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Daily Diary Dream Diary

My Journey towards cannabis, Wining the Battle with Opioids

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Addiction, now that’s a scary word and the scariest part is we all have an addiction to something.  This particular blog has been the hardest one for me to write, not because I did have an addiction to opioids for over a decade but because now it’s time for me to take responsibility for my own actions and demons.

I grew up with a single mom and an older brother, my mom worked odd hours being a radio DJ.  What I can remember of my mom, she always had an addiction to something, caffeine, opioids, coke, I even accused my mother of being a prostitute at one point, I don’t think that was true but the drugs definitely were.  It was the 80’s and my mom was a radio personality, she loved her job and most of the time my brother and I did too, however being in the rock and roll scene in the 80’s illicit drugs were readily available, and they were all doing them.

I would watch my mom getting ready for her interviews and I was in awe, my mother in her youth was beautiful, thin, beautiful curly hair, and everyone loved her.  I was about 9 I think, and my mom always had her girlfriends over when she was getting ready, plus they always went with her, when I got really sick I barged into the bathroom without knocking, which was absolutely forbidden to vomit.  On the back of the toilet was a silver and glass trey with what I now know was coke on it, my mother was pretty upset and I got into a heaping of trouble but that day I honestly believe my life was saved.  My mother was mad at me for weeks, this was when our relationship started to die, I started to watch everything she did I hated what was going on and she knew it, but she didn’t have control.

I watched my beautiful charismatic mother turn into someone I didn’t recognize, chasing the high took it’s toll not only mentally but physically.  She would use and it didn’t matter what kind of a mood she was in, her face darkened, her eyes looked evil, even her little giggle turned into a witch cackle that haunts my dreams to this day.  My mother was manic depressive so everything she did was big, she had to have a constant validation to feel her own self-worth, by everybody.  My mother had a tough life starting with her mother’s death, she was the oldest of the 6 kids and her father worked full time and was alcoholic leaving my mom to care for the kids at home.  I believe this is the time frame my mother’s eating disorder spiraled out of control, first restricting, saying she wanted to make sure the kids have enough to eat, this went on for a few years.

My brother was born summer 73 and I was born summer of 74, but I’m not sure she was ready to settle down if she ever was.  My mother chased a few feminist movements for a while but would lose interest, music was the one thing she never lost her passion for.  By the time I made it to high school I hadn’t seen my mother in about 3 years, she sent me away to live with a relative for a year, and after reporting the abuse to the authorities I was sent to live with my father.

My father was a reserved guy, he was busted after I was born for selling Cannabis, 100 pounds of cannabis to an undercover officer, and needless to say, he did several years for the crime.   My father turned his life around after getting busted and I’m really proud of him for that.  When I was reunited with my father he was re-married to a lady that I believe loved him more than anything, but wasn’t happy about having a teenager in the house, especially a teenager with an abusive past like mine.  The scars were deeper than even I remembered.

I was a teenage mess, my biological mother would initiate abuse between my brother and I for her and her friend’s amusement, usually resulting in me being unconscious more times than not.  I saw a counselor through CPS at the time, however it was unsuccessful, for therapy to help you have to understand and remember what happened and work through it together making sense out of what you can, but mostly accepting what happened and understanding as a child it wasn’t my fault, sometimes I still have to remind myself of today.  By this time there was no stopping the eating disorder I developed, when I was sent to live with a relative of my mothers, he had been molesting me for almost a year by this time, desperate and scared one day I got this great idea, we were selling candy bars for a fundraiser at school, I brought a couple of boxes home and put them in the freezer.  Whenever I was depressed or afraid he was going to touch me I would eat a couple of candy bars, if I was fat he wouldn’t want me (or so I thought).

I had been living with my father and stepmom for a couple of years when the nightmares started.  They were so real I would wake up and just cry until I remembered enough of the dream to start asking my father questions.  The dreams jump around a lot, so I started with detail in the dream.  I remember a doll with dark curly hair, pretty knitted dress, and a 2-liter bottle full of sand, is this real?  My father sat back in his chair that day looking at me as if he had to make the decision right then to tell me the truth, it was quiet for a couple of minutes when my father said: “yes it was real, that doll was made for you when you were 2 years old”.  Before I could get the question out “who was the dark-haired lady?”  My father decided I was old enough for the truth, and this is pretty much how it went.

The dark haired lady was my father’s girlfriend at the time, and they had been busted for selling a large quantity of cannabis to an undercover police officer, only my father “forgot” to tell the police there was a 3-year-old little girl in a trailer by herself.  As my father finished the story I saw the shame in his eyes, he left me in a trailer for 3 days by myself and never told anyone, and my father’s girlfriend finally told the police.  The police had no idea what they were going to find, however, they got ahold of my mother and told her to come to get me.  I don’t remember what happened when the police found me, I only remember the last words out of my dad’s mouth that day.  You took care of yourself getting food when you were hungry, watched cartoons, and stayed in the trailer, nobody had any idea you were there.

We were called latchkey kids in those days, we didn’t have babysitters, half the time we didn’t have parents, and no tech.  I don’t know how we survived at times.  This is where I was very different from my family, even though I didn’t remember a lot of the memories of drug abuse from my mother, I didn’t want my kids to see me the way I saw her growing up, I never experimented with street drugs, I never had the desire but I know my brother did.  I saw the warning signs of street drugs while completely ignoring the warning signs of opioid addiction.

I’m a cancer patient going through hell treatments and the drugs I take are prescribed by my doctor, I’m not an addict just trying to have a decent quality of life, so I tried to convince myself.  At one point in time for me to be able to pull off a huge event like Arizona Bike Week, I had to have pain medications, muscle relaxers, blood pressure medication, anti-nausea medications, and anxiety medication just to make it through the day.  If it’s multiple day events, I knew I was going to hurt and it’s going to take me a couple of weeks to recoup.  Not including the bowl healing time, opioids have a horrible side effect of constipation, when your constipated and physically active, it is painful prompting the use of more pain medicine.

It’s a horrible catch 22 more and more people are finding themselves in today.  With the opioid crisis, people are getting stuck in a cycle, they don’t want to use but in the same aspect, they can’t handle the pain, whether physical or emotional pain.  Pain is a basic teacher if something hurts you don’t want to do it again but because of how strong of an addiction these drugs have, people are having a harder time seeing past the addiction, and in some cases not wanting to see past the addiction.

For me, my addictions have helped me forget my past, they have allowed me to escape to a place I don’t have to understand, the emotional pain doesn’t live here, and my demons are never in the dark.  It’s not a healthy way to live and I have spent the last several years just trying to lay my past to rest without much success, but I have learned the power of people.  I have been sharing pieces of my story for the last couple of years, the abuse (physical and emotional), rape, addiction, and eating disorder and I honestly have to wonder why?  Not just why me but why not me.  I never used illicit street drugs, no real desire to try them but I was heavily addicted to opioids and honestly a few years ago I wanted it all to end, I was done with the pain, the cancer treatments, the vomiting, I was tired and done.  Why was I still here, my parents didn’t want me that was apparent, my husband at the time was very abusive, my kids hated me, and I couldn’t blame them because I hated me to and the saddest part was I couldn’t even remember why.

So, why?  I learned by watching my mom that hard drugs weren’t my thing but I never made the connection in my own brain that taking opioids the way I did was no different.  My brother learned Opioids weren’t his thing, but because of his trauma, he was self-medicating his way.  Now my question lies with my kids, my kids weren’t abused, but they did see what I went through even though the underlying medical diagnosis is cancer the more deadly and serious diagnosis was the addiction.  Addiction was killing me and I couldn’t see it, how do you tell a cancer patient no, the pain won’t kill you but the cure can.  My kids remember their childhood as me as an addict, a slave to a pain medication, however, my addiction in my head was justified, I’m not a junkie, I’m a cancer patient.

The other day I received a message from a fan saying they can’t subscribe to my channel because I’m a junkie and smoke pot, and honestly it pissed me off, I’m still pretty upset by it, technically I had a problem I couldn’t control with opioids but I didn’t consider myself a drug addict or at least not a junkie.   I still don’t feel that using medical cannabis is bad, being able to control some of the pain is important, if I can keep my pain level to a 4 or 5 I don’t use cannabis throughout the day (only when the pain is a 5 + do I smoke in the morning), I will use cannabis to help me eat and keep food down, about 15 minutes before I eat I usually smoke, not because I hurt even though I do sometimes, but for the pure help eating, and nausea control.

I have had an eating disorder since I was young, I started out trying to eat as much as I could to be fat so my uncle would lose interest, to going weeks without eating anything.  Humans are the only animal that will instinctively do something stupid, no other animal starves themselves to death.  I love to cook and I try to eat every day it’s just hard.  I don’t have a bad body image and sometimes I wish I did because maybe it would be easier, I haven’t tried to lose weight or gain weight in the last 10 years but when my body says no to food I have to seek help, Medical Cannabis has helped me stabilize a 1200 calorie a day diet so far, yes 1200 calories a day isn’t a lot but it’s a start.  I have built a routine around eating and no exercise, because I’m not in taking enough calories on a daily basis to maintain a healthy lifestyle, I know and recognize this and am actively trying to correct this, however, patience is a must for everyone involved in this process.  It’s just as frustrating for the patient as for the family.

I did seek help and tried to talk to psychologists several times, and I have a hard time sticking with it not because I don’t want to but because I don’t remember enough anymore, when these dreams come back they are so broken I’ve found, relaxation and allowing the dream to fade before trying to reconcile it, make it make sense.  Once I can remember enough of the dream I try to find pictures or stories from someone which is a lot harder now, actually impossible, so making sense sometimes is as simple as accepting it happening and remembering they can’t hurt me anymore.  Does it actually work, no, but I remember having a conversation with my brother about our childhood and him saying yes, he too has found people to talk to and he will talk to anyone sometimes that will listen just to get it off his chest?  The abuse to him, turning him into the abuser, when we were kids really affected his ability to fully accept a wife, because he and I were best friends even though my mother had him abuse me for her entertainment he viewed me and women differently it’s hard to beat up your little sister for years and she’s your best friend despite what was going on, I never blamed him, hell I barely remembered it.  I was remembering, the nightmares had started again and that laugh, her laugh it was always the last thing I heard before I was unconscious, I had to ask my brother about a memory recently and it was in the mix of all of this and he told me what he did, he loved me and he didn’t want to but going against her, my mother’s favorite saying was I brought you into the world and I can take you out, and I think to an extent we believed her.  My brother is a good man, he punishes himself as I do for things that happened in our past, things he couldn’t control.

We are all human and mistakes are going to happen the real healing is when I see people coming together today, accepting us and all our mistakes, learning from our mistakes, sharing these stories of successfully beating an opioid addiction or any addiction, if our stories can help one other person understand that they are worth life, love, happiness, and a good quality of life, if we can save one child from repeating our history, or one parent from severely abusing their child then we have done our jobs.

I started Freemycure.org just over 2 years ago when I learned it was ok to live sadly, I figured it out after a terminal diagnosis.  I have spent the larger part of 44 years of life, chronically ill, tortured and controlled by Big Pharma, hiding from the world, and being so afraid of my own shadow that I just make myself sicker, haunted by memories of a past that would bring grown men to their knees begging for mercy and praying for it to end, that and I didn’t know what life was.  I have talked with many people, I’ve heard many other stories of addiction like mine and one thing I have learned we all had in common was we were all running from something, emotional scars take forever to heal if they ever do they can be 10 times more painful than a physical ailment and it is can be a very hard journey to come back from.  To this day I can’t handle large crowds (I will get a bad anxiety attacks), stress, something as simple as checking the checking account will cause serious stress and ulcers, immune deficiencies, eating disorder, not to menschen diseases I now live with like Ulcerative Colitis and migraines, was all of this caused by my addiction no, but it didn’t help.  By building freemycure.org, building social media accounts and talking with so many of you, I found a safe place for me to be able to vent, learn, and help educate others.  Cannabis saved my life, not just because it’s killing the cancer but because it helped me realize who I am, it helped me claim my voice, it helped me see the path I was on was going to kill me, and I actually wanted to live.  Trading one addiction for another is not recommended and please understand the actual definition of an addict is a person not being able to function and control with and without it, as a productive member of society.  I smoke or use cannabis every day to help control my pain, to help stimulate my appetite, to keep my demons at bay, and to help me function mentally.  Is it an addiction?  I’m not sure, I have personally gone several days without using cannabis, I was able to function but my writing is always lacking without cannabis, each piece I write, I feel the healing, being able to forgive myself for the stupid crap I did, thank god there are no pictures.

Opioid addiction is declining in states that have legalized cannabis, and I personally found hope the day I found cannabis.  Anything used to excess can be dangerous, but after living with years of abusing my own body I feel I need the help cannabis has offered, I honestly believe cannabis has helped me reach my potential in writing, in love, and in life and if I had to do it over again I would choose cannabis.  Is cannabis a gateway drug?  I personally don’t think so but I do believe both sides have a compelling argument.

STAY FREE, FLY HIGH, AND AS ALWAYS FUCK CANCER!

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Daily Diary Dream Diary

Dream Diary 1, 7/4/18

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The same dream or memory I’ve had so many times before woke me again tonight, a girl and I, when we were maybe 12 years old, I can’t remember her name for the life of me but I remember we were friends right before my mom sent my brother away to live with other people.  I remember I spent the night at her house we, of course, stayed up late, drank some soda, snuck out of the house after her parents went to sleep, we walked down to the Walgreens and bought stuff to do our nails and more sugary snacks went home and called boys on the phone and if we were lucky in those days it wasn’t stuck to a wall in a communal area of the house, as you try to whisper just as softly and loudly as you could to the person on the other end of the phone line because it was always located right outside the parents bedroom and you know that wasn’t on accident.  The positions I would get into the whole time I was on the phone, my dad would laugh at me shaking his head as he walked away like I get it I would if I could.  Her and I had a blast what I remember, but honestly in those days I was just happy not to be at home and sadly for reasons I can’t completely remember you see my brothers and my childhood wasn’t the best and my mind decided to protect me and it hid those memories from me as I got older.  The holes in my memory that are really bad when my opioid addiction was at it’s highest, so I decided to follow some of the training I have and started journaling and maybe it can help come to terms with some of my demons.

So here I am in bed with the light turned way down on my pad it’s 2:43 am and I woke up from the same dream I’ve had 20 times it’s that night I spent over at her house I believe her and I worked together we sold candy door to door said we were trying to earn a scholarship but it was pure child labor crooked thing we knew it but it paid us a dollar every time we sold a box of candy and that was ok money for a 12-year-old and I usually lifted a box of nut clusters ah the days before an eating disorder, how we survived our childhood I don’t honestly know.  So far all I’ve been able to remember, we did our nails, makeup and hair because it was the big hair days the bigger the better.  We snuck out for maybe an hour and talked to some boys on the phone but other then that I don’t remember anything else that night, the next morning I don’t remember going home but my friend and I got sick like stomach flu sick but it was painful, I remember my mom got a call from the girls mother and the daughter tested positive for Spinal Meningitis and that because I had been sick and exposed my mom rushed me to the ER where I thought for sure they were killing me, back in those days I don’t remember insurance being an available thing, but it might have been my mother again wasn’t very maternal, it was always the county hospital where they’re like 50 years behind then literally anyplace else at least then and honestly my mom wasn’t the whole I don’t know material.

The Doctors asked some questions and then told me there was really only 2 ways to do a spinal tap and that was for me to lay in a fetal position and hold really still because if I move he could accidentally paralyze me from the waist down, I’m paraphrasing of course, doctors can be like lawyers you can’t understand a damn thing coming out of their mouth sometimes, or I can lay in the fetal position and the two men nurse would hold me down and he would do it, so of course my option was held down and done however it wasn’t an actual choice, the first catheter or something didn’t set and the doctor had to do it twice.  That was hell and I remember my back was sore for a week or two after, they did a few other tests but were almost positive that I had spinal meningitis because the girl I spent the night with and I got sick at the same time.  The doctors started an antibiotic in the IV I think they even gave me Demerol for the pain, about 12 hours later or what seemed like it now, it’s still hazy the test came back negative for spinal meningitis, however, the diagnosis was confusing, the doctors said I suffered from sympathy pain.  When my friend became so violently ill my emotions or heart hurt so badly for her that it manifested all the same symptoms in me and the pain I was feeling was as real as hers was that tested positive for spinal meningitis.  I was released to go home without any further explanation that I can remember I never saw that girl again like I said my mom sent us away,  I’ve only ever thought of that girl one other time and it was about a year after the incident.  I had only lived in Washington about a year and I turned into a very shy, sad, quiet kid…  I was in 8th grade and the only reason why I can remember that is because of my class picture, the 1 material thing my mother kinda did took a few pictures and kept them, not a lot I have 3 baby pictures total.  That day, the only other time I ever really thought of her I will never forget, it was the day I escaped one hell, complete with writing 3 complete identical statements for the police, what felt like a million interviews with the police and doctors, and my brain closed the door on those memories.  Which is oddly that abrupt, I was on a plane to Arizona a few days later, I think, I hate saying I think behind everything I write but most of my memories are focused around a single event, I have to refer to other details in the

memory then try to remember slowly building on the memory over time.

I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that I can’t remember my past, but I know I don’t like that the memories are coming back in my dreams and they are so fragmented you don’t know what’s real or not.  If you can’t remember your past are you truly destined to repeat it?  Am I supposed to be learning something? Fixing something?  Am I missing something?  I used to ask about the dreams when my parents were alive, then I started asking my brother, I’m afraid to do that anymore I’m afraid to know anymore and honestly, I think my brother is afraid to tell me.  Now I sit in a dark room staring at a white screen while trying to type quietly in the dark and remember as much detail about the dream as possible so maybe I can put this memory to rest.  I try focusing on the background of the dream, where was I? what was I doing?  what were others around me doing?  Was it daytime \ night time 1 or multiple times?  Oddly was I trying to be sneaky in the dream ever? I tend to get a little more memory then, at times I was trying to sneak around I was paying really close attention to what I did, and I was pretty good at it at times, I was usually sneaking around trying to get my brother back for something he did to me, my brother was my best friend and worst enemy, when children suffer years of abuse and torture by a parent we are quick to latch on to that safe place or safe person, no matter what nobody beat up my brothers sister except him, lol.

The more of the dream I can remember the better chance I have at figuring out why my brain is showing me these things and normally I’ll move on to another dream or memory.  This is my entire life, gaps in memory, times that there are not enough spoons in the world to get out of bed, spoons is the relly cool way to describe how your feeling times I’ve prayed for death and life but I keep moving, I keep remembering.  I’ve met some of the coolest people in the world thanks to social media, I’ve met the coolest celebrities and the rudest, I’ve developed weird habits and broke heavy addictions, I’ve had great romances that I can’t remember anymore.

Once I forget it all, all the memory of me, who am I? Do I exist any longer? Some of my fear is that I’m forgetting doctors appointments, or forgetting to arrange an uber, because I have to do it in advance days in advance, and I’m mentally drained or honestly I’m tired of seeing the look in the doctors eyes when not only can they not fully explain what’s wrong with me but they know it’s painful and now with the “opioid epidemic”, their hands are tied.  I have literally thrown a hissy fit and stopped going to the doctors not because I feel better but because I am sick of hearing “I know but”, If I hear another “I know but” I know you have a very painful disease they don’t call Insecticidal cystitis the painful bladder disease because it tickles, It feels, all the time like my bladder is full of acid slowly sizzling at the tissue of the bladder wall, the urethra slowly but very sharply starts to twitch, now depending on how many of those little twitches you get and their intensity will predict the outcome of the actual spams to follow, I, however, didn’t come up with the spoons analygy but it’s perfect  I have made my own way to chart the episodes to hopefully start understanding what exactly causes or triggers an episode and maybe avoid them all together, as of now we’ve had no luck, my body hates me for something I did or maybe I killed someone in a previous life IDK, but if I did I’m sorry, but I can’t handle much more.

It’s sad I truly understand the doctor’s point of view, it’s a witch hunt right now, they are stuck looking us the patients and by “they” I mean good doctors, in the eyes, know we are suffering but there really isn’t much they can do to help us and they have to watch us cry because of the pain, they have heard us beg them to just end the suffering but they can’t help us, in one aspect giving us the pain medication helps our quality of life but it seriously hurts our quality of life as well.  The addiction that goes along with chronic pain and illness is a hell of its own on one hand you can get some of the pain seriously diminished with narcotics, and it amplifies the pain when you don’t have any pain medicine, it’s a doubled edged sword.

If I hadn’t have listened to friends and family on the cannabis issue I would be dead today.  I was done with the pain and the addiction, but if I hadn’t tried cannabis for myself and I was blindly facing this opioid epidemic that so many people are facing I would as so many others have taken my exit plan.  I’m not super religious and I can honestly say I’m no longer afraid of death, my kids are grown and I’ts been an interesting journey this far, any patient that has dealt with as many years of crap as I’ve had we have an exit plan, it’s usually quiet, painless, clean, and oh ya very permanent.  No, I’m not saying I’m suicidal or have a death wish, all I’m saying is when the time comes I will go out on my own terms.

STAY FREE, FLY HIGH, AND AS ALWAYS FUCK CANCER!

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GOOGLE +:
Free My Cure FACEBOOK:
FACEBOOK:
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