I am a new poster here. Been lurking for quite some time. I am a mother to four wonderful children, ranging in ages from 3 to 19. I work part time from home. I worked a very high pressure sales job for many years, until I was fired right before becoming pregnant with my youngest. My ex husband was beating me on a regular basis and he finally crushed almost every bone in my face. Oh no, that's not when my idiotic addiction began, that is only when I was fired from my job for missing so much work.
I finally left the a**hat when I was three months pregnant with his offspring. I had found out that he was addicted to crack and was stealing any and everything he could get his hands on. I divorced him, and he went to jail the very next day and then on to prison with an 11 year sentence. After all he put me through, which is a horror tale and would be novel worthy, but I will spare you all the sickening details, I was diagnosed with PTSD. I had lost every thing I had, job, car, all of my worldly possessions, friends and respect from family. My older children were furious with me for staying so long. My youngest daughter was a mess as well and only five at the time. Here I was about to give birth to another child, and she would have no father! How would I do this alone? I felt like I was on another planet and truly just wanted to die.
All of my things were at my exes mother's house, furniture, clothing, most importantly my children's memories; pictures, baby books, etc. I was too terrified to go back after it. I had nightmares every single night of him trying to kill me. At this point, I had no friends left, except for one. My family has never been much of a support system, so no help there. I get sick every time I think of those baby books and pictures. No way I was going back there to tangle with the devil or his family. I was terrified. I wasn't in my right mind, looking back.
I ended up moving in with an old friend. After a awful pregnancy where I vomited every day and ended up on bed rest, I finally gave birth to my precious baby girl, and all was good with the world again. I was scared still though. I didn't even have anyone to help when I came home from the hospital, and this was my fourth c section. The deal with my friend was that I do all of the domestic work and cooking in return for living here. He thought that would continue the day I came home from the hospital. Lord, that was a nightmare. I had my five year old helping me the best she could.
With my first three children I had a different doctor than with the fourth one. This new doctor sent me home with a bottle of percocets. It was instant joy. I was making it on a few hours of sleep. My new bundle woke up every one and a half to two hours like clock work, for four months straight. When I ran out of pills, I felt like dying again. I was diagnosed with post partum depression and prescribed Prozac. I didn't want Prozac, I wanted more percs!. Those dumb pills were helping me survive this awesome but terrifying experience! They provided me with the energy to still give attention to my other kids. My two older kids haved moved out on their own, but they still at least needed somewhat of a half-assed mother.
I found a connection for hydrocodone and I was set. For a while, I kept the house spotless, played with the kids, helped out at school, and even started my own business. Things were great. We all know that does not last. The high started wearing off, so I increased my dosage. After the increase quit working, I decided I wouldn't increase anymore because I was scared of ODing. I became grouchy. I would go days without showering, I slacked on the housework, yelled and snapped at my kids over nothing, and wouldn't leave the house unless I absolutely had to.
In the past year I have went through withdrawals probably ten times, and have never made it past the fourth day. Not one friend or family member knows I'm an addict. There is no way I could go to rehab, because there is no one to care for my kids. The WDs are so painful and I can't lay in bed all day with a 3 year old and an 8 year old. I have found that eating tons of bananas help some with the aches. And Imodium is an absolute must. I've been on this roller coaster for three years now and I want off. The only thing these dumb pills do for me anymore is keep me from going into withdrawals. Every time I try, I cave in because I can't stand what a horrible mother it makes me. I could totally suffer through if I had someone to take my kids for a week, or just to come over and help. I tried again this past Thursday and only made it two days. This time I got some vitamin b6 but I caved and used before I had the chance to take it. I went two whole days. I have a good stock of benzos, but I can only take those at night because they make me pass out. I've tried smoking weed and it does help for a little bit with the mental stuff.
The thing is, I MUST have some energy to chase a three year old all day, and WDs make me feel like purely like a rotting corpse. So here is what I do know, Imodium completely takes away the diarrhea and stomach cramps, bananas help a little with RLS, the benzos help with sleep, which I think is very important to recovery. I've tried it without the benzos and feel ten times worse with no sleep. Hot baths help the aches, but I can't sit in the tub all day with a toddler. The lack of energy, general bitchiness, and severe depression with suicidal thoughts that leads me to being a sh*t mom are what draws me back EVERY SINGLE TIME. I feel like I'm at a standstill in my life. I know one week of hell is nothing compared to the rest of my life, but we all know how the days just drag during WDs. I just can't stand it anymore. I had been up to 8-12 10 mlg lortabs a day. When I caved in this time, I'm only taking four a day, all at one time, in the afternoon.
Would the WDs be easier on me if I try a tapering method? Anyone have any ideas for me? I know this is long and I do apologize, but this is the first time I have ever told my story to anyone. I'm so ashamed and fed up. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I will tell myself "I hate you, you disgusting b***h." I'm afraid if I talk to a doctor that they may call CPS on me. Not a soul knows this except for the few people that supply me and they don't know the extent of it. I'm dying here. I truly feel like I'm dying. Does anyone have any suggestions for me that would help me to get throgh this and still be able to handle my daily responsibilities? I can handle a lot, just not this much. I dont want my babies to have to suffer and see me like this. My roommate spends his time at work or in his room and has never even noticed. Thanks so much if you read all of this. God bless you all in your struggles as well.
It really feels amazing to tell this to someone.