WHY Self-Care is important

I got bombarded with more bubbles today!!


Sometimes we need extra help to get by, to be functional, or to return to a normal state. Sometimes we need extra help to get through those dark tunnels. But, when we come out on the other end--we come out stronger, wiser, and more loving of ourselves. Also-a lot more forgiving.

Self-Care Practices of the Day:

1. Actually attended counseling today.
2. Took my breaks
3. Stretched, practiced those de-stressor yoga moves
4. Started setting boundaries at work
5. I said No.
6. Self-affirmations! I am enough!
7. Listened to music! 

I have been seeing my therapist for a year now. I hadn't shown up for about 3 months because of work, or illnesses and anxiety, mostly social anxiety. 

I did not want to return to the highly addictive anti-anxiety medications aka "benzos" which I used to love. I had no idea how addicting they were. So I decided to go to counseling. 

When I was in rehab, the heroin withdrawals were bad BUT nothing was worse than benzo withdrawals. K-pins and Xannies. These suckers were the main cause of my relapse while I was in treatment. I just didn't know any better. I lacked education and awareness. But after my relapse I learned that if I wanted to live free from any substances, if I wanted to stop being a slave; I was going to have to ask for help. I learned to advocate for myself. That relapse was one of the hardest lessons I have had to learn in my entire life.

I was on meds to help with the immediate withdrawals from heroin. It sucked. I could not stop shaking, or sit still. I literally had to hold onto my chair. 

When a drug is taken it causes an effect in your body and mind. When that drug goes away after you've developed a tolerance, those "symptoms" the drug was taking care of come back 10-fold x 10. So if you take benzos for anxiety and then stop your meds for whatever reason, after you've been taking them consistently--that anxiety returns with a vengeance! Your body no longer creates its own chemicals that could have helped maybe even just a little before the meds.

So, here I was in treatment withdrawing from every fucking substance I had put into my body. I remember being in a small room with a bunch of other women for group therapy/work session. I couldn't hold onto the chair anymore, I stood up and tried to walk but I was too weak from the heroin withdrawals yet my anxiety was making me want to run. I couldn't breathe. I could picture myself running and screaming through the doors, through the courtyard, out towards the lobby and into the street. I attempted to tell my counselor but I couldn't get the words out. I think she knew and she sent me to the nurse station by the detox hospital unit. 

Every step seemed like forever yet in my head I wanted to run and yell. Waiting for the elevator was painful. Imagine that, all I had to do was push a button and stand yet I struggled. When I finally got upstairs, I told the nurses I was having problems but I could not put my thoughts and feelings into the right words. I could not and did not advocate for myself. I was told I was given the meds that were supposed to help me and there was nothing else they could do except wait for the next dose. 

I turned around, went downstairs via the elevator, walked to the phone booths (no cell phones were allowed) and dialed every friend/dealer/ex-boyfriend whose number I could remember without my phone book. I had to write my numbers out of my phone into a sheet that I kept in my binder when I had entered into the facility. That binder was in my room across the campus--I was not going to walk back. AT that time I thought I was lucky--a friend answered, who gave me another number to call and so on. I finally got ahold of "Levi" who was the sweetest and he agreed. Wherever Levi is, I hope he made it into the rooms. 

Later that night through the fence "Levi" provided me with a loaded rig (syringe all ready to go for those who don't know). I almost got caught but I told the counselor it was a hug through the fence. She took my word and reminded me that boys are like a drug and that one (she pointed to Levi) was no good. I shrugged her off and went to my room. Straight to the bathroom.

Needless to say, that night I almost died. I overdosed, scared the shit out of my roommate who was the sweetest little solely alcoholic lady that knew nothing about hard drugs. I remember things like a black-out; falling on the bathroom floor, my roommate pushing the bathroom door, the bathtub water running, the bed, the trip to the detox hospital unit, waking up to one of the sweet old doctors. What I remember the most is the shitty, shitty feeling of what I had done. I could still feel my eyes fill up with endless tears as they one by one gushed down my face. The shame, the stupidity, the pain I caused to others and myself. The fact that I hurt myself and sabotaged everything AGAIN for one shot that wasn't even good. 

That counselor who believed me the night before collected my rig from my room. Walked over to me and whispered as she hugged me "I hope you remember that some hugs are deadly" and tightened her squeeze. 

After talking to the doctors and the counselors, reading some recovery literature I learned that I need to ask for help. Had I advocated a little more, expressed what I was picturing in my head instead of letting the fear of judgement win, I might have avoided that night. I might not have learned my lesson though and so now I really believe everything does happens for a reason. A plan is in the works, although it may seem diverted at times; there is always something that brings you back to the original plan. 

I apologize for the long story. I just wanted to make my point clear--Please ask for help. Reach out. Tell someone when you are struggling. Counseling, friends, pastors, internet, blog etc. Doesn't matter, just do what you have to do to care for yourself in a positive manner. Afterall, you are a limited-edition. 

With this--have a goodnight!

La DNA.