I never thought that I would ever be in a position where I would become addicted to Xanax. But it happened, and while it seems as if I had no control, I know that the blame rests fully within me.
Before I begin, I would like for you to all understand something. The events that occurred in my life, leading up to the addiction do not justify my abuse of the drug.
I found myself in terrible situations, but I was and am still very much accountable for my actions and reactions.
I won’t take you all too far back, but for you to get a clear understanding of my addiction, we have to jump back to college.
I was a naive freshman looking to have fun. Education wasn’t , and I only enrolled in secondary school to please my father. So I was all about having fun and enjoying myself.
It was spring break when I met Jerry. He was a very handsome young man with money deep in his pockets. We were at a beach party when I saw him strolling through the sand. He didn’t know I was looking, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of his tanned, chiseled chest.
Throughout the party, I kept eyeing him every once in a while, and occasionally, he would eye me.
By the end of the night, I was so hammered that I only remember following him to his dirty black jeep. I assume we had sex.
Fast forward three years later, I graduated with a Bachelor’s in nursing. Jerry graduated two years earlier, architectural design. Me and Jerry’s relationship was simple. We kept each other happy, didn’t require much, didn’t ask for much. Simple.
About five years of living and working together, I mentioned having kids to him. Seeing my coworkers with babies, gave me the desire to want children of my own. Jerry didn’t, however. He felt that children were unnecessary and since the world is already overpopulated, “there’s no need to compound the problem.” He left it at that. Any time I brought it back up, his response was the same.
As the years ticked by, I grew unhappy. I’m sure he did too, but we never talked about it. We worked, came home, ate dinner, went to bed. That was it. The same routine, day in and day out.
On my 32nd birthday, he decided to do something special. He wanted to take me out for dinner. On the way there, an 18 wheeler skidded across the road and smashed into the passenger side of our sedan, my side. Jerry suffered a mild concussion, but I had a broken femur and broken ribs. I couldn’t work anymore.
From that point on, Jerry was the breadwinner. He made money and paid the bills. I sat at home with no children, no mission, no purpose. Jerry wasn’t fond of visitors either, so I lost touch with friends and family. Depression set in nearly three years after the accident.
My sadness continually angered Jerry, so he took me to a doctor. The doctor explained that a little therapy might help. This made Jerry laugh. He didn’t believe in that. So Jerry insisted that the doctor give me medication to perk me up.
Boy did it work! Xanax made me feel so good. Being home alone, I would pop a Xanax and just lounge. When Jerry came home, I would shower him with kisses. Of course, he pushed me away, but it amused me. I was so different with Xanax. So calm. Nothing bothers me or worried me. Maybe I was actually happy.
But after a while, the effects started wearing off, so I double my dosage.
And that’s how it began.