journeywithmorphinejournal

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I take more pills than I should because I believe nobody can truly understand the suffering I endure at this moment—they’re not in my skin. All my plans to stop and taper off crumble to pieces, and it’s as painful as the pills themselves, while I await for the relief I desperately hope for. While the drugs to kick in I will be in my grey couch with white furniture apartment with only my TV on playing post punk music from the 80’s and I know I will feel at peace. That is what the pills give to me that nothing else can give me too: peace, mentally and physically

I lie about it, though it never quite sounds like a lie in my own head:

“How much did you take?” he asks.

“Just as much as I needed,” I reply.

In a way, I’m telling the truth. I need that amount to cope before my body succumbs to the relentless battle with my mind, feeling defeated every time.

This battle makes me think about escaping to a hotel with all my bottles and a bottle of wine, to take them all at once and slip into an eternal sleep. I’m so tired of the pain. But then, the thought of the pain I would cause my loved ones pulls me back. I can’t inflict the same suffering on them. I just can’t.

Being an addict destroys me in the same way it saves me. It hurts inside—this need to take more and more, and the need to hide and lie. I feel ashamed and afraid, so I try to distract myself by thinking about the times before addiction took over my life, a few years ago when the pain started and depression made a home in my mind.

I remember the days when life was simpler, and a smile didn’t cost much. The first day in my new apartment in Massachusetts was my biggest accomplishment. No furniture, just my husband and me sitting on the floor, enjoying hazelnut coffee, full of joy and proud of our new start. I dream of days like that again.

But the pills—ah, the pills—they become my refuge, preventing the tragedy I fear might ruin the lives of those I cherish. Yet, I’m not so naive as to think my addiction doesn’t affect them. It does. But without it, I’m not sure I could survive.

I wish I could believe those who say there’s another way out, but my path feels as dark as the deepest night, and whenever I strain to see a light, life turns it off.

How can I hold onto hope that things will ever get better? Not today. But “not today” doesn’t mean I won’t try again tomorrow. I have seen lives being saved; why not mine? Why not the feeling of joy and contentment I felt in my first apartment again if people say that everyone has a chance? I want to be one of them. I don’t want to be nothing special. I only want a chance to be myself again, not just for me but more for the people I love. They deserve a better version of myself, not an addict who never recovers because she’s too afraid to face her own demons.

#addicted #addiction #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #addict #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

Being an addict and fully aware of it feels like being a burden, yet unable to control yourself around your addiction. You’re conscious of the pain you’re causing your loved ones, so you hide your addiction in every possible way because you care about them as much as you’re compelled to continue using.

It’s as if stopping would mean facing life without any shields. Yes, you’re scared of life itself, and you mask this fear with drugs that keep you from confronting your emotions, your traumas, your fears.

You’ve reached a point where you believe that rehab is a waste of time and money, convinced that you’ll just fall back into old habits again, and again, and again. There’s something deep inside you pulling you back, and you feel powerless to stop it. Therapy brings some relief, yet even it supposed to help you deal with the most intense and profound feelings you have (and try to avoid and forget) it doesn’t reach that deep-seated drive that compels you to repeat the same destructive behaviors.

At night you find yourself praying to be anyone but yourself, and end it wishing for the strength to quit. And though you try, success seems just out of reach. Perhaps, if you stopped inviting your demons to bed with you, there might be a chance for change. Yet, the thought of being alone in your room’s darkness terrifies you.

What will your life become if nothing changes? You shy away from this thought, knowing the answer yet haunted by it. It’s a choice between a coffin accompanied by tears or a coffee table surrounded by those you cherish most. But it’s now or never. Take your chance.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

Today depression hitted me harder than usual.

And the only thing I wanted to was to disappear or do anything else to stop with the traumatics flashback and the heavy pain that my heart insists on not let it go.

Since Im exhausted to suffer and the traumas are making in a hell in my mind, I opted for a couple more pills of Xanax and Dilaudid. Much more than the usual.

I want to stop thinking and stop feeling no matter what and I know if that is work but that is the only I can do.

Painful memories of being abused of all forms spun in my hand and the sadness took me all over

How can I stop with my addiction when I suffer that much that is beyong any help anyone can offer? In my sorrow, I just think about how good would to never need to exist.

I filled my hands with more pills for thrle second time because I really want to be knocked off and sleep is my only comfort, even with the constant nightmares related with my ptsd.

I thought about drinking again, but I drank yesterday and I crushed to snort some dilaudid for a stronger and faster effect. But I will not to do it today. I feel to defeat to even do the progress and don’t want another hangover.

But I wish so much any street drugs to make me feel better or at least forget my reality st moment.

I want to Make the time to pass fast and I get get some relief from this pain that is dilacerating my heart and me messing up With the things in my mind.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I whisper to myself, “You’re an addict,” and yet, I always add a “but” right after, crafting excuses for my actions and why I can’t quit the drugs. Sometimes, I wonder, “Do I truly wish to stop?” Yes, I do. But the thought terrifies me—the thought of who I am without drugs, the dread of withdrawal symptoms, the fear of confronting my raw emotions, the fear of simply being me.

The people who promised to stand by me are fading away, just as I feared. No one sticks around when faced with a struggle they can’t understand. Friends come and go as quickly as drugs become more potent, the moment the usual ones lose their effect. I’m exhausted from trying to forge genuine connections, only to end up alone. People leave; drugs don’t.

In my solitude, every night with my hand clutching a bunch of pills, I find a moment of peace. Without them, my thoughts spiral uncontrollably into the past and future, finding no rest. Sleep and appetite elude me; I scarcely feel human.

I pray earnestly for the strength to slow down, to cut back, yet my prayers seem to vanish into an empty sky, unheard.

I’m uncertain how much longer I can tread this path, yet I press on, lost, with nowhere else to turn. Everything before me is shrouded in darkness. This darkness seeps from my heart into my bones. Perhaps there’s no redemption for me, and acceptance is my only recourse. Or perhaps, there’s a glimmer of light out there that I’ve yet to see.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I turn to God and ask, “When will You come to help me?” But silence greets me, and I find myself walking the same weary path of addiction. Sometimes, it feels like there’s no escape for me. Lying in my bed, the weight of the world presses down on me, as Xanax drains all my energy, leaving me too tired to even stand. In search of a spark of energy, I mix Adderall with Red Bull, but it’s never enough—I’m still overwhelmed with exhaustion.

I’m sincere when I say I want to quit, but I find myself powerless. It’s as if something inside me fuels this addiction, compelling me to swallow pill after pill, leaving me feeling utterly hopeless when I face the aftermath in the morning, feeling terrible.

People say there’s hope for everyone, yet I stand alone, with no one to guide me towards finding that hope within myself. They grow weary of trying to help, seeing how I struggle to heed their advice.

I can’t bear the thought of living the rest of my life this way. Sometimes, as I gaze at the bottles of pills, I contemplate ending it all to escape this agony. I’ve come to realize the fleeting relief they offer isn’t worth the morning’s nausea, weakness, and trembling.

A voice within whispers that this torment will end soon. I just don’t know whether that end means recovery or death.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I gaze at the bottles of pills, contemplating taking some just because I’m tired and I want to enhance my weed experience before sleeping. Today was unremarkable; I’m not overwhelmed with sadness, but I’m not joyful either. I crave to feel something.

This reminds me of when I used to cut myself because self-harm provided a thrilling relief when I felt as numb as I do today. Sometimes, I wonder whether it’s better to feel nothing or to experience every emotion intensely every second. Both options seem equally perilous to me.

However, I try to convince myself that feeling numb should be safe, even though it doesn’t feel that way. When I’m numb, I make the poorest choices just to feel something, to feel alive. That sensation in my stomach, somewhat cold yet reminding me I’m still here, I seek that. I like the rush of adrenaline, but there’s nowhere high to hang from, no car to speed in, no street to lie down on and hope for the best. It’s just me, my bottles of pills, and my hope to feel something if I take a few.

My therapist said today I’ve become a functional addict, and my only thought was that it’s better than being a full-blown addict like months ago. I’m unsure if I should be pleased, but I see it as progress, so why not?

Yet, any happiness fades quickly, and I return to my numbness instantly. I don’t want to feel this way anymore, but I’m scared of altering my medication and ending up stuck in a depressive episode worse than before.

So, as a functional addict, I’ll take my pills in doses that I know will bring me joy but not enough to knock me out for two days. I’ll feel something, but not everything. Something is still better than nothing, and pills don’t leave marks on your skin like scars.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I think I’ve won, when I realize my body only needs one benzo a day to keep going, no longer needing opioids. Yet, my mind torments me, insisting I’ll always crave more and more.

Have you ever seen an addict not get his drug?

I found someone else and got more Xanax. I think about taking a pill, some Dilaudid, and smoking weed while listening to good music, just to feel that familiar, comforting vibe again. But in reality, I won’t do it.

I consider staying clean, staring at my new Xanax, not wanting to start over, but my body yearns for just one more pill—a pill I won’t take. Not today, and I hope, not tomorrow either.

So, I sit on my couch, contemplating smoking weed for a bit of relief, but deep down, I don’t want to.

I’m anxious about my decisions because, from where I stand, everything is a choice.

But I put everything away—the weed, the pills—and turn off the lights.

Not today, not today, not today. I need to rest, repeating my mantra until sleep overtakes me.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I count my pills one by one, dreading the moment I’ll run out, as I use opioids to ease the withdrawal from Xanax. Even knowing it’s a temporary fix, it doesn’t shield me from facing another withdrawal. As I count, the urge to cry wells up, but I hold back my tears, thinking it shows strength, even as I confront my vulnerability.

The moment I take the pills, I feel a rush of heat, and my world dims even more. I try to escape the darkness by absorbing it, fully aware it’s futile. My silence isn’t strength; it’s addiction silencing my voice, leaving me to cower in my mind’s corner, scared of suffering beyond the recent calm the pills provided.

I question my return to this path after rehab, haunted by the pain and fears too terrifying to voice. My mind spirals into darkness, with past traumas hitting harder than the fear of addiction.

I won’t lie—I crave freedom from this cycle but haven’t found my escape. Yet, I remain determined to keep searching. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day, someday, I will wake up in a world where will not be pain and sorrow, pills and bottles, but contentment, for be free, even from what hurt inside.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I remember the times I scribbled down goodbye letters, just in case I overdosed. It wasn’t because I wanted to die. Deep down, I was desperate for the brief escape drugs offered from the unbearable pain within. This pain wasn’t just any pain; it was born from years of deep scars—my dad smashing my head against the wall, my ex’s kicks when I was down and out with no escape, being thrown out by my mom at 16, the horror of rape, begging on the streets, nights spent hungry and alone with no one to turn to for help. These memories haunted me constantly, flashes of a life no one should endure.

Turning to addiction felt like the only way out of this relentless nightmare. All I ever wanted was to forget, even for a moment, to find solace in sleep without waking up in terror, reliving those horrors over and over.

People say healing is possible, but they never stick around long enough to see it through. They grow weary of my repeated stories, the ones that torment me day and night, and eventually, they leave. Left alone, drugs become my only solace, the only way to numb the pain.

Yes, I’m an addict. But more importantly, I’m a survivor, though it seems that once “addict” is heard, the “survivor” part is forgotten. To them, I’m just another failure, someone who couldn’t overcome their past, their trauma. The label “addict” overshadows everything else.

I’m so tired of it all—the judgments, the isolation. I keep to myself not because I shun genuine connections, but because it feels safer. Yet, in that solitude, depression takes a firmer hold, making it even harder to break free from the grip of drugs amidst such despair. At first, I saw myself as a lost cause. But then, like a faint light at the end of a dark tunnel, I chose to defy the labels others put on me, to stop treating myself the way they did. Now, when I look in the mirror, I tell myself, “You are a survivor.” With each repetition, that light grows brighter, offering glimpses of a future where I am free from addiction and full of dreams.

#addicted #addiction #benzo addiction #addict #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

Just moments after promising to change my life, I stumbled. I truly meant to conquer my addiction struggles, but shortly after a positive session with my therapist, who gave me much-needed support, I found myself returning to that dark corner where I keep my hidden stash. I reached for morphine, dilaudid, and Xanax, seeking solace.

My body was crying out for help after staying awake for 24 hours and not eating for over 48. Hunger never strikes me, so I just grabbed a Gatorade and swallowed it down with the pills. Then, I waited for that familiar wave of comfort and drowsiness, the mix that makes it hard to keep my eyes open.

There’s a bittersweet joy in that state – almost asleep, yet fighting to stay awake, not wanting to lose the feeling of peace, uncertain when it’ll come again.

But deep down, I know I need to stop. It’s almost too late, and I can’t let myself reach that point. There’s still a glimmer of hope inside me, and I cling to it, even though I’ve already spoken to my dealer and ordered more syringes and needles from Amazon. I’m holding onto that hope, praying it’s enough to save me.

#addicted #addiction #benzo addiction #addict #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #opiod crisis #tw drugs #drugs cw

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

Battling addiction means breaking the hearts of those you cherish most, yet that crushing guilt isn’t enough to make you stop, despite the deep sorrow it brings.

Tears streaming down my face, I whisper to myself, “I don’t want to be enslaved by addiction.” But mere words don’t change my reality. I remain trapped, feeding my addiction with more drugs each day.

This morning, I stumbled before I even began. My eyes barely open, I was already grasping for pill bottles, not wanting to face the day. Depression engulfed me the moment I awoke. First came the tears, then the pills, followed by more tears. Some days, life is just unbearably tough

Returning to treatment seems impossible right now; I fear losing too much. Yet, continuing down this path of addiction, I risk losing even more. I long for a miraculous escape, but fantasy solutions don’t exist in our harsh reality.

I must fight this battle alone, though my efforts seem feeble. My willpower feels weaker than I ever imagined, but it’s all I have to hold onto for hope.

Still, I cling to the belief that I’ll find another way out, one that’s not treatment. I just don’t know what it is yet. And I desperately hope it’s not too late when I do.

I refuse to die as an addict, or worse, live as one. I’m far from happy, and I bring no joy to those around me.

I pray fervently for divine guidance, yet I feel so isolated, so powerless. My plea for help seems lost in the silence.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I feel shattered, like I’m beyond any sort of repair, and that’s why tonight, I’m turning to drugs. It’s because I desperately need to forget, to erase this relentless feeling that there’s just no hope left for me. Inside, I’m a mess – crying, shaking, screaming silently for someone, anyone, to reach out and help me. In these darkest hours, I find myself questioning everything. Where’s the good in all of this? Why does it seem like God’s just turned a blind eye to my pain?

In a daze, I gather all the pills I can find, setting a timer on my phone – I need to know the exact moment their effects will kick in. Then, I plan to drown the emerging numbness with a few drinks, maybe light up that joint I’ve been avoiding for so long. Honestly, I don’t even care if I end up feeling nothing. That has to be better than this constant, gnawing fear that I’m about to completely lose my mind.

Time can’t move fast enough. I’m just sitting here, hoping for the minutes to fly by because I need this ceaseless storm of thoughts to stop, even if it’s just for a little while. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find some semblance of relaxation in this.

And as the day draws to its close, there’s this bitter realization hitting me – I’ve failed myself again.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

Waking up the day after taking too many pills, I feel like the whole world’s weight is crushing me. My body aches; my arms and legs are unbearably heavy. Even with over twelve hours of sleep, exhaustion clings to me. That’s when I turn to stimulants.

I’ve never been good at following prescriptions. I always take more than advised, seeking a bit of a high. So, I swallow three Vyvanse and three Adderall, then start my coffee, planning to follow it with a Redbull.

I wonder how my body copes with these drastic changes and everything I put into it. Sometimes, I’m scared for my well-being; other times, I just don’t care. That indifference is depression speaking. If death comes today or tomorrow, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve lived through enough: from abusive houses (I say houses because they were never a home) to near homelessness, to the nice place I’m in now. But trauma follows me everywhere, turning even the nicest places into personal hells.

Yet, I don’t want to end my life, even though most of the time I don’t care about it. To a certain point my reckless self-medication isn’t a death wish. I can’t bear the thought of causing grief to others. That’s my sole reason to live, my only will to survive.

So, I hope my choices don’t lead to my end but bring a life with less suffering. If you could see the darkness of my thoughts, you’d understand why I do what I do.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I keep promising myself that I’ll break free from the drugs, but each night, as depression’s grip tightens, I feel lost, turning to those pills I know I shouldn’t take. Come morning or afternoon, whenever I wake, I’m swamped in guilt, feeling weak for succumbing once more.

I yearn for it to be simpler, for me to be stronger, yet neither is reality. My best friend suggests rehab, but the thought terrifies me. The agony of those initial weeks still haunts me. Plus, leaving my husband alone, who I deeply care about and who lacks a strong support network, is something I can’t bear.

Nightly, I pray for strength, yet find myself crumbling, waking in desperation, seeking something, anything, to dull the pain. And in that moment of taking the pills, there’s a fleeting sense of peace.

But this peace comes at a heavy price. I’m losing time, missing crucial appointments, watching everything I cherish slip away. I don’t want to continue down this destructive path.

Tears are my constant companions, as I plead for divine intervention, yet it feels like no one’s listening. Alone, I have to hold onto hope, to believe that someday I’ll find the strength I need. Because the alternative is not an option. I don’t want to die. Not now.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I’m heartbroken, so much so that tears won’t even come. In these moments, I desperately seek anything to ease my heart’s deep ache, but my thoughts plunge into darkness. I wish I could say I’m strong enough to endure these dark times without resorting to drugs, but they’ve become my refuge—the pills I’ve turned to for years, feeling it’s them or death. If I could turn back time, I would end my life before all this began. But now, knowing people care about me, I can’t bear to hurt them that way. Yet, I recognize that choosing drugs is just a slower way of destroying myself.

Today, I lay in bed, unmotivated to rise. My room, not as dark as I long for it to be, is lit by sunlight streaming through the window, casting light on the blue wall opposite my bed, adorned with a mirror and motivational quotes that feel empty. Around 2 pm, overwhelmed, I surrendered and took Xanax and Dilaudid. I’m aware of the risks of mixing benzos and opioids, but sometimes I only care about the brief relief they bring. Yet, this time, I’m wracked with guilt—for not trying harder, for the lies, for my inability to stop.

But tomorrow is a new day. I’ve failed myself and others by continuing down this path, but tomorrow, I’ll try again. It’s the best I can do. I’ll pray, unsure if God hears, but clinging to a sliver of faith. I hope that’s enough to wake up without the world’s darkness weighing me down, keeping me from living.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

I tell myself, “At least they’re not opioids,” but a voice in the depths of my mind counters: “But it’s Xanax, it’s alcohol, and it’s marijuana; you’re failing just the same.” And I embrace this voice because I know it speaks the truth.

Sitting in a bathtub of scalding water, lit only by candlelight, a whirlwind of thoughts invades my mind. What will I do about this depression if I don’t take these damned pills? Will my sorrow, anguish, and discomfort persist until they drive me to madness? I’m not prepared for another stay in any psychiatric hospital.

Something I’ve long rejected out of fear has started to seem like a feasible option. I always viewed ECT as barbaric, but now, thinking I want to – in a way – die, yet leave my body alive to prevent others’ suffering, it surfaces in my mind as an alternative. As I reflect, warm tears run down my face, mingling with the water that begins to cool from the time I’ve spent in a trance, focused on this thought as if it were a path to relieve my pain. When I finally get out, the water is cold, and I am trembling. I dress and move to the living room, welcomed by its yellowish lights and the comforting gray sofa, complete with a heated blanket to rescue me from the freezing cold that seems to penetrate my bones. I turn on the TV and play nostalgic music, wondering if, after ECT, they will retain their meaning. I admit, I am terrified, but what scares me more is to continue as I am. I sip my drink, which has been waiting for me and is no longer cold, and plan to smoke a joint after finishing it because the combination with my usual eight medications puts me in a trance within minutes, and I fall asleep before reaching my bed, yet always wake up there.

I am frustrated. It’s January 1, 2024, but I am still the same Munique as in all the years past.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs

[journeywithmorphinejournal]

Every night, as darkness falls, so does the weight of anxiety upon me. The whispers of drugs and alcohol promise an escape, and sometimes, it feels like they’re the only way to navigate through the overwhelming emotions. I know, deep down, it’s my addiction talking—irrational and deceptive. But in those moments, it consumes me, leaving little room for anything else.

Today, though, I’ve made a choice not to let these thoughts win. It’s a battle within my mind, and I won’t let the dark side prevail, not today. Yet, finding the strength to combat my own demons is a struggle. Distractions only echo louder, making it seem like my addiction is an insurmountable curse, trapping me in a hell with no clear way out. But if I can escape even just for today, I might find a glimmer of hope for tomorrow.

No one plans to become an addict, but it happens. What we do plan, however, is to heal from addiction. It’s a choice: the path to recovery or, unfortunately, the sad alternative: death. As days pass, I’m growing more certain that I won’t let this disease claim me. I won’t take more of those pills, contemplating them as a final farewell to my addiction and, perhaps, to life itself.

I know salvation exists, and I want to believe that the last time I took those pills were truly the last time. Today, I’ll place my faith in the coming year, praying that 2024 will be the year I succeed—not just because I want it, but because I need it. The thought of my loved ones attending my funeral hurts my heart; I want to stop while I still have time to craft a new, sober life for myself.

I’ll clutch onto my faith with all I have and pray that it empowers me to be clean and sober as I dream to be in 2024.

#addicted #addiction #addict #benzo addiction #benzodiazepine #benzodiazeplease #drugs cw #opiod crisis #tw drugs