shamrock
03-27-2009, 09:23 AM
I'm 19, less than six months until I turn 20. Whoopee. I grew up in a very troubled home, but I only lived with my family half of the time--the other half I lived with my grandpa. My childhood was full of confused ideaolgies. I was part Baptist-part Catholic-part atheist, but I think I turned out pretty well rounded. I can discuss Budhism just as easily as I can discuss the Bible.
Anyway, moving right along....I would get shipped off to live with my Pop and his wife whenever I got too out of control. I was the black sheep of the family (still am, big surprise there....some things never change) but I was content. Graduated from high school at 16 and went straight into college and working fulltime. I had more than my fair share of trouble, but I managed to mostly walk the line. Until--my only grandma passed away last February. seven months later and 8 days before my birthday, my grandpa--the one who raised me--died. and 12 days after that, my godfather died. I went off the deep end, thanks to all of it but mostly from my grandpa's death. I spent from my birthday in September until mid-January in a drug-induced daze. I have the kind of connections most drug addicts dream about, so I managed to fit a lot into a limited budget. Uppers when I got to work, then go home, get drunk, and take downers to sleep. Of that 4 or 5 month period, I don't remember much of anything. I can tell you that I got into a lot of fights, I spent a lot of money, and my trash can was full of a lot of bottles.
I was drowning and there was no one there to help. People who knew me, who saw the change in me, chose to ignore it or let it go. I was constantly surrounded by my own misery, and the harder I fought it, the more I got sucked down. It got so that I couldn't make it through a single day without some kind of mood altering concoction. I tried going to a counselor, but he was no help at all....asked me questions like "why do you think you were so dependent on your grandpa?" Well, duh--he raised me. It was literally like losing my father. He was the only person in this whole world who I felt like I truly mattered to.
I would keep getting to points where I would tell myself, that's it, I've hit rock bottom....only to find that there was a rock bottom below that one, and another below the second one, and another below that.....I remember waking up at a strange house on the South side of town one night, bruised and bloody and not knowing where I was or what had happened to me.
I might have never pulled myself back. There was times that I wanted to just die, semi-sober moments when I realized how bad my life had gotten. Even at the funerals of my loved ones, I was overlooked. Which doesn't bother me, per se, in the way that most of the people doing the overlooking were people I don't like anyway. What bothered me most was that I was alone, and I was tired. Tired of working hard and getting nowhere, tired of being trampled on, tired of being ignored by my parents and shunned by my siblings. Everything I did as I grew older was always preceeded by the thought "I want Pop to be proud of me". I rarely did anything to get into trouble, if only for his sake. With him gone, I didn't have a reason to be "good".
I didn't care anymore. I won't say I attempted suicide, but I might as well have. I'd get into a drug and or/liquor induced rage and go looking for fights, hoping to get stabbed or shot. Or maybe just knocked into a good coma. I have scars and several burn marks from that time period, and I don't know where they came from. It's not a good feeling, to see those and have to wonder where you got them.
I was messing things up at work, too. Orders, layouts....out of stock reports. My boss knew what I was doing, but he cared too much about me to send me to get drug tested and I'd lose my job. He put up with it for a long time, but I finally messed up bad enough that he had to do something. I lost the company about $345, just a drop in the bucket, but serious enough that I should have been fired. Instead I got a write up, and Chris let me know that if I messed up again, I'd be drug tested. That didn't really sink in. What did get through was, as I was standing up to leave the office, he gripped my hand and told me, out of the blue, that he was never giving up on me. That was January 17th....and I have been clean and sober, completely, since then.
I've gotten back into the habit of reading the Bible, though I still can't quite bring myself to pray. I remain a hybrid, jumping back and forth in between denominations (that is....when I have time to go to church). I wish I could say I found God for sure in this....but all I really found was myself. I'm not going to throw any theories out there, or false pleasantries about how my life is so much better. Sometimes I wish I was still in a haze all the time....but when I wake up everyday, my first thought is "Maybe today will be ok" instead of "I should stay under the covers". I found hope. False hope, maybe, but false hope is better than no hope.
Anyways....hope my old friends on here will read this, understand why I was gone, and forgive me for being so out of touch.
Betty
Anyway, moving right along....I would get shipped off to live with my Pop and his wife whenever I got too out of control. I was the black sheep of the family (still am, big surprise there....some things never change) but I was content. Graduated from high school at 16 and went straight into college and working fulltime. I had more than my fair share of trouble, but I managed to mostly walk the line. Until--my only grandma passed away last February. seven months later and 8 days before my birthday, my grandpa--the one who raised me--died. and 12 days after that, my godfather died. I went off the deep end, thanks to all of it but mostly from my grandpa's death. I spent from my birthday in September until mid-January in a drug-induced daze. I have the kind of connections most drug addicts dream about, so I managed to fit a lot into a limited budget. Uppers when I got to work, then go home, get drunk, and take downers to sleep. Of that 4 or 5 month period, I don't remember much of anything. I can tell you that I got into a lot of fights, I spent a lot of money, and my trash can was full of a lot of bottles.
I was drowning and there was no one there to help. People who knew me, who saw the change in me, chose to ignore it or let it go. I was constantly surrounded by my own misery, and the harder I fought it, the more I got sucked down. It got so that I couldn't make it through a single day without some kind of mood altering concoction. I tried going to a counselor, but he was no help at all....asked me questions like "why do you think you were so dependent on your grandpa?" Well, duh--he raised me. It was literally like losing my father. He was the only person in this whole world who I felt like I truly mattered to.
I would keep getting to points where I would tell myself, that's it, I've hit rock bottom....only to find that there was a rock bottom below that one, and another below the second one, and another below that.....I remember waking up at a strange house on the South side of town one night, bruised and bloody and not knowing where I was or what had happened to me.
I might have never pulled myself back. There was times that I wanted to just die, semi-sober moments when I realized how bad my life had gotten. Even at the funerals of my loved ones, I was overlooked. Which doesn't bother me, per se, in the way that most of the people doing the overlooking were people I don't like anyway. What bothered me most was that I was alone, and I was tired. Tired of working hard and getting nowhere, tired of being trampled on, tired of being ignored by my parents and shunned by my siblings. Everything I did as I grew older was always preceeded by the thought "I want Pop to be proud of me". I rarely did anything to get into trouble, if only for his sake. With him gone, I didn't have a reason to be "good".
I didn't care anymore. I won't say I attempted suicide, but I might as well have. I'd get into a drug and or/liquor induced rage and go looking for fights, hoping to get stabbed or shot. Or maybe just knocked into a good coma. I have scars and several burn marks from that time period, and I don't know where they came from. It's not a good feeling, to see those and have to wonder where you got them.
I was messing things up at work, too. Orders, layouts....out of stock reports. My boss knew what I was doing, but he cared too much about me to send me to get drug tested and I'd lose my job. He put up with it for a long time, but I finally messed up bad enough that he had to do something. I lost the company about $345, just a drop in the bucket, but serious enough that I should have been fired. Instead I got a write up, and Chris let me know that if I messed up again, I'd be drug tested. That didn't really sink in. What did get through was, as I was standing up to leave the office, he gripped my hand and told me, out of the blue, that he was never giving up on me. That was January 17th....and I have been clean and sober, completely, since then.
I've gotten back into the habit of reading the Bible, though I still can't quite bring myself to pray. I remain a hybrid, jumping back and forth in between denominations (that is....when I have time to go to church). I wish I could say I found God for sure in this....but all I really found was myself. I'm not going to throw any theories out there, or false pleasantries about how my life is so much better. Sometimes I wish I was still in a haze all the time....but when I wake up everyday, my first thought is "Maybe today will be ok" instead of "I should stay under the covers". I found hope. False hope, maybe, but false hope is better than no hope.
Anyways....hope my old friends on here will read this, understand why I was gone, and forgive me for being so out of touch.
Betty