Its a long one but im having thoughts of relapse with heroin and wrote it to take my mind away and remind myself what ive been through.
Whenever I was 14 I had my first experience getting slammed on alcohol at a party with some of my band members. I immedietly fell in love with the looseness, uncaring attitude alcohol would provide and began chasing that feeling. Sobriety was boring, getting messed up was cool, and i'd begin looking up to the life all of these rockstar celebrities lived with drugs, women, and adrenaline. This would lead me to my first experience with marijuana at the same age. Soon after, I'd begin smoking regularly, and by highschool I was smoking weed everyday and hanging around other stoners and druggies. I loved getting stoned at the skatepark, listening to Alice in Chains, and riding the wave.
However, none of this lifestyle would come without consequences. My parents would on multiple occasions catch me high, smelling like weed, or find my stash. This is where our relationship would begin to deteriorate. Suddenly weed **wasnt enough** to keep me happy. I went against my morals, let down my parents, and beat myself up for this. I felt like a failure. I stopped caring about what they think and would begin finding other ways to get high. I'd begin using DXM, experimenting with psychadelics like LSD, Mushrooms, and DMT to try to find meaning in life, but i never did. Now instead of fulling enjoying getting high, I was using it as an escape.
By this time I was 18 and had abused many substances. Weed, cocaine, excstacy, Xanax, klonopin, psychadelics, and more. I realized my life was going nowhere. Something had to give. This is when I maxe the decision to join the United States Marine Corps.
Following graduating bootcamp, the feeling of brotherhood, accomplishment, and making my family proud was amazing. I had found my purpose. To be a fighter in the world's finest fighting force. I was a reservist, so following boot camp, basic infantry, and Mos training I would report for drill once a month after being assigned a Unit and stationed. Being a reservist, I had lots of downtime at home. I needed something to do and I had to stay clean.
Ever since I was young I loved everything that had to do with speed and adrenaline. Racecars, fighterjets, and very specifically motorcycles. Soon after being assigned my unit I'd buy my first one. A 2012 Kawasaki Ninja Zx-6r Supersport. I was immediately hooked. The feeling of the wind, vibration of the motor, and absurd acceleration is like nothing I had ever experienced. It was my escape. It was how I got out of my head and if I was stressed I'd go for a ride. Despite the intensity, the stillness, laser focus, tunnel vision, and silence at speeds over 150mph brought me peace. It was me and the bike. No regrets, no addictions, no problems. Silence.
At 19, 6 months later, I would begin college for a cybersecurity degree. I always was interested in computers, exploiting, and coding and was pursuing a career in ethical hacking. Ethical hackers are hired by companies to hack into them and tell them where their weakpoints are. This wouldn't last very long. I wasn't skilled in math and would give up and drop out my first semester. I was very disappointed. I was never one to quit and didn't know what to do with my life now. I was lost. I began going out to the bar alot more after and coping with liquor, women, and the occasional blunt. I was very careful to have weed out of my system before drills and would get back using substances like cocaine and Xanax which leave my system quick.
One night, 2 years later, 3 days before drill, myself and one of my friends would go out to the bar and get wasted. I was on my motorcycle. I knew I was too messed up to ride and at this point it was 12am. I told my friend I would stay until 2am to sober up for a little then ride home. Thats when he pulls out a baggie of cocaine and offers it to me to sober me up for a little and get home. I contemplated because I knew if I had a random drug test at drill it may still be detectable as military drug tests are very sensitive. What were the odds of that though? High enough. I took a line of cocaine, hauled ass home, and 3 days later went to drill. There were no individual drug tests today. They decided to drug test the entire unit. A week later I was notified I failed and received and other than honorable discharge. I was destroyed. Being in the military brought me confidence, worth, respect, and family was proud of me. I had moved on from being a druggie, fighting and arguing with family, and now they'd find this out and believe I never changed. My family that was once proud of me and had the joy of calling their son a United States Marine would find out I was discharged for a positive drug screen. I lost all hope and began smoking weed everyday and got back using crystal MDMA, cocaine, Xanax, klonopin, and acid on the regular. I was depressed and trying to escape, denying all drug use to family, but they certainly knew.
**GETTING INTO OPIOIDS**
I had always heard of the pleasurable effects of opioid drugs, but never had the nerve to try them. However, I was at this point of my life very desperate and down. At 21 my family forced me to move out the house and I got an apartment with my lifelong best friend we will call Jace who was an EMT with an Ambulance company. He was pretty grounded. Drank often, but never used hard substances. We have always smoked weed together, but that's the most he would do. We would kick back and chill while he shares crazy stories from being an EMT. Little did I know, I'd soon be an addition to his collection of stories.
Soon after moving in with him, I began my search for opioid drugs and would find them quick. I contacted a "good" friend who I knew used to be on meth and I figured he'd know where to find opioids. I have always taken everything to the extreme and figured if I was going to do opioids, I was going to do it right. I asked this friend of mine if he knew where to find heroin. He did. Matter of fact his uncle was the dope man and was a phone call away. This is where my life would change forever. I bought my first bag. Whenever I got home I'd try it for the first time. I took a small keybump and was immediately floored. I never felt anything like this. The full body warmth, heaviness, tiredness, itches, and euphoria of all my problems melting away had me immedietly hooked. Suddenly I had no problems, no worries, physically felt like I was wrapped in a warm soft blanket and would now begin chasing the feeling of slipping in and out of consciousness in my first nod.
I was well aware of how physically addictive heroin is and told myself I'd only use it occasionally so I dont get addicted. Little did I know, mentally I was already hooked. I'd start using it once every few days, but this would only last half a month. I began using it every night often redoing multiple times throughout. I could still make it through the day without using, I wasnt addicted right? After a week of using this way, I was at work and felt like I was catching a cold and getting some back pain. This was at 5pm .I'd normally use around 9, and my heroin was at home. By the time I got home at 8 I was sick and irritable and thinking about using. I was craving. Whenever I used that night all symptoms went away and thats when I realized I was now physically dependent to heroin.
I began using more at a time and one night disaster struck. Me and Jace were chilling on the couch and I decided to use a little more than usual. He tried telling me not to but I assured him I was in control. I was loaded. I caught a heavy nod and passed out. Next thing I know I'm opening my eyes and it's like the point of view of someone regaining consciousness after being knocked out in a movie. My vision is slowly becoming clearer and the first thing I see is Jace's face in front of mine. "Jake! You overdosed!" I responded, "Nah bro, im good." I thought I was still sitting on the couch and he got nervous and had to sternum rub me to wake me up, boy, was I wrong. As I regained consciousness, I realized I was lying on the ground outside of my apartment with a fireman standing on the staircase in front of me. I soon realized I had a twelve prong heart monitor hooked up to me and there was EMS, firemen, and police all around me. I really did overdose, and he saved my life.
From his perspective I had a seizure, tensed up for 15-20 seconds then went limp, lost my pulse, and stopped breathing after labored breaths. He drug me outside and began care on me then because my pistol was on the table and he didn't want police to enter. He rubbed my sternum so hard it cracked and did cpr on me for 10 minutes until firemen arrived. They had to give me 2 extra strength narcan to wake me up. And my "Nah bro im good" response to him telling me I overdosed never came out of my mouth. I was gasping for air and didn't even realize it. I never told anyone about this. It was very traumatic and the only people who know this happened are Me, him, and emergency services.
This didn't stop me though. I would still continue using despite concerns from family of my loss of weight, change in attitude, isolation, and appetite. My addiction would progress and by the time I was 22 in October 2024 I'd be using 3-4 times a day. I believed i could still stop if I wanted to and wasnt addicted. I would become tight on money at this time and move back in with family. In this month of October 2024 I had a severe motorcycle accident and 2 days later, would use to help with the pain because I had work at 11:30. I was extremely concussed with a black and blue bruised face, banged up jaw, broken rubs, and wasnt thinking straight. No one goes to work after a severe motorcycle crash. My father had called me down for breakfast and got no response. Whenever he came up to check on me my door was locked and he had to break through the door because I wasnt responding. He found me unconscious, not breathing, purple skin, and no pulse on the floor with foil and heroin spilt on my desk. Him and my mother did CPR on me for 30 minutes before EMS arrived and I woke up right as EMS was running up the staircase. The first thing I saw was my Father's sweaty face above mine, him breathing heavily and barely able to yell "Thank God!"
On the way to the hospital in the back of the ambulance I told the EMT I should have died in motorcycle accident which I have no recollection of, or the hospital visit. Because of this I was admitted into a mental hospital. My concussion was also causing me to repeat questions, forget what I was saying mid sentence, and more. EMS thought I was suicidal and brain-dead. However, I made a full recovery and they would chalk it up to the result of head trauma. Following my release from the mental hospital, I'd be admitted by family into a drug rehabilitation facility. If I had any withdrawal in the mental hospital I do not remember because my memory was wiped or very patchy for the first few days due to the motorcycle accident. I never did detox at the rehab facility and started the 28 days when I got there. I didn't believe I needed the help and didn't go on my own will, but still learned alot and realized I am a drug addict.
Following my release in December 2024 I wouldn't work the steps, go to meetings, or do anything extra for myself. I began smoking weed again and using kratom and told myself I'd never go back to hard drugs. I may have been an addict, but I learned my lesson and wouldn't use again. Or so I thought. 3 months later my parents went through my belongings and found old paraphernalia I had forgot I stashed and thought I was back using again. We got into a bad fight and I got kicked out the house and relapsed. The past 3 months of sobriety (what i then took as just staying away from opioid drugs) were for nothing. I'll **always** be seen as a drug addict.
I moved in with a friend of mine who didn't know I was using and over the course of the next 6 months my addiction would progress to the worse its ever been. I would smoke heroin every 2-3hours and could not sleep without it. I'd wake up at 2-3am every morning gling into withdrawal and have to use again to go to back to sleep. At times I'd have to pawn personal valuables for money, lie to the friend I was living with that I "needed money for medical bills," have dreams of having a normal happy relationship with family to wake up to a pillow soaked in years from crying in my sleep. It was hell and torment. The fear of withdrawal when the plug isn't responding, or when im out of dope and have to wait a day or 2 to get more was hell on earth. I would blame God for allowing this time happen to me and stop praying and going to church. I spent every last dollar on dope. 3 days before I checked into rehab for the 2nd time my friend found out I was using and kicked me out the house. I was living in my car. I really hit rock bottom. I cried and cried and decided it was tike to get help and I am tired. I let my family know and surprisingly they were very supportive. I thought I was lost, hated, worthless. The black sheep, but they just wanted their son back.
Following my 2nd rehab i am now as I make this post 4 months and 15 days stone cold sober. My relationship with family is great, and my life is coming back together. My name is Jake, I'm an addict, and so far this is my life story.
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