Subita morto de Panjo kaj kiel ĝi faris min aprezi mian vivon pli . vivi . spiri . amas .

A few nights ago I was laying in bed, slowly falling asleep when I received an unexpected late night (10:30PM is what I consider late night) text message from a fellow Mom and friend, - which is one of the only friends I have left in the aftermath of the destructive addiction that plagued my life. Her text simply read "My friend just passed away from a heroin overdose. She was a year clean. She left behind a little one year old girl. She was the one I told you about on our hike." This hit me hard, as I am a new Mom to a 7 month old (7 months 4 weeks if you wanna be exact) baby girl and I am a heroin addict in recovery. Even though I am an addict myself, I have a hard time accepting her relapse and choice to get high over her life with her daughter and of course her own life. I've thought about it the last couple of days, thought about what would drive a single Mom of a beautiful little girl to relapse knowing the risks that a relapse poses. Addicts are more susceptible to an overdose from a relapse. This is because we have had lots of clean time and our tolerance is not what it once was. So we use about the same dose maybe a little bit less thinking we can handle it. Not only do we decide to use but we decide to use alone, in secret because we know what we are doing is wrong and we are ashamed of it and don't want anyone to know. A lot of it is fear of being judged, fear of letting our loved ones down - so we tell ourselves "it's ok it's just this once, just one last taste, no one will know and it'll be like it never happened." Except it happened and unbeknown to you it was the last time you would do it, the last taste of the high you so willingly sought after and gave your life for the last taste of the thing that became greater than yourself, greater than the love for your daughter, greater than a lifetime of happiness with the one person who loves you despite all your flaws and faults, judgement free. It's such a terrible thing - when an addict loses their battle to addiction. So many people - family and friends mourn their loss. Their Facebook wall is flooded with messages of condolences, messages of disbelief, anger, hurt. They all read the same "This can't be real, this can't be true I just saw you yesterday. This can't be real. I wish there was something I could have done. If you needed help why didn't you tell me. I was here for you why didn't you tell me how bad you were doing?" All of this scrawled all over this wall that they'll never read. People asking for answers to a questions that will never be answered. Mostly, "Why did you do it? Not you!" The thing is, there is no "why did he/she do it?" Because any answer you give is never enough. There is no answer that will give the people grieving relief. No answer that will satisfy. Their premature loss will always hurt and the void their absence leaves will always be there. Gone too young, too soon. As an addict the way I've come to understand relapse is that comparable to gambling. You go in knowing what and how much you are gambling, you know very well what you will lose. There is no outweighing the pros and cons. Just DOING. Just feeling or not feeling. Whatever you consider it to be. To me it was a numbing sensation that I thought took away all the pain but in reality just masked it with what I seemed to think was the best sensation in the world. Once I felt that warmth in my belly a sigh of relief would follow and I felt complete - or so I thought. My tangent just took me to somewhere I hadn't been in so long. Revisiting those days and those memories that I wish would fade with each passing day. They don't fade BUT I don't think about heroin on a daily basis anymore. It may cross my mind at most 3 times a week. Which isn't bad considering a few months ago I couldn't imagine life without it. I've come a long way but still have way more to go. 
When I think of the life that was lost, I can't help but wonder what was going through her mind. I'm sure she just wanted to do it again, just once. Sadly it was her last high. She has a beautiful one year old girl who now is motherless. How awful for her, to grow up without her Mom. When my friend told me about this so much ran through my mind but every thought led back to her little girl. This death hit me hard, like a ton of bricks hard. I suppose the reason for that is that we have a lot in common; both recovering heroin addicts and new Mom's to baby girls. I don't know this woman and never met her but I feel like I know her in a way. I feel so sad for her but again, especially for her daughter. I get mad and think "how fucking selfish of her" and then I get sad and think "how sad she won't get to see her baby girl grow up, she won't be there when her daughter needs her most." This death puts a lot into perspective. Life is so fragile and not to be gambled with, just because you managed to survive heroin this long does not mean the next time you use won't be your last. It solidifies the fear in me that grows more and more with each death I hear of. Just these last 3 months I have known 2 people that have overdosed on heroin and have heard of 4 people dying from heroin overdoses. That's a lot of people in that span of time and size of town. I hope that I will not become part of that statistic. I hope to be in the statistic of those who successfully overcame their addiction and are managing it in a healthy manner. 
The addiction and the addict never go away - kinda like with cancer it goes into remission, I think of addiction similarly. You can do things to manage the addiction and with time it'll get easier and you won't use you'll be clean (in remission). Relapses will happen - sadly, they are almost inevitable. That doesn't mean I'm setting myself up for failure. I'm being realistic, with that being said - it doesn't mean I'm going to relapse. The thought of relapse scares the fuck out of me. The thought that if I do heroin again I may lose everything - my life. I don't want to die prematurely and I don't want to die by way of a drug overdose. I want my daughter to have a Mother not just a Mother but an amazing Mother; one she can rely on, one she can count on to always be there, one that doesn't flake out or even worse show up high to her recital. I want my daughter to have a Mother she can be proud of. I want to LIVE and when I say that I mean it in every sense of the word. I want to LIVE, BREATHE and LOVE. I know, I know - cheesy as it may sound but that is what I want. I want to live life to the fullest, I want to wake up and take a deep breath of fresh air be grateful that I am granted another day of life, take a deep breath when anxiety kicks in and and I want to love all whom love me and even those who don't - because valuing all lives makes us better people (I personally think so). 
Much like this diary entry my life tends to go on tangents and I suppose that is what makes my life interesting. Everyday holds so many surprises (good and bad) and I'll accept them as they may come. I will fight the battles that come my way for life is worth fighting for till the bitter end. 

* At the end of every diary entry I will post something I am grateful for that day. I'm trying to practice being mindful and grateful everyday. I hope that these entries will help me in my quest to become a better version of myself. 


* TODAY I AM GRATEFUL FOR MY LOVING, TOLERANT, SUPPORTIVE FAMILY WERE IT NOT FOR THEM I WOULD NOT BE HERE TODAY.

The way life was supposed to be...things happen for a reason...

I don't tend to think about "how life was supposed to be.." how life would had been had I never been addicted, never reckless nor careless, always thoughtful and mindful. I'm of the mindset that things happen for a reason. There was always a reason for the destruction and madness that was my life, a lesson to be learned? "Everything happens for a reason", I would mumble and slur. I swore that my life was shit because, well, "Everything happens for a fucking reason!". How naive was I to think that, when in fact my mind was only making excuses for my foul behavior. Not so much my mind, I suppose, but just me. Denial became a good friend of mine, acceptance was so nonexistent that I didn't even know what acceptance was. Sleepless nights then followed by days of 16 hour cat naps. Wearing long sleeves in the summer even though it is 99 degrees outside so I could hide the tracks that marked my olive complected skin. 99 degrees outside and I'm shivering, so cold. Stomach cramps persist and I know I need to get a hit. Time to hustle, time to work - gotta get better can't stand being sick. Conned my way through this addiction, lied for 3 years straight, kept the lies going till I no longer could. Always was proud of the fact that I never turned tricks, but lying to my family to get money out of them can't be much better than that. Things happen for a reason, do they now? This is the way life was supposed to be.