working on a post dedicated to him, so that’s all I’ll say for now.

What I wanted to convey in this post is that “feeling” again can cut both ways. On one side the food tastes so very good- on the other side, it’s so hot that it burns like hell. Either way, I can say with honesty, it is still much better than no feeling at all.

Sun Shines

 Man, what a dark place that was last night.

The sun came up today though. 

You won’t believe me, but the sun was shinin’ at 2am when my skin crawled out of bed.

I know it was shinin’- I saw it in the mirror.

The sun isn’t setting at 8pm tonight because the mirror will still be there- or the man in the mirror.

Please don’t leave me love, I’m comin’ home soon.

Don’t stop prayin’ for me.

I’m sorry for the tantrums, but it hurts sometimes. 

If God’s there, He hears your voice.

Please, please, don’t stop believing in me!