Becca N

As an awkward teenager growing up, I was always the one left out.  I had very few friends, and didn't have any friendships that lasted more than five years.  I did whatever it took to fit in.  Once I went to college, my renewed freedom and desire to fit in exploded into a totally new person.  During my second year of college, I had lost control and my "first six", as I call it, took place.  I skipped my first class, got my first C, drank my first alcoholic beverage,  smoked my first cigarette, smoked weed for the first time, and had sex for the first time.  This is when the downward spiral of my life begun.

Going to a frat party sounded fun.  Definitely something new and exciting. I couldn't believe I was invited.   My friend, I'll call her Jenn, and I got all dressed up and ready to go.  It was in the other dorm, so we walked across the pathway and went to the dorm of all the baseball players.  We didn't know anyone there, but we had each other.  Once we got there,  one of the guys gave me a beer.  I hadn't drank all night,  this was my first drink.  I drank half the beer, and that's it....that's all I remember.  Total blackout.  The next thing I remember, I'm back across the pathway in a strange dorm room.  I'm naked.  There are condoms on the floor.  A guy is at the door wearing a Best Buy tee shirt.  I can't see any more details as my contacts are blurry from the night before.  He says, "I've got to go to work", and leaves.  I quickly get dressed and left, stumbling to find my way back to my room.  I didn't think to stay to look for anything with his name on it or anything as I was worried about his roommate coming back, and I just wanted to get out of there.  I honestly was in such a haze, I didn't even think of doing anything like that.  I had been date raped.  He had drugged me.  I had no idea who he was, I couldn't remember what room he was in, and I couldn't remember what he looked like.  He had won.  I didn't tell anyone as I felt so ashamed and dirty.  I tucked it away until recently when I finally told my therapist. 

In college is where I met my husband, now ex-husband.  I fell completely head over heels for him, even though he was the complete opposite of any guy that I usually would have picked.  But he made me feel like I fit in.  He made me feel like I belonged.   We drank a lot of beer together and smoked marijuana together.  The weekends at college easily began to spread into the weekdays, we had a blast together.  It wasn't long before he got kicked off campus for smoking in his dorm room, so he moved in with my friend Jenn.  I spent most of my time their, too.  During that summer, I moved in with Jenn, too.  I spent time taking summer classes while we planned to move to Arizona with his family.   I couldn't bear the fact of being without him, so I was going to follow.  At this point, my parents were already upset that I was living with my boyfriend....we had gotten our own apartment by this point in time.  My parents just knew that he was not the guy for me.  But I was certain that I was moving across the country with him.  I met my parents at the park for a tearful goodbye.  They had a deal for me.  In the front seat of the car was a check for the remaining years of my college degree,  we could go to the school and take care of it.  In the back seat was a going away gift.  The choice was mine.  Tearfully,  I chose the going away gift.   This was a huge deciding factor of my life....how my life would be different if I would have chosen the front seat.   But I was so in love with my boyfriend, with the drugs, the alcohol, and the lifestyle.  The backseat contained 100 daisies (my favorite flower), a necklace with a butterfly pendant (giving me my wings), and a picture of me and my family to take with me.  The next day, my boyfriend and I set out across the country where I spent the next 15 years in Arizona.

After we got married, the abuse began.  The boy I fell in love with changed into a monster.  From throwing a coffee table and cursing me out in emotional abuse it escalated to physical abuse.  Most days I stopped in the garage after work and took a couple hits of the marijuana bong before going inside so that I could handle what was going to be thrown at me that night.  I drank alcohol every night to ease the pain.  There was a night when I was thrown against the closet and had the wind knocked out of me.  When I came to, he drug me to the bed, and poured beer over my head, belittling me the whole time.  I had to call into work due to a black eye,  I was held up against the wall by my neck, chased down the road with a butcher knife, and drug down the hallway by my feet and thrown out the front door.  There were threats that he was going to slit my throat and that he was going to kill me.  The police showed up multiple times, because the neighbors called when they heard the screams.   Each time, I denied being hurt.  I always believed that he would get better.  I always believed him when he said he was sorry.  The emotional, mental, and physical abuse was out of control.  I moved on to cocaine at this point, but it still didn't numb the pain enough.  October 2007, after 5 years and 2 kids, we finally got a divorce.

After being the kid left out and wanting to be left in, being raped, and being beaten, I had learned how to numb the pain.  Drugs had become my new best friend.  At this point in time, I was using alcohol, marijuana, and cocaine.   I had a few binges and stayed awake for days partying with friends.  I felt invincible. Then in February 2008, I got very sick.  Thank God my mother was in town as we were scheduled to go on a vacation together.  I got to the hospital and was told I had 2 days to live.  My lungs had filled up with so much fluid,  I was slowly dying.  The doctors did emergency surgery placing chest tubes in my lungs.  I was in the hospital for 12 days.  While I was in the hospital,  I was on morphine that was so strong I was hallucinating.   Ahhh. My best friend was still with me.  Then the doctor prescribed enough vicodin when I left the hospital that I had major withdrawals when I ran out.  I chilled out on the drugs for awhile after my surgery,  stopped smoking cigarettes for awhile, but still drank beer.  About 10 months after my surgery,  I started smoking again and drinking heavily.   Even did some vicodin every now and then.

October 2009, is when my best friend came into my life, oxycontin 30s.  I began dating Howard and we got addicted to these together.  One of my old friends had introduced these to me, and I introduced them to Howard one night as something fun to do, and we never stopped.  Oxys gave me a sense of confidence that I never felt before and a sense of euphoria that made me feel beyond incredible.  Once I used my drivers license to crush up that small pill, then a straw to snort it up my nose, the feeling of invincibility was instant.  Howard and I started out small, but it wasn't long before we were getting enough to get us through the day.  Doing them at work, in the morning, at home.  Spending all our money on them.  This lasted 4 years.  I couldn't go a day without my best friend.

September 2013 is when Howard and I broke up.  It was during this time I decided I was going to stop oxys.  I couldn't afford it anymore.  I was still drinking every day.  But I was realizing how much oxys were interfering with my life. I was giving suboxone a try.  On my 4th day if suboxone, I was sitting out front having a cigarette, when my neighbor, John, whom I had a major crush on, came over and talked to me.  During the conversation, the topic of meth came up somehow.  Well, that night was the first night I tried my new best friend....meth.  Meth completely took over my life.  It started out as just a weekend thing, the first weekend.  Then it was a daily thing.  It happened that quick.  I was bringing it to work.  Doing it during my lunch break in the park and in the Target parking lot.  I was working overtime, bringing work home and staying up for days with no sleep.  I was absolutely loving my life.  Once again, I was invincible,  but this time, I was unbreakable. Nothing could stop me.  I interviewed for a new job, then at the same time got promoted at my current work.  So I stayed at my current job and worked on an exciting new project.   I was on fire.  Nobody knew what my demon was.  All at the same time I was being a mom and maintaining a household.  I had a new set of friends who introduced me to new friends.  I was popular.  People liked me.  I fit in.  I had confidence, I was on cloud nine, I felt pretty, and for once I felt included.  Then slowly, it all started to fade away.  After nine months on meth, I lost my job.  I immediately filed for unemployment and continued to smoke meth.  I didn't look for another job, I was invincible,  right?  Besides, I was having too much fun with my new friends....and especially my new best friend.  A year after starting meth, I lost my kids.  My ex noticed that something was different about me, took me to court, ordered a drug test, and took my kids.  Although I was devastated,  I still didn't put the pipe down.  I couldn't.   I loved my kids, I wanted them back.  I can't explain the power of addiction.  

Suddenly, I was alone.  My friends stopped coming over as much.  I stopped talking to my family.  All I had was my best friend.  At one point, I closed all the shades, put blankets up over the windows, and sat in the dark.  I was so alone.   I opened the window a crack to smoke a cigarette so I wouldn't have to go outside.  But at least I had my pipe.  I barricaded myself inside for three days.

At this point,  I was so small, so malnurished, that it hurt to breathe.  My ribs would rub against my skin when I took a breath.  How painful.  I was fading fast.  I became delusional.  I began checking everything around my apartment for video recorders and microphones, certain I was being watched.  I was incredibly paranoid.  I took pictures of everything.  Then I created a dual personality.  I named her and gave her an identity.   This person was so real to me.  It took months in therapy later in life for me to let her go.  When my mother sent the police to my house for a wellness check, as she hadn't heard from me for awhile, I actually answered the door and introduced myself as my dual personality.  The police ended up taking a picture of me and sending it to my mom.  This person became a part of me for months.  I wrote letters to my parents as this other person, including my own obituary.

In March 2015, I made an appointment to go to counseling.  When the day came, I got ready to go,  but then realized I was out of cigarettes.  I went and picked up smokes, drove right passed the counseling office, and kept driving.  I drove and drove for about an hour, crying and listening to loud music.  I knew I needed help, but was too scared, too ashamed, too embarrassed to get it.  When I got home, I went to my room, and feel to my knees,  crying my heart out.  I cried out to God and asked for His help.  I knew I couldn't do this on my own anymore.  It was from this day on that I started reading my Bible daily, listening to Christian music, and praying for God's help...and yes, I was still smoking meth at the same time.  I remember sitting in the corner of my bed reaching my hand out to God and visualizing Him reaching His hand back saving me.  It was on the same day that I called my dad an admitted to him that I was smoking meth.

In May 2015, I received notice that I was to be evicted.  I had been living on my tax return, and it had run out.  I still had not looked for employment.  At this point, I was so depressed, so delusional, and so lost that I didn't even show up at the last court hearing for my kids, let alone look for work.  And now, I was looking at being homeless.  But I had been praying and knew that God wouldn't let me be homeless,  this girl would never make it on the streets.  Suddenly,  I knew the answer, I just knew....don't ask me how.  My parents were coming.  I didn't know when, but I knew it was soon.  I got the kids rooms ready  for them to stay in, I made a camouflage cake for my dad, bought their favorite drinks and was ready for them to show up.  I even wroted about it in my journal which i still have today.  Sure enough, on May 22, 2015, there was a knock on my door.  I thought it might be one of my friends that hadn't been over for awhile, but sure enough, there stood my dad, mom, and sister, unannounced from Maine to Arizona.  I couldn't believe it, I immediately broke down into tears.  We exchanged hugs and tears and sat down and talked.  I tried to explain my situation, the best I could without sounding too delusional.  Tried to explain that meth was my medicine for my anxiety and depression and that I needed it.  The first night, they didn't argue.  They just listened and showed me their unconditional love.  

May 23, 2015 is my sobriety date.  My parents didn't stay with me, so of course I smoked the night before, but I did try to get some sleep so I could be rested for the day with them....but that didn't work so well.  I was so excited that they were in town, but scared at the same time cause I didn't know what was going to happen.  I was so scared of a life without drugs.  I didn't know how to live without drugs, I had been on some kind of drug for 15 years, and I knew it was coming to an end.  So that night....I smoked meth.  Mom and dad came over the next morning.  I was so delusional,  we ended up going to Walmart where we spent the next 3 hours.  I hadn't been out of my house for so long (my car was stolen by a "friend" about a week before) I felt like I needed so many things.  I completely disregarded the fact that I was being evicted the next week, I bought enough stuff for a month.  My parents couldn't believe we spent 3 hours there.  We didn't even get all the groceries put away when we started to have the conversation.   Dad wanted to know my plans.   I had so many crazy answers that made no sense.  After a little debating, the conclusion was that my parents were going to "help" me.  I finally agreed.  I agreed, but wanted just one more cigarette first.   We sat outside, my parents in awe that I agreed to their help.  Then I left my apartment for the last time with my phone, my wallet, and the clothes on my back.

My parents would not tell me where they were taking me, just that we were going for help.  Well, my delusional self felt excited.  I felt like they were taking me to a surprise.  Little did I know what "help" meant.  We showed up at a behavioral health facility.   Dad and I walked arm and arm inside, dad crying and me smiling, still having no clue what was going on.  I was still feeling euphoria, still on cloud nine, no clue what was going on.  We sat in a room and explained to these strangers who I was and why I was there.  Now things started to feel real.  Mom and dad were both crying.  They then sent us to the hospital where I had to be cleared before entering the behavioral facility.  After getting checked into the hospital, which took awhile (mom was so scared I was going to run) I was placed onto a room.  After awhile, I was taken to another room where I was locked in.  I was extremely loud as irrational.  It was then I found out that my parents were getting a court order on me and that I had to stay there by law.  I was given a B52 shot after I was cornered by the hospital staff, and fell asleep shortly after.  That was day one of my sobriety.

When I woke up the next day, I was taken by ambulance back to the behavioral health facility where I was kept on a locked down unit for 2 weeks.  I was monitored by two doctors, and could not be released except by the authority of the courts.  In the lock down unit, I detoxed hard.  I found out some mental illnesses that I had and spent many long days learning a lot about myself.  I had a court hearing where the doctors gave testimony, my parents did as well, and so did my crazy self.  After 2 weeks, I was released from the locked down unit on court order.  I was then taken to a half way house where I spent the next two weeks.  While I was there, I spent many appointments with a psychiatrist and was diagnosed schizoaffective disorder with bipolar and major depression.  I learned a lot more about myself.  I was placed on numerous medications and was court ordered to attend a six month residential rehabilitation center for dual diagnosis.  This would help me with my drug use and my mental illness.   I spent the next six months in rehab.  The first three months, I was not allowed to leave the property.  I had to attend groups all day, everyday.  The last three months, I was allowed to leave only during certain times on an approved schedule for approved activities.  This helped me to get used to going out into the world without using drugs.  Rehab worked very well for me.  It taught me many coping skills such as mindfulness and grounding.  It also got me into therapy, which I was originally afraid of, but am still in today. 

I thank God first and foremost for saving me.  I am so thankful for my parents and sister for coming to Arizona so many times to save me from a life of drugs, and to get me into the right treatment center and onto the right path for treatment.  I am thankful for my therapist for being there for me to talk through all the pain that needed to be numbed.  And I am so thankful that I no longer need drugs to live a happy life.  I am now 3 years 9 months sober and am able to see my kids every summer and talk to them whenever I want.  I live with my parents in Maine and am attending college for Business Administration.   Thank you for taking the time to read my story.