I wasn’t always like this. I mean I didn’t always struggle with drugs. I was a somewhat normal kid, somewhat normal family. I got good grades, participated in extra curricular activities, was in band, chorus, orchestra, school show. I was always doing something. I started working when I was 14. I had friends. I had goals.
I’m not saying I don’t have those things anymore.
I certainly do, but its different now.
Drugs were never something I wanted to do. I was never into experimenting with things. Hell I didn’t even smoke weed for the first time until i was 19. I lived in a world where they were all around me, I could get whatever I wanted, I just didn’t want to. That was until I realized that the same drugs I was given for various pain issues, could help me cope with all the things I had been struggling with for my entire life.
I know you’re probably wondering what on earth could be so hard for a teenager to cope with?
I grew up being held to ridiculous standards. I wasn’t allowed to fail, I wasn’t allowed to get bad grades.
My dad had vanished from my life for quite a few years, then came back like nothing happened. I should add he also brought along a completely new family.
At the age of 16 I was held at knife point by my boyfriend and raped. He told me that if I didn’t say yes he was going to slit my throat. He told me that he would go after my family. That he would get what he wanted one way or another. I said yes, left immediately afterwards. For weeks he would sneak in to my house put his hand over my mouth, or pin me to hte bed face first and take what he wanted. He raped me over and over because I was too afraid. I tired telling people, and nobody believed me. So i just stopped. I stopped talking about it because I was just made out to be a slut. Everyone told me it was my fault for dating an older guy. I was told I should of been prepared to have sex with him. He stalked me for moths after and I was still told it was my fault. I lived in constant fear that he would find me, that he would do worse the next time. When my parents finally caught him leaving my house one night they flipped. My mom didn’t give me a chance to tell her what happened and just shipped me off to my dad’s. My dad wasn’t around enough for me to trust, my stepmom while helpful, I hated at the time because she took my dad away from me. Or at least in the eyes of 16 year old me. My friends all stopped talking to me except for one or two, I was alone. I was struggling and had no where to turn.
Worst of all I blamed my self. I mean after all I watched my mom get the living shit kicked out of her for years, at the hands of my step dad. And could do next to nothing about it. He struggled with his own addiction issues, and was verbally and physically abusive not only to her but to my brother and I. I quickly stepped up and tried to become the defender of my family. It didn’t always go well for me. There were quite a few broken bones, because, well I wasn’t afraid of him. I shattered my hand punching him, broke my foot by kicking him in the knees repeatedly, the list goes on. turns out broken bones equal stronger pain meds, and soon I learned that I could take the edge off of my shitty home life by popping a little percocet or vicoden or whatever I had. I didn’t use them every day, just when I couldn’t cope. (read that again folks, I used when I couldn’t cope) I never really thought I had an issue. I mean i didn’t use every day, I didn’t even use for fun. I just used when I couldn’t deal with real life. I was mentally abused, I was told I wasn’t worth the breath I used to live. I was told that I was better off dead. I attempted to kill myself three times in the course of a few years.
My parents tried to help at one point, getting me in to see a therapist. Her constant solution was that I was worrying about things a teenager didn’t need to worry about and that I just needed to relax and be a kid. I needed to not worry about what was going on with my dad, or my mom, or my step parents. Those were grown up concerns and I needed to let them go. We didn’t work on coping strategies, or breathing exercises. I was just told to let it go. When I wasn’t showing any progress it was suggested that I consider medication which I promptly said no to. I knew that I needed help, not medication to cover the issues.
I was already self-medicating.
I didn’t need more drugs.
The drugs I had were working just fine.
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