No, that’s not the name on my birth certificate, but it’s the name I’ve always used to distinguish the one person inside me from the other. Fiona is the girl that the drugs turned me into; that other girl is long dead. I don’t have the heart to tell that to my family. Right now, my head is pretty jumbled up, being as this is my first post on my first blog ever. I post dumb shit and nature videos on facebook, but facebook doesn’t offer the same anonymity that here does; here, I can say whatever the fuck I want, whatever goes through my head. But, there’s a lot of shit that goes through my head, every day. Maybe one day, I’ll get to it all. For now, I’m just going to tell you about my current situation and a little bit about how I got there, so here we go.
Right now, I’m smoking a cigarette outside and it’s gorgeous out. I’m still wearing the same pajama pants and sweatshirt from saturday, I think? It’s Tuesday. I haven’t showered or left the house other than to go to dose at the methadone clinic at the butt crack of dawn. My excuse for not giving a fuck about my appearance: I’m on house arrest! It fucking sucks. I’m only allowed to leave my house to go to the methadone clinic or an NA meeting, I have to wear a gigantic, uncomfortable ankle bracelet that I have to plug in to the wall for an hour every day, and I have to call the JDC (juvenile detention center) every time I leave the house or come home. I believe I am on day 5 of my 30 day sentence- it’s really not that bad, as much as I am complaining, provided that the alternative to house arrest was to do 30 days in county jail, which would have really fucking sucked because I would have had to kick the methadone cold turkey. When I went to court, my probation officer had told me that they were just going to take me off probation, so even though I got a letter in the mail saying that I was being charged with violation of probation, I had discussed it with my PO and he said I would be fine-there’d be no alternative, so that’s the presumption I was under. The look on my face I must have had when I heard I might have been going to jail- shit! Hahaha.
So yeah, 30 days house arrest. They did, however, end up terminating my probation, too, so at least I don’t have to do that anymore. I really didn’t want to keep going until September. Using heroin or not, I still wanted to be able to smoke pot with my friends on the beach this summer, you know? So it’s dope that I can still do that. So, there’s a couple questions I should answer. Why was I on juvenile probation in the first place, and why do I have to call the JDC to report if I’m nineteen years old? Why? Because I’m the luckiest, unlucky person alive. I was originally arrested only weeks away from my birthday, on February 18th, 2016. I turned 18 mid-March, so I thought I was fucked, I was gonna have this felony on my record and it’s gonna be a wash from here on out. I was caught in a really sketchy part of Asbury Park at around 9 or so in the morning because I was standing next to this dumbass crackhead that I was trying to score some dope with, he was standing on the side of a convenience store trying to spark his pipe when an undercover pulled around the corner, and we were done. I had 30 piece in my pocket that wasn’t even mine. So, they hauled us both to the station, me dopesick as hell, still kind of tweaked from the vyvanse I had popped the night before, and my dad had to come pick me up. They released me because I was a minor and told me court dates would be in the mail. I didn’t end up getting them until July 5th, court in August. So I went to court, charged with 3rd degree felony possession of crack-cocaine, and since I was a minor when it happened, they gave me a year of juvenile probation, had to go to rehab twice, had to pay over a thousand dollars, and had to surrender my prints, photos, and DNA. Fun, right.
So I went to probation, and during this time, I was doing nothing with my life but sniffing and shooting heroin. They sent me to detox and rehab in late october, and I completed. I was sober for 19 days before I relapsed and started using again, so I was failing the drug tests they were giving me. In January, they made me go to treatment again. I finished detox and was in rehab for not even a week and I signed myself out. Started using again immediately. I knew I was going to be fucked for probation, so I started going to the methadone clinic and got on maintenance- hadn’t failed a drug test in probation since. By this time, I knew a VOP was coming sooner or later for leaving treatment and those drug tests, so I knew I had to be clean for my court date. I had 57 days sober from heroin the day of court, the only way that was possible was because of the methadone. That’s why they didn’t lock me up, I was doing good and they didn’t want to take me away from the only thing that was helping me.
Today, I would have had 62 days sober. I’m starting to fuck up again. Starting the methadone, I felt really good. The cravings were manageable, I wasn’t getting sick, I could actually function without drugs! It was cool. I thought I’d be okay. But for the last couple of weeks, my bipolar and anxiety is really making it hard. I’m having episodes again. The cravings are back- my first thought every morning when I wake up is how much I miss heroin, or how much I want it, because I have drug dreams every night, too. I kept telling my boyfriend I didn’t think I could last, the depression is just too fucking bad, I can’t just sit like this… Smoking pot isn’t helping, I need to get high… He can’t take the cravings away, he can only hold me and tell me that I just need to wait it out and it’ll be okay. But I can’t spend my whole life waiting for something to get better that I don’t think ever will.
Yesterday, I traded my emergency stash of methadone for a couple of bags from my friend who stopped by (against house arrest rules, oops.) And then I sniffed them, and got high. I told my boyfriend I just drank the methadone to explain it’s absence- he thinks I still have 62 days clean from heroin. I was supposed to go get my 60 day key tag from NA last night, but I said I didn’t want to go get my key tag after I “drank the methadone” and my eyes were pinned. Drug addicts aren’t as easy to fool when it comes to being high. So, I’ll just go collect my key tag today or tomorrow, because I’m not going to tell him I fucked up. It’ll crush him. I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen from here, if I’m going to keep using. I want to wait until I’m off house arrest, because they can drug test me if they really want to, and if I get caught I’m going to jail. So maybe that will buy me some time. In the meantime, I’m going to up my dose at the clinic. I think that’s why my cravings are back, everyone says I’m on a super low dose, only 55 mgs, and that’s why it’s so hard right now. So maybe I’ll do that, and by the time I’m off house arrest and can use, I’ll be stable and won’t want to.
…. Who am I kidding, I’ll want to. I’m a junkie, and that’s all I’ll ever be. I think I’m done writing for today.