People You Can Count On

When it comes to recovery, there is an emphasis on finding a good support network and letting them help you along the way to your recovery. This is mostly indicated for people with addictions, such as alcoholism or drugs. But it is also advocated in depression and anxiety as well. What I have learned from …

The Way Back to Zero

Waiting for change to occur in my life has not proven be a very prosperous plan. I am unable to keep doing things the way that I have been doing them and hoping for them to change. It will take an active role on my part in order to get back to Zero. From there, …

(The following story is duplicated here verebatim from a handwritten journal. The journal is a blue composition journal, college-ruled, and Staples brand. The author of the journal is in the throws of a euphoric and dysphoric addiction with adderall. Speculation as to the author's identity is intriguing, but better left discovered somewhere else)   That was a really eye opening experience to what Adderall can do to your body and to your perception. The pounding heart and chest pain was the most concerning part because i think I was very close to having a heart attack.   Or at least that is what I was thinking the entire time. The sleep deprivation was causing additional anxiety on top of that, and the extremely high doses that I had taken was altering my reality, and that was the most terrifying part.   It is strange to think that just a change in your perception could be such a scary thing, but I guess that has always been the way I respond to mind-altering drugs. I have always been extremely sensitive to alterations and even the smallest changes cause huge anxiety for me. Any sort of psychoactive drug has caused the same increase in panic.   I'm not sure why this is. It probably has something to do with the thought that it will be permanent. I think that that thought is probably highly unlikely and the actual dangers lie in the physiological effects of the drugs.   Heart attack is a real threat with the behavior I was guilty of, and that is a very, very serious thing.   Obviously I should never, never take that much medication no matter what it is. But that is a recurring problem that I have. It happened with pain meds, anxiety meds, sleep meds, and now ADD meds. It is strange that I would get so much anxiety from changes in perception because it would seem that I am doing all that I can to change it.   But I think that it is more of a desire to change how I feel. I always want to feel better and I use whatever I can to do that. My Adderall experience this weekend was terrible, and I have got to be smarter about how I use my medications. If I am going to use this kind of medication I cannot take massive amounts at a time until I run out.   That is number one. Number two is that I need to start striving to use the medication for the reason that it is supposed to be used for. That probably goes hand and hand with the first one. These things are easier said than done, but my luck will run out eventually.   This body can't handle that much abuse for that long. Eventually something will give out. ****** has put up with so much shit with me, and that has got to change. She does not deserve it. She deserves better treatment. She deserves more consideration than that. My goal should be each week for my medication to not come up in my way.   I shouldn't bring it up and my behavior should not bring it up, and by that I mean I should not do anything that would cause attention to be dream to my medication. Not so that I can get away with anything but rather to not allow it to be so prominent in our daily lives. Probably it should only come up once a week, maybe every other week. And that includes talking with my doctor and getting refills and things of that nature.   My attention is better spent on other things. Every time I run out of medication and resign to not taking it, and when my attention turns to my life things get better, easier, less stressful. It shouldn't be something that I think about nonstop. Look at how many pages in this notebook that I have filled talking about my medication. No more!!   Religion is not a special thing. When you look at a religion from the perspective of it as a way in which people make sense of their lives and the world around them, and not a collection of beliefs and rituals, they become identical to things like culture, ethnic groups, age groups. Any sort of way that people define who they are and who everyone else is. Things that religion creates are, however, identical to the things that are created from ignorance and fear. People do not enjoy not knowing things like who creeated the world, and what happens after they die.   They think that they deserve to know what the meaning of their life is. Firstly, why does there have to exist a meaning for life? How does everyone that is living and who has ever lived and who will ever live each have a specialmeaning for their life? Or collectively what is the neccessity for the explanation of consciousness and the special meaning that it has? Whether or not there exists a meaning for life, collectively or individually, it will continue to exist. And with the passage of time, one thing has continued to be true without the least bit of advancement; no one can say with any truth or any certainty what happens when life ends.   I guess that is a bad way to word it. No one can say that there is a life that exists after one ends. No one can tell another person the meaning of that person's life, because it is impossible to know. No, it is impossible to be proven to even exist. How can one person know what existance is like beyond their own?   How can they perceive things, truly, beyond their own perception? It is not possible. It is possible to guess, and even very accurately and intelligently, but it is truly impossible to know the experience of anything outside of yourself. And what does that show? That shows that there is no way to empirically prove anything about life from a standpoint of meaning or purpose.   to be continued . . .
He layed in bed with his back turned to his cell phone laying on the ground. He knew she hadn't texted back and that she probably never would. But he could not get the thought out of his mind that maybe she had and he hadn't felt the vibration. He tried to go to sleep, he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but to no avail.   Finally, he gave into temptation and rolled over. He picked up the phone, and for a few milliseconds held on to hope that she may have responded.   But then his wallpaper picture appeared, illuminating the room. He looked at the sent messages, and saw that they had been read. He knew that she didn't intend to respond, but he just couldn't understand why. He was hurting. Hurting bad. He just wanted her to say something to him, to tell him that she thought about him as much as he did her. He could not quash the feeling that they would eventually reconcile and get back together. Although that hope was fading daily.   With every text that she did send to him, even when they were being cordial with each other, he could sense the distance growing and growing. He didn't know how he could stop it, how he could put back on the charm that he had had when they first started dating. What had happened to those days? Why was he now so incapable of reading her? They had been together for years and shared secrets with each other that nobody else in the world knew.   But that hole in his heart stayed, and all he wanted to do was fill it. He had other things to concern himself with. He needed to stay clean. He needed to avoid trying to avoid his feelings. He needed to feel this lonliness. This was normal, this is the way that it should feel when you have come out the wrong side of a relationship.   When he thought about it honestly, which was not very often because he never had liked being honest with himself, he knew that eventually these feelings would fade with time, and that he would move on and she would move on and both of them would be fine. He wasn't sure whether or not that was the best for them, but nevertheless time would heal things. Time always did. Time was the best drug to fix problems that he had. It was just a matter of being patient enough to allow it to work.   He had become such a good liar from his days as an addict that sometimes he didn't know whether or not he actually felt a certain way. The key to telling a convincing lie is to believe what you are saying is telling the truth. The problem with that becomes when you believe the lies that you are telling for so long, eventually you become ignorant of the truth.   He was lonely. Very lonely. But he knew that he should be lonely. That was the right decision, even though it was the most uncomfortable. But lonliness would not bring destruction and chaos to his life like the drugs that he so often sought out to make him feel better.   Lonliness was lonliness. Plain and simple.
He thought a lot about how much he wanted to be free to do whatever he wanted. He didn't want to live by other people's rules anymore. They were always telling him what to do, what not to do. Why did they care so much? Why couldn't they mind their own business? He wasn't hurting them at all. They just kept him from doing things because they didn't want him to have any fun.   They didn't want him to feel good. That was all it was. He wanted to do what made him feel good. Is that too much for anybody to ask? Hedonism is natural to the human being. Seeking out what is pleasurable is what people do normally. It's how humans evolved, isn't it? That is how the human species has flourished, by seeking out what is pleasurable and avoiding that which is painful. It's biology.   And more to the point it was his life!!! He could do with his own life whatever he wanted. They were just keeping him from being his own person.   But he knew that that wasn't the case at all. He knew that he wasn't striving to be free. He was striving to be enslaved. Ever ruled by his addictions, catering to their needs for the rest of his life. It is one of the greatest ironies of life in the modern age that things which bring the greatest physical pleasure most assuredly cause the most pain in it's aftermath.   And this was a pain that he was very familiar with. He knew when to expect, how long he had to wait. And yet he kept going back for more. Always coming back for more. That doesn't sound like freedom. That doesn't look like freedom. That looks like a man that has been beaten and imprisoned by his own doing, serving a chemical master whose bark is worse than his bite.   Those he said were trying to keep him from freedom were actually trying to save him from servitude. He twisted their actions to fit into his scheme of things. He had to make an excuse for his behavior, because otherwise he had to admit that he was a bit insane. Not by any fault of his own, but by the fault of the chemicals that he used to poison himself.   They were the rationale ones and he knew it. But he couldn't admit it to himself without admitting that he had to let the chemcials go. He had to forever banish them from his life, never to return. For he knew that one single wiff of their scent would send him tumbling back down the rabbit hole.   That wasn't freedom.