Nobody Grows Up Thinking “When I Get Older, I Want To Be A Junkie”

I was looking through some old photos recently and I came across a picture of myself and my brother, circa 1989.

I was three, he had just turned four and we owe those fabulous dual bowl-cuts to our wicked step-mother. I’m the brunette, he is the toe-headed blonde. We are Irish Twins, my brother and I. Something my mother never let him or I forget. And how could we? With all the jokes we dodged about our parents having zero patience in the bedroom, it wasn’t exactly something I bragged about. And being 10 months apart only fueled our incessant competition. As we got older we feuded about the petty things…. Who was a better athlete? Which one of us was smarter…funnier…had more to offer this world. Who did our parents like more? Who was more popular? And on and on it went.

In this picture we had our little arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. We were looking to our right, probably towards our father, sitting on the stoop of a trailer house while Elsa (step mom, aspiring photog, home wrecker, evil alcoholic, and other not so kind descriptive words) snapped pics. I don’t recall what I was thinking about then, but I’m almost positive that it wasn’t something like, “When I grow up I’m gonna be a junkie.” Pretty sure big bro never mentioned that he was rolling that idea around his little toddler mind.

The addiction bug bit us both. I also don’t remember thinking that by age twenty-four I would be an orphan with two kids, trying to understand my fathers suicide, and my mothers terminal cancer diagnosis while navigating thorny relationship dynamics with a narcissistic alcoholic.

This is My Comeback Story. A True Underdog Saga. The Odds Weren’t Just Stacked, They Were Malformed, Amorphous & Mutilated! An Adventure With A Triumphant Ending. I’ve Survived Villians, I Live With a Fractured Heart, I Have Seen My Share of Tragedy, and I’m More Tenacious, Resilient, Sparkling, Overjoyed, Peaceful & Powerful For It. I Live By The Golden Rule, and a Simple Mantra “Not Today, Maybe Tomorrow “

Recovery Is Sublime. It’s Reality & It’s Beautiful. The Road Here Has Been an Unforgettable, Unbelievable Journey. And I Couldn’t Imagine Life Any Other Way 💙

We were all kids once. Many of us were hopeful and innocent with wide open futures. And most of us, unfortunately, have been touched by some type of hardship. Broken home, drug or alcohol abuse in the house, abuse of the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual variety. I know that when we look back at the pictures of our childhood none of us asked for or anticipated these hardships. And the same can be said for those who came before us – our parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins…they all have a photo at the age of purity, and in that picture none of them are consumed with thoughts of their current alcoholism, future abuse from their loved one, mental illness, war wounds – hidden or visible, homelessness, poverty, rejection, bullying, indiscretions, or impending prison sentence. Every person who reads this knows innocence. We were all innocent and believed the future was wonderfully wide open. Treat others with kindness, respect & love – we never know the burden someone else is quietly carrying.

Or, simply try to just treat others the way you want and would desire to be treated. We all have a story. We have all endured and persevered. We were ALL kids once.

— Stella Blue

Fast-Forward to 2023. I’ve been “clean” since July 3rd of 2017. I was fortunate enough to find a compassionate doctor who listens and has my best interest in mind. He trusts me and treats me like a human. My appreciation for him is immeasurable. My anxiety has been treated properly. I’m eternally 🙏 Grateful.

I still enjoy a zero sugar adult seltzer on occasion, and I’ve eaten a few ounces of Denver Mushrooms along the way. Quit smoking, Thank God! My friends calls my lifestyle change “California Clean “. Whatevs..

“We Are The New Americana

High on Legal Marijuana

Raised on Biggie & Nirvana

We Are The New Americana“

But, I haven’t touched heroin..haven’t smoked crack..no cocaine..no speedballs..or oxys..or meth..or blues..or xanax..or addys..or percs..or valium..or somas..or special k..or dilaudid..or morphine..or 15s..or anything else I could get my garbage junkie hands on. Although, technically, my addiction was loyal to heroin. For four years I begged, borrowed, beat, and stole my way through a hefty addiction that began on the BMX track of all places. I raced for about four years. I absolutely fell in love with it. One Friday night I went ass over elbows during a qualifying race and ended up with a few broken ribs. I avoided the ER for as long as I could. I was (and still am) an RN at the time, and I knew that there wasn’t a damn thing that could be done about broken ribs. But, one night I was having trouble breathing and felt some chest pains and decided that it was probably a good idea to get checked out, just in case I busted a hole in my lung or something. Good news – no punctured lungs! Bad News – my PAO2 was low because it hurt to take a breath, so my doc insisted on dolling out Percocet to ease the pain and lessen my chance of passing out because of my intentional breath holding.

It seemed like it took FOREVER for the four ribs to heal. And 2 ninety PRN bottles of Percocet later…I couldn’t understand why I felt like shit two days after my last PK wore off. If you’ve been in the “sick” position you totally understand what I’m talking about. It’s like you spent the day before in some torture chamber where you continuously got your ass beaten from head to tippy toe. You’re angry, sullen, and experiencing pain in places you didn’t think could hurt. WTF? Now, obviously, I started putting two and two together and got four blues from a friend I knew with a habit. I couldn’t work sick. At the time I was one of two nurses running an insanely busy planned parenthood on the Jersey Shore. At that moment I wasn’t thinking I was “dope sick” or an addict..not even close! I mean, how the hell could I? And this was the doc’s fault, of course, not mine. I didn’t ask for refills (even though I had no problem filling them). And, I didn’t even ask for the pills to begin with, right?!

Ah, good ‘ol justifications. I was trying to avoid seeking medical attention and then BAM! I was slapped across the head with this burning fury to just feel “well” again – whatever the hell that is. Realistically, I just needed to get through today. I pushed the addiction thought from my mind and pushed those blues straight up my nostrils. Drug seeking behavior? Yes. Did I look at it that way? Absolutely not. Not at that time. It was, of course, the beginning of my addiction. I hadn’t recognized it because we were only getting started.

I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger.

There was nobody in my Suburban watching me snort them, which means the secret stayed between my vehicle, my dealer, and myself. I knew that I could count on myself to keep the secret. I waited for that glorious drip to coat my throat, and from there the nose to toes warmth of wellness to set in. Finally. After a ciggy I decided to brave the workday. I grabbed my lanyard, locked the ‘Burban and headed into the building.

And so it began.