My hands shook, palms sweating as I sat rocking back and forth. Back and forth I rocked, not sure why. It seemed to be the only thing I had enough energy to do. The only thing that brought comfort. As the walls closed in around me, I cried out. I ached for another fix, yearned for it in a way that can’t be put into words. My body trembled. I hadn’t had food in hours, days actually, and yet the vomitting didn’t stop.
The shaking, the sweating, the suffocation didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. My mind played tricks on me. I imagined bugs crawling beneath my skin. My flesh burned, my heart raced and slowed to what I imagined was a complete halt. I know I could make it all stop if I just surrendered to the beast. But if I surrendered I wasn’t sure if I’d ever stop, and if I didn’t stop, I’d lose everything.
Four days of this, four days, so many years ago, and I can still feel it as if it were yesterday. There are still days that I yearn to ease my pain, because no matter what they say, it never goes away. It just becomes easier to ignore. I faultered a time or two. I thought I had control, thought I was “strong enough”. I’ve learned that strength, being “strong enough” isn’t about being able to join in with the recreational users, but valuing myself enough to know it’s not worth the risk. Strength is knowing yourself, knowing you are an addict, and not being ashamed.
I am an addict, a recovering addict. This fight is long and hard, but it’s worth it.
I’M WORTH IT!