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A Series of Bottoms, Chapter 2

I am not judged by the number of times I fail, but by the number of times I succeed, and the number of times I succeed is in direct proportion to the number of times I fail and keep trying.                     –Tom Hopkins

When I last left off in this story, it was the summer of 2011 (if you are just joining the story now, read yesterday’s post).  I have successfully removed a few addictive substances from my life with the belief that simply one vice would satisfy the people around me, while still maintaining the control I so desperately wanted.  Two hitches with this train of thought.  First, I still had to live a lie in order to hold on to my addiction.  Second, addiction doesn’t sit, lay down and roll over as I truly believed it would.

As I have learned, there are a number of paths my “philosophy” in the summer of 2011 could have taken me, such as:  I could have picked up another, totally separate addiction, or I could have simply reverted to all the previous ones, since, what the heck, I’m already lying, why not just go back to everything?  But the way it actually panned out was this:  I held onto that one vice, and that addiction simply took off.  What at first was a “when you have it, just enjoy it, and when it runs out, wait until you can get some more” thought process evolved into “let’s see what we can do to make this happen as frequently as possible.”  And so the addiction progressed, and, if I am being honest, I truly believed I was pretty clever.  It’s like anything else:  when you put your mind to work, it is amazing what you can accomplish, and accomplish I did.  Through trial and error, I came up with some pretty ingenious ways for obtaining my drug of choice.

Never once giving thought to the damage I was doing to my physical self, or the addictive properties of the drug itself, it became like a game to me.  At the time, my husband was the referee of the game, and our marriage suffered greatly for it.  My thinking at this point was something along the lines of:  “If he would just stop prying into every little detail of my life, everything would be fine!”  I can’t stress this strongly enough, I wasn’t justifying my actions, I simply chose not to look at myself at all.  All my thought processes at this point were external… where and how can I obtain my drug of choice?  Why is my husband spying on my every move?  How can I be even more clever so I can avoid his interrogations?

So the next few months were a series of deceit, lies, cover-ups, and explosions when I was finally “caught in the act.”  The culmination of this particular bottom happened on October 14, 2011.  My husband, for what felt like the millionth time, uncovered a deception, and gave me an ultimatum:  go away and get help, or simply go away.  It took a few days to find an appropriate facility, and I was able to negotiate staying home long enough to celebrate my son’s 9th birthday, but I went to an inpatient rehab on October 19, 2011.

Wouldn’t it be nice if this was where the story turns around?  Stay tuned for tomorrow’s shocking twist…

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