I have basically been batshit crazy for at least the last month. That madness was relieved today when I moved out of the shit show that was the Sober Housing Oregon home I’ve been in since my March relapse, to live in a private home with two very good friends from Refuge Recovery.
That house was pretty fucking unsober. It was a miserable existence, at best. Throw in fucking moron 20 somethings and a roommate actively using suboxone and fucking heroin and it’s no wonder I was losing my shot.
Basically, the house left me triggered nearly the entire time. To settle my mind, without using, I dedicated some of my spare time to figuring out how to cook meth. I eventually figured it out, but I was still triggered. I was put in touch, accidentally, with a woman of comparable scientific talent to my own and a comparable issue with controlled substances.
We decided to start cooking.
This became my backup plan, if I wound up getting kicked out. Live with her and cook. Fucking bad idea. The way my mind was going, I got to the point that I couldn’t see how I wouldn’t actually relapse (which I did).
The stress of living there was compounded when my new roommate arrived. Right from the get go, he was using suboxone and, just a few days ago, he confessed to having used heroin a couple times since he’d been there as well. Well, fuck me.
My mental state started going downhill very fast. My urges to use drugs reached all time highs and my ability to eat hit an all time low.
Two weeks ago, my lab partner invited me to her place to set some stuff up on her computer. I went, knowing full well that she probably had drugs, of some sort, there. I wasn’t disappointed. After about 15 minutes, she flopped out a bag of cocaine. I actually finished working on the computer (another 30 minutes) before I cut it into 4 lines and spilt it with her.
It was so cut, that I didn’t even get high (which was probably a good thing). The alarming thing was that I had become so disgusted with living there that I didn’t care if I were to happen to get UAed and kicked out. I was starting to get to the point that I was starting to welcome it.
I spoke to my wife about leaving. She said that I should expect to be there for at least another 8 months. I could not get her to understand that that was not an option. When I told her today I was moving, she got pissed for not doing what she wanted. She was angry that I had sprung it on her, forgetting our previous conversation. Fuck her. I’m done. She thinks I’m leaving Portland when the ashram moves. That ain’t happening. I’ll dispel her of that notion the next time I see her. I’m getting pretty tired of her and I think the feeling is mutual. I’m just done. She wants to dictate how my sobriety should go. It doesn’t work that way. I don’t want anything more to do with the ashram.
Anyway, I told my mentor about the cocaine (and the Breaking Bad plan) a couple of days later, in an effort to head things off.
I continued to worsen. My roommate asked me to give him urine earlier this week. I firmly declined. Yesterday, I came across a small amount of suboxone. At this point, I’m basically doing anything I can to actively sabotage my living at the house.
I’m confused. I’m scared. I think I am going to go out on a run and die. For real. I figure, live with that chick, cook some meth and die. I start sharing all this shit with everyone in Refuge who will listen. At last night’s meeting and again the meeting this morning. I’m done. Last night, I asked my triggering roommate to get me heroin the next time he gets some. Why the fuck not?
Between this morning’s meeting and this evening’s meeting, I make arrangements to hang with the friends I now live with. I just want someplace quiet to mourn my own death.
I share everything that’s going on. I don’t care who finds out at this point. If someone back at the first finds out and I get booted, I can just get on with my business of total self-destruction. Fuck it all.
They decided to offer me a place to stay. It took me easily a half an hour to believe they were serious and that I might not actually die.
So, yeah… two relapses and a plan to break bad and, of course, die.
That’s all behind me now. I’ve been given a reprieve. I have hope for the first time since I arrived in Portland. I was in sober living for close to 8 months. My take is that, the way they are run (at least, the two I was in) they actually increase the likelihood of a relapse. Sober Living Oregon and Sober Housing Oregon (and, to a lesser extent Boulevard Treatment Centers) are broken, concerned far more about making money that spring supporting recovery and only made me, and countless others worse.