I’ve had so many day 3 I can’t even tell you. Someday there will be a last day 3, it’s too soon to tell if this is the one. I have to just take everything one second, one minute, one hour, one day, one week at a time. All I think about is using. I wish I could take a pill to get rid of those urges, but isn’t that the problem in the first place? Just wanting to take a “pill” of some kind to fix my problems? Facing this thing head on is really hard, and I feel like I have so many eyes on me all the time. My aunt and uncle, I know, don’t trust that this will be the last time. They had never quite seen the severity of my problem until the day I made my first post and ever since then I feel like a charity case, like they are constantly surveilling me. “Can I go to a meeting with you?” “We are here for you.” “How are you feeling today?” 

How am I supposed to answer those questions? “My meeting leader said it’s best to come alone.” (No, you can’t come to a meeting with me. We’re all our most honest selves when our families AREN’T around. Family trauma is partially why I’m in this position in the first place!) “I know, thank you.” (I know you’re here for me, but I feel smothered. I feel infantilized.) “I feel fine.” (Today I feel like I want to use, and it’s the only thing I can think about. You constantly checking in on me makes me feel worse, makes me feel like I can’t even trust myself. Like you can’t trust me. I feel like I need to move out of this house for my sanity. I feel like I’m grasping at straws to find any semblance of independence.) “I feel totally fine.” 

I need people in my corner, absolutely. That fact I will never deny. There are certain types of people, however, that are far more... I don’t want to say valuable but I will say valuable to my journey than my aunt and uncle. They would never want to hear that, and of course I’m never going to tell them because they have the best of intentions but really, they have NO clue what I’m going through. They have NO clue what kind of trauma I’ve dealt with in my life. They know, to some extent, the trauma that my immediate family put me through. The divorce, the step parents, my brother’s physical and emotional abuse towards me. I tried to open up the other day about the other non-familial traumas that I’ve been through and it was clear immediately they didn’t know how to handle that. This is what I’ve been trying to tell them. They constantly ask “how can I help you?” I DON’T KNOW. I’m in a constant state of grieving and that is not something a grieving person can answer. I don’t know how you can help me because you guys don’t understand. You have everything. You have each other, beautiful children, multiple homes, cars, stability, a healthy relationship with food and alcohol, never done drugs, little to no debilitating trauma. I don’t know how you can help. 

First, I suppose I should give an introduction to anyone that may stumble upon this blog. (It should be noted right out of the gate that everything written here will ABSOLUTELY be in the style of stream of consciousness, so while it may make sense to me to read through, it may not make sense to you. And that’s ok. I hope at the very least it may be entertaining, and at the very best, helpful for anyone else who may have similar thoughts to my own.)  Anyway, I don’t care too much about anonymity so I’ll tell you that my name is Mallory. I’m 29 years old and live in Denver,CO. I’m an industrial design student that loves art, dogs, tattoos (if any old followers are still here, you knew that already), my family, and Seinfeld reruns. Above all else however, I am an addict. I’ll just leave it at that. No one needs to know what it is exactly I’m addicted to, just that I’m an addict. I tend to think that all addicts in some way shape or form are the same, or at least, we all share a very similar burden, so for that reason I don’t feel as though it’s necessary to discern what my drug of choice is. If it’s not one thing, it will undoubtedly become another if I don’t do something about it. 

I guess you can say I’ve never really hit a rock bottom. Maybe I have, but it’s not like the type of rock bottom you see on tv. I’ve never been homeless, I’ve never been disowned by my family, I’ve never contracted a disease, I’ve never over dosed. On the contrary, most people on the outside looking in may think I have my shit very much together. I manage a full time work and school schedule (yes, even post covid), maintain social obligations (safely, of course), am in fairly good shape and am well spoken. I have however, allowed my addiction to drive wedges between those I love and have recently been dumped by the person I assumed to be the one, my person. It’s a long story, and I should’ve seen the writing on the wall but in short: I made decisions and acted in a way that hurt this person very much. I was unable to see beyond my own mental illness and insecurities in order to take care of them and protect them and in turn, pushed them so far away that there is, I believe, no possibility for reparation of that relationship. The damage is irreparable. We don’t even speak as friends. It is to date, the biggest regret of my life. 

I realized even before the relationship ended that I was forming destructive habits and had been for quite some time. I convinced myself, however, that everything was fine because I had none of the markers of a life in shambles. I had (and have) everything I need. I always figure it out. That’s my super power, ever since I was a kid who was largely neglected. I figure my shit out and get through no matter how the cards are stacked against me. The problem with that  is that I’ve never allowed others to help me. I would rather suffer on my own and figure it out than ask for help, and in turn relied heavily on chemical sedation to make it through each day. (This behavior, by the way, started as far back as 15 years old. It really ramped up in my late 20′s.) I could hear and see how I was treating this person that I loved so much, and all the ways that I failed to be there for them when they needed me the most. I could. All the scenarios that I could’ve handled differently keep me awake at night when I, inevitably, find myself self medicating. The relationship could’ve survived had I gotten a handle on my mental wellness and helped them through their grief. I just... couldn’t. I couldn’t see beyond myself as much as I wanted to. Again, I’m not sure I’ve ever regretted anything more in my entire life. I often think about if I’ll fall in love again and I just don’t see that happening. The qualities this person possessed were and are unparalleled. They’ll never ever know that I thought the sun shined out of their ass and just how much I loved them, because I had my head shoved so far up my own. 

So now I’m stuck with me. And my thoughts. And my anxiety. And my depression. And my crippling fear of never amounting to anything. And my insecurities. And my guilt. And my fears. And so on. I find sobriety for maybe a week at a time and then, usually at night, I have a good memory of...we’ll call him... Eric, and I don’t even know what to do with myself. I try so hard just to be happy that we ever had that time together. I try so hard just to be thankful that we DID have so many good times and that he DID make me feel so good. Within seconds though I’m overcome with guilt. I could’ve kept that if only I did XYZ. I could be sleeping next to him now if only I had done this, or that. If I were sober. 

The fucked up thing about addiction is that I absolutely KNOW without a doubt my life will be better if I just don’t medicate. If I face my feelings head on and work through them like a normal person, I will make it to the other side of that feeling stronger and happier and healthier. I knew that in my relationship with Eric but I medicated anyway. I know it now when I feel these emotions in the middle of the night. And I medicate anyway. 

And while I’ve said this a thousand times before, and wouldn’t blame anyone if they heard me say it again now and choose to not believe me, I’ll say it anyway: I’m done for good this time. I’m tired of this pattern of reckless behavior and hanging by a thread. I know it’s scary and I know there will be long sleepless nights and days that feel fucking impossible. And I know I’ll probably feel sick. I know I’ll be irritable and I’ll feel scared. I’ll feel alone. I’ll feel all of these things for the first time, like FOR REAL, in nearly 15 years. For all of those reasons, I find myself coming back here again.