FIRST OF ALL, FORGIVE ME BECAUSE I’M GOING TO SUMMARIZE TWO YEARS IN ONE TEXT AND I’VE ENDED UP RAMBLING A LOT.
Hi everyone, sorry, but I’m going to write in Spanish so I can explain myself better, and the translator might not get everything across properly.
Well, I’ve been using mephedrone since late May. From May to June, it was occasional, once every two weeks. In July, I started doing it more frequently. August was the peak, and I was using it every three days, sometimes even more often. In September, I started getting a little better, and it went down to once a week. And in October, it’s been every few days or almost a week between uses.
Honestly, I have to say that I’m aware of the problem, and that (I think) puts me on a fine line between an addiction with no way out and being able to get out of this.
Maybe I need to get some things off my chest, but let me give you a bit of context.
Two years ago, I was fired from a job that provided me with financial stability, but the whole experience also left me depressed and with no motivation to do anything. During those two years, I decided to study so I could find something better, and my ex supported me in that decision. Being unemployed and having no routine led me into a mild depression, and I found it difficult to feel happiness or any motivation for life. So I signed up for language classes to force myself to leave the house at least twice a week and socialize (all of this will make sense, trust me).
When I arrived at that school, I discovered through conversations with classmates that you could go and study the language in that country, and it had always been my dream to go there. Eventually, I took the plunge and told my ex about it. He supported me, and I decided to go abroad to study for a few months, at least to regain my sense of happiness and motivation.
I arrived, and it was difficult at first being so far away from everyone, but I made loads of friends, and it changed my perspective on things. I was so happy that I even started reconsidering whether I wanted to stay there. (This whole trip started in January this year, since preparing for it took about a year and all that, just to give you some context.)
But in the end, I always thought that I didn’t want to stay because I wanted to build a life with my boyfriend. A few months later, he came to visit me so he could see the country, see me, and go on a trip together. Suddenly, I noticed that he was acting strangely and seemed distant. Eventually, I asked him about it, and he told me he didn’t know how he felt. He said he loved me, but he thought he was missing out on new experiences because I was his first boyfriend, and he was finding himself increasingly attracted to other people. In the end, I told him that if he wanted to be with me, he could be, but I wasn’t going to initiate another relationship crisis (again) because I deserved someone who loved me and wouldn’t make me suffer every day wondering whether he was going to leave me.
In the end, we decided to leave things as friends. And, well, it was weird because I had to live with him for the week he was staying with me (obviously, I wasn’t going to kick him out of my place). But since we weren’t breaking up because of anything bad that had happened between us, we had time to talk and reminisce about our relationship.
Anyway, getting back to the point, after the most painful breakup I’ve ever experienced, because in the end, I’m going to love him for the rest of my life, and he will love me too, but we just don’t work together, I had to say goodbye when all I wanted to say was “stay.” And then the time came for him to leave.
I kept living in that country, but I couldn’t stop crying and suffering every single day. Eventually, I decided to cancel my studies and return to my country earlier than planned. My friends surprised me by picking me up at the airport, and honestly, I felt so loved and supported that I was glad to be back.
I came back in April. From that moment on, all my energy went into getting over the relationship. Into confronting my own demons and his, and finding a way to forgive him for falling out of love with me after I’d spent two years going through one depressive episode after another, and for not knowing how to deal with the way he admired me. I signed up for music lessons, went back to the gym, changed my look, went out with friends a lot, and everything seemed to be going perfectly.
Until one day, I opened Grindr (I don’t even know why, because I don’t feel like sleeping with anyone, especially not through those apps, but there I was). A guy messaged me saying he had mephedrone (MKAT), and I was coming home drunk, so I decided to meet up with him and try it (I was constantly open to new experiences). I met up with him, but I couldn’t bring myself to take it because I was scared of snorting it. So I went home, but the urge was still there. I messaged him and asked if he could give me a little bit, and I’d pay him for it, so I could try it alone at home (after all, I didn’t feel comfortable getting high with a stranger from Grindr). I went home and tried it (remember, this was late May), and it was fucking amazing. My life went from happy to ULTRA happy, and masturbating on it felt like pure gold.
This is where the addiction started. I already had a problem with abusing poppers when I masturbated because, when I was depressed, they gave me some happiness. But then I added mephedrone to the mix, and I kept telling myself I was in control, but I wasn’t.
I thought I was getting over the breakup, that I was managing to stabilize my working life, that I was starting to feel good. But everything went to shit because of the drugs. I started feeling exhausted, I wasn’t happy anymore, the drugs were having less and less of an effect on me, I’m spending money I don’t have, and I’m living on the edge financially.
In August, I decided to tell my closest friends, who have always looked out for me and never made me feel guilty about it. In fact, one of them just messaged me asking whether I’d used recently, and I genuinely appreciate it because it makes me feel loved. I talked about it with my psychologist, and we put some guidelines and support measures in place. We understand that relapses are normal. But even so, I still can’t seem to get out of this.
I had to stop taking music lessons because, with the addiction, I either can’t afford them or don’t have the energy. My new job is incredibly unstable, both in terms of hours and pay. Now, every time I see my ex, I feel like dying all over again, as if I’ve gone right back to square one. I feel lost, I can’t find my direction, I want to get out of this, but I just can’t.
It’s true that I’ve started reconnecting with my creativity, both musically and through writing poems, and I have quite a lot of emotional intelligence because I’ve been in therapy voluntarily for years. I have so many amazing friends that my heart could burst. But nothing manages to fill the void. I feel so empty. I’m unable to exercise because I get exhausted, and I have a terrible relationship with it. I feel like I’m stuck in a pit that I can’t climb out of. I hide my relapses from my friends. And my psychologist and I have already talked about how that distress is going to be there and that drugs will only make it worse, but I just can’t seem to stop.
Honestly, what is really making it impossible for me to get out of this is the thought that the person I’ve loved the most in my life, and who has loved me the most, has stopped loving me from one day to the next. Even though we talk and we’re friends, he’s no longer here. When I was little, I already had to deal with my mother leaving to put herself first and my father only loving himself. And the one time I open up to someone and decide to be with them, they abandon me again.
I feel like I’m going to spend my entire life condemned to watching the people I love leave me. In fact, I’m afraid my friends will do the same. I try to put out this fire with drugs, but they only make it worse, and yet I just can’t seem to stop.
It hurts so much. It’s as if my safe space, the place where the abandonment wound was finally starting to heal, has disappeared. A wound I’ve spent years healing in therapy has been reopened. (I already had problems with alcohol as a teenager and compulsive sexual behavior, which, thank God, I haven’t relapsed into.)
And I just can’t do it. I can’t. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to love again or that I’m worthy of being loved. And the drugs only cloud my mind and leave me feeling exhausted and sick. They make me more anxious, but at the same time, using them calms me down.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just writing this to get it off my chest or to have someone to talk to about all of this outside my own circle.
Thank you so much for reading this, if you’ve made it to the end. Anyway, I’d love to hear your thoughts.