Addiction is a bitch. And the spotlight has been put on it this week because of Whitney Houston's death (although we don't know officially how she died), as well as a number of other high profile deaths the past five years involving prescription drugs. Obviously this is not a new problem but deaths from various combinations of pills and booze seem to be the 'in' thing right now. And it's causing some pretty tragic deaths. It seems as though illegal drug addictions and alcoholism have long been recognized as diseases and are treated as such, but prescription meds are just getting their time in the sun. I don't think some people realize how easy it is to become addicted to them and it's so unfortunate. I heard something today about how people who have used illegal drugs for eons are still alive and kicking but people who developed a taste for pills are dropping like flies. And while most of it is accidental, I can guarantee you that a lot of those accidents are the result of intentional misuse. I know because I've been there.
I've made it no secret that I had myself a little problem sometime ago, but thankfully it never got to the addiction level. I most definitely intentionally misused the drugs that were prescribed to me and I'm VERY lucky I did not have to pay for it with my life. I got several warnings about how much to take, not to mix alcohol with any of the pills and so on. And I listened. For awhile. But then I realized certain drugs numbed me completely and that's exactly what I wanted so one day I doubled up. If one is good, more must be better, right? But the effect was too much and I was visibly intoxicated and it freaked out the people who loved me. Instead of stopping, I scaled back so I could function and seem "normal" (if still depressed and in the midst of PTSD). When that was no longer enough, I started drinking most days. The drinking didn't seem out of place since I was still in college at the time it began. But then I graduated and it became more obvious so I went underground and started drinking either when I was alone or when I went out (when I inevitably ended up hooking up with someone). And on and on it went, experimenting with different (legal) drugs and alcohol in various combinations. I picked it up and put it down whenever it suited me, I never needed any of it. I'd go days or weeks without taking anything and then dive back in for awhile (which I later learned was really playing with fire). In hindsight, I think I was just bored and I know I was depressed. Almost all of this was on the low because I became a fantastic liar during that period. I had no enablers because no one knew I had a habit. Until they did. Slowly the people I loved started to notice something was amiss but no one person knew everything I was doing. Most knew about the drinking and the hook-ups, only one or two knew about the pills, but they were all concerned.
I was slowly starting to realize that was no way to live and began scaling back on the pills. Then I got news that my surrogate grandmother was found unconscious and rushed to the hospital as a result of mixing pills and alcohol. She died a week later and I flew home to pick up some stuff she'd left me. It snapped me back into reality and I threw out everything I'd been self-medicating with. But that wasn't enough for my family, who couldn't be sure I'd actually stopped since I'd been able to keep it a secret for so long. I'd constantly get questions about where I'd been and if I'd been doing something I shouldn't be. I understood it was all out of love and concern but it got annoying so to appease them I turned to a friend who specializes in addiction and is also a therapist and we started working everything out and finally treating the depression and PTSD as it was supposed to be treated. And it wasn't all smooth sailing and was harder than I expected it to be (because I had to relive both accidents, etc.) but I'm SO thankful I did it. It helped me realize that I do have self-destructive tendencies but I can keep them in check and that's the most important thing. And as time's gone on, my family has stopped asking all the questions I found annoying because they no longer have a reason to.
As I said before, I got very lucky. I played with fire and only got singed. But it could have very easily gone another way. It's not uncommon for someone who's gone through a traumatic experience to turn towards pills and booze and then that becomes their life. I think it was only my stubbornness that kept me from ending up like that. Even when I was using there was this thing in the back of my mind reminding me that addiction runs in my family and when that voice got too loud, I stepped back for a minute. I had control of the drug instead of the drug having control over me, and that is so rare. No one knows why some people shake that stuff after one (or five) tries and others can never get over their habit. But it's a scary thing to get into. The line between using those drugs as they're intended and misusing them is so thin and before you know it, you can develop a nasty little habit that you may never shake. Regardless of what the cause of death is determined to be for Whitney Houston, I hope people choose to remember her at her best and not dwell on the bad years. I would also hope they remember that addiction is a disease and she did try and get help for it. But sometimes the battles become too much and you end up losing the war.
