I moved in with a guy because I didn’t see any other way to get out on my own in any sense. That really was a disaster. As hard as I tried to make it work between us, my instability and him just being him created a dwelling of misery that I desperately tried to escape via drug use. He introduced me to cocaine. Other than that, I pretty much used/abused prescription pain killers.
When I moved in with him, I was in the midst of battling… no… indulging… an eating disorder. I rapidly lost weight, and energy, and then eventually lost my job. I actually didn’t lose my job because of the drugs or my issues (although I should have), but rather because a new manager simply disliked me and jumped on an opportunity to fire me the very first day he was left in charge. Funny really, since I was also a manager and could have fired him less than an hour before he fired me.
I was so messed up mentally that I just didn’t give a sh*t that I’d lost my job. I basically turned into my mother, except that I had a drug problem. I hid in my room chain-smoking and doing drugs. That’s all I did. Seriously.
I managed my anxiety and depression with drugs and cutting (self-mutilation). The guy I lived with even took to locking sharp objects in a safe when I’d cut my arm a little too deep one day. I was never hospitalized for cutting, but I was hospitalized once for a drug overdose. I don’t remember enough of that to even tell you about it. I was a zombie- couldn’t speak coherently, couldn’t walk or even stand up. I don’t know who took me to the hospital, but it wasn’t my “loving” boyfriend or any of my “friends” who gave me the drugs. It may have been my mother. She did visit randomly sometimes. I also ended up in the hospital once because of sexual abuse incurred by my boyfriend’s desires and my lack of desire for him (I was gay, after all).
Finally I realized that I couldn’t possibly get enough drugs to keep myself numb and I had to try something different before I killed myself.
I was struggling with severe anxiety, severe bipolar mood swings, an eating disorder and a drug problem. I knew I needed help.
I went down south to visit an old friend who had moved away, planning to stay for a bit and find out if I could move there with her. I didn’t tell the guy I’d been living with that I was planning to move out. At that point I just needed to get away from the drugs, the mess, the criminal activity that was always around me, the misery. I discussed my desire to move and get help with my friend and her cousin who she was living with. They had an extra room and said I could stay there. My friend’s cousin agreed to help me get off drugs, find a job, get some therapy and help, etc. She even let me bring my pets. She knew about all my issues and how I needed help. The whole situation seemed like a dream come true. Someone understood and cared enough to help me. Someone who didn’t think I was a burden.
I moved in with my pets and spent some much needed time with my friend. After a while her cousin brought up rent and getting a job. Immediately my anxiety went through the roof. I didn’t feel ready, I was still suffering the effects of quitting drugs, still trying to get stable, but I knew I needed to do this, so I tried to stay calm and talk to her and work out a plan of action.
I don’t even know how it happened. One moment we were discussing how she would help me, find help for me, so I could be drug-free and stable, and the next moment she was giving me drugs, telling me that I had a job and that she would be taking half of my earnings.
Let me tell you… people are not what they seem. She was supposed to help me stop doing drugs, not give them to me. She said she would help me, actually get me some “real” help. I was very naive, too trusting… You’ll see more proof of that as my story continues.
The “job” she got for me was dancing privately for a man she knew. Apparently she had been advertising me to all of the men she knew.
Once again I realized I had to get out, except this time I had no place to go. I “worked” as described above just long enough to save up money to get out. During that time, my friend knew what was going on and she blamed me, not her cousin at all, so our friendship dissolved. I was constantly surrounded by people, but so very alone.
I lied to my friend’s cousin about how much money I was making so that she wouldn’t take it. I hid it carefully and saved. When I had enough, I called my mother. I told her that I couldn’t explain anything but I had to get out. No matter how bad living with my mother could be, it couldn’t be as bad as what I was living with down south. She came and got me and my pets. We spent all night packing after my friend and her cousin went to sleep. I left early before they woke.
I was right back where I’d started- financially broke, living in the middle of nowhere with no vehicle, jobless, mentally unstable and broken inside. So much for being an adult.