Keep Kratom Legal – The Story of a Junky
So I’ve decided to share with everyone a little bit of my personal story and a glimpse into the reality of addiction. I’m in no way claiming to have any answers, nor do I hold any medical degrees or claim scientific evidence for any of my opinions (unless you count personal research). All I aim to do is share my story, expose addiction for what it truly is, and give you my opinion on things like why we should keep kratom legal.
Before I share at all about why I think we should keep kratom legal, Let me give you a little background. In the attempt to keep the anonymity of myself and others I might change a few details. The word “junky” might have a negative connotation to it but that’s ok. I don’t wish to protect the nature and reputation of my disease but rather to shine a light on it. For everyone of us knows a “junky”, maybe it’s your brother, your sister, your mom, your dad, your aunt, your uncle, your friend, your cousin, your neighbor, your doctor, your teacher, your son, or your daughter. Being a junky could mean being anyone of those people, the point is a junky is just a person, like you or me, with a terrible, horrifying, and life threatening disease.
My story is no different. I am a brother, a son, a friend, a cousin, a nephew, a neighbor, a teacher, and so on. I come from a loving family and grew up in a healthy and loving environment. I am not a “product of my environment” as some people say. Life dealt me a winning hand and I traded it in for a life of hell, I was sittin with an ace and a king and told the dealer to Hit Me.
I discovered the mysterious and exciting world of drugs at an early age and it was love at first sight and the longest relationship I’ve ever had. My infatuation quickly turned into obsession and i decided that my life was going to be focused around doing as much drugs as possible until I die. I was an artist, a musician, a poet, a dreamer, and I thought that drugs were just part of the package, in fact I thought I needed them to make myself a deeper and more meaningful artist. I’ve come to find out there is nothing poetic about being a junky. I know longer wish to go down in flames as a soldier of addiction.
Most people adjust their life to meet their goals. I adjusted my goals to meet my lifestyle. Anything that got in the way of me using drugs had to go. Girlfriend’s, school, jobs, family, hopes and dreams, these were just obstacles in the way of the one thing that was important to me. I thought i had the right to live that way, “it’s my life and i’ll do with it as I please”. And this is very true, we all have the right to live however we want. I just didn’t realize how self centered I was and that my lifestyle was not only killing me, it was ruining the lives of everyone around me.
If I could use some imagery to describe my addiction, it would start with an image of friends, around the fire, in a bar, laughing and telling stories, listening to music and not having a care in the world. Flash forward to me alone, in a dark and grimy bathroom. Filled with hate,fear, anxiety, and depression, trying desperately to numb myself just to get a moment of peace.
I would like to share an entry from a journal of mine and to set it up I’ll describe a little what was going on. It was towards the end of about a 10 month relapse. I spent months bouncing around from hotels to flop houses doing whatever I had to do to get the next fix. Going weeks without food, months without showering, and subjecting myself to situations you wouldn’t put your worst enemy in. This was written after spending a couple months in this shit hotel, known for drug and prostitution activity. The smell of this hotel room was something between death and rotten food. The toilet was so clogged with feces you had to keep the bathroom door closed at all times to make the smell of the room somewhat bearable. It was was like living in a murder scene, death was always right around the corner and we were so withered away that the smell of our rotten and dying bodies was inescapable. I had an abscess the size of a golfball and couldn’t take it anymore so called my parents to come drag me out of the nightmare i created, only to continue it at their house. Here it is:
July 25th, 2015:
“…dot dot dot. Damn how I’ve drifted. Whatever path I was on that resembled any sort of meaning or substance has surely crumbled, destroyed by the impact of my actions. This coming from one who has thought my actions have no meaning, yet here I am. My only glimpse of hope is the idea that having been further and further through the valleys of hell that my arrival toward the light shall be indescribable and ever so blissful this time around.
It’s funny to me that I had no idea how bad I smelled until I finally took a shower. God how I missed the joy of a warm shower, having every single drop cleanse away my countless sins, and worst of all maybe the disrespectful abuse and torture of my own God given body. Any amount of worth I’ve gained in the previous time clean was most certainly pissed away right after that first squirt of liquid into my already tainted blood. And by the way this spot of discoloration on the page is the blood and pus that continues to ooze out of my abscess. The illusion of the poetic drug addict, a soldier in this war on drugs, has long been crumbled. All that remains is Me, just me in a dark and lonely corner. A spot that the world has been so nice as to carve me out a tiny crevasse to stab myself repeatedly until something feels different, or even until something feels at all. An injection of poison, although to some might seem insane, to me it was just so refreshing to “feel”, even for that miniscule period of time.
I hope to unravel the details of my story as time goes by, as the fog slowly clears and my heart heals enough to be able to form better executed thoughts. This is not a story that was paid for with the very least bit of life, for every drop of blood or salty tear that was shed, behind it there was something of substance. Truly do I wish that it wasn’t in my nature to have to look at life through the goggles of hell to find its beauty. But to deny this fact about me would be an attempt to fool myself and the reader. And any person out there that has enough time to waste to read the bullshit that I have to say at least deserves their time to be respected. So for now I shall just go disinfect my wounds and ingest a lethal dose of something to help me sleep. And if I’m lucky i’ll wake up in a dream and realize I’m actually asleep as I write this. But really what the fuck is the difference if each scenario leaves me trying to make sense of my bitter and hopeless existence. Or maybe I lean on the depressive side because it comes off more interesting. With time I hope it to be easier for words to flow from joy and not disgust. By the end I believe it to be known that my heart and all my intentions were pure, as are that of us all.”
This snapshot of a day in my active addiction was just one of thousands. Some days were better and some way worse. As time went on it became harder and harder to stop. The detoxes got so unbearable that I would do absolutely anything I had to do to get my fix. I’m a believer of trying to rough it out with as little help from other drugs as possible. Kratom was the only thing I ever used that didn’t have many side effects of its own. Suboxone never worked for me because I found it even longer to detox from that than from the opiates. For me kratom never had any bad detox effects and in my opinion we should keep kratom legal.
I am really not trying to convince anyone that it is the answer to opiate addiction because it most certainly is not. But in my opinion, addiction is such a nightmare in itself and if there is something that helps people get through it and doesn’t make it worse then they should be able to use it. If we keep kratom legal we can use it in a healthy and responsible way to get people the help they need, why should they have to struggle anymore? Again, this is just my personal story and opinion of being an addict. I’m not trying to convince any body, just want to paint a detailed snapshot of what we all go through. And if we keep kratom legal it might help people not have to go through some of the hell that I had to go through. If you’re a struggling addict my heart goes out to you. Know that there is a purpose for you and there is light at the end of the tunnel. Don’t let your story be told in vain, give your life meaning and it will become meaningful.