Tag Archives: addiction

An Interview with IAND

2 Apr

Hello to everyone out there in the land of the Undefined,

I thought it would be a nice change of things to do an interview with a fellow blogger! The author of Thoughtful Thoughts approached me with the idea, and I thought it would be a lot of fun. I used the pseudonym Molly, so the interview she did with a woman named Molly is IAND. I really enjoyed being interviewed and I hope you find it interesting!

The first ever Interview with I Am Not Defined!

Until next time folks!

I Am Not Defined

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© I Am Not Defined, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Depressed

19 Mar

Things started getting very difficult for me when I started questioning my mind. I wondered if everyone else felt as depressed and unhappy in life as I did. I seriously doubted all of my happy-go-lucky friends could feel like I did, and still smile and goof around all day.

Life started to wear me down, and I started dealing with long spells of deep depression, and I had no idea how to handle it. My family situation was still rough, and I felt like my friends were mostly superficial and fake. I had had a very hard time with a boy who I yo-yo dated in middle school and high school. I had never dealt with a guy who tried so hard to make me jealous, and my emotions were easily pulled down.  The guy I had seen off and on insisted on dating my close friends when we were not together, and loved making moves on them behind my back when we were together. I took it to heart, and felt like there must have been something wrong with me if he felt the need to act like that.

I was always blaming myself for everything, and I felt like people always treated me the way they did because of something I had done. I held everything in because I didn’t feel like I had anyone to share with, or knew anyone who could relate to my problems. I started feeling like I couldn’t handle things anymore, and that’s when I started to cut.

I don’t know why I thought that cutting was the answer, but at the time, I felt like it was a necessary release. I could beat myself up emotionally, but if I cut myself, I could really feel the pain. I think I was so fazed and numbed by life at that point, and it felt like the only way I could connect to something. It didn’t really make sense then, and I think back to it now, I wonder what I was thinking.

Cutting myself didn’t solve any of my problems. In retrospect, I think it made things harder for me. It was just one more hurdle to get over. Cutting didn’t fix the problems I had, or help my emotional pain go away, it didn’t solve anything. If anything, it made me feel worse about myself. It was a bad idea then, and I recommend it to no one, your body is important, you only get one, so you better take care of it. You can’t let people get to you; you can’t let life get to you.

So many people turn to self-abuse like it is a cure, but in reality it only makes the disease worse. You don’t feel any better about yourself, and it eventually makes you feel more depressed.

One of the boys I grew up with was teased like crazy for being different. He once told me he started cutting himself because it made him feel something other than rejection. It wasn’t a good way for him to deal with things, and I didn’t know it then, but his adventures in self-mutilation eventually lead to his suicide. When I learned about his death, I started to really reconsider the way I was harming myself. I didn’t want to die. Sure I had dealt with some very depressing times, but I still had hope that better things were in my future. I immediately stopped cutting myself, and never picked up a blade again.

I wish I could say that was the end of me causing damage to myself, but my adventures in substances were just starting, and I had many miles on the road of addiction. I wish I could have told myself that taking it out on my body was a bad idea, but I had to learn that the hard way.

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Sidetracked

7 Mar

I felt a lot better in high school than I had before, but things were not perfect. It seems like I always had a boyfriend, but my taste in guys was terrible. It seemed like I loved a rebel, and asshole guys were my specialty. I dated a lot of guys who made me feel like I should be doing more with them than kissing, and it made me uncomfortable. It reinforced my feelings that guys only wanted sex.

I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t find a guy who liked me as I was, and didn’t want to pressure me to be differently, or think differently. I had my friend set me up with a guy once, he was a friend of her boyfriend, and played football for another school in town. He seemed very nice, and I thought he really liked me. We talked for ages and started dating. We got to go out on a double date for Valentine’s Day, and it was the first time I got to go out on a date. It was also the first time I had a solid Valentine.

To say I was excited would be an understatement. I couldn’t find anything good to wear, so I made my dress. I did my hair and make-up as well, a rarity for me. We got to get dinner and go to a movie, but my parents were pretty strict, I had to go home after the movie. When the movie ended, everyone wanted to go over to my friend’s house, but I couldn’t go. The guy just didn’t understand why I wouldn’t go back to my friend’s house with him, and thought that I didn’t want to be with him. I tried my best to explain that my parents said I had to go home after the movie, and left.

The next night we were all supposed to go to a school dance together, and I was really excited about this as well. I talked to my boyfriend that day, and he said he would go to the dance with my friend’s boyfriend, and meet me out front. I got dolled up again, and headed to the dance. When I got there I couldn’t find my friend or our boyfriends. I called my boyfriend, and he told me that his parents wouldn’t let him go. I believed him and called my friend to find out where she was. She told me that they were not coming to the dance; they were going to go bowling instead. I told her what my boyfriend had said about his parents not allowing him to go to the dance, and she told me he had lied. I guess he thought he was getting even with me, and I didn’t hear from him again after that night.

I started rebelling because I felt like one bad thing after another kept happening. I was so tired of dealing with all the negative crap. I was having a hard time handling family issues, and trying to balance social pressure, and my own awkwardness. One day I picked up one of my brothers cigarettes, and thought “people don’t get addicted to these, how stupid”.  I wanted to do something rebellious I guess, so I lit it up. I was instantly in love with the buzz it gave me. I had never felt like that before, and it seemed really nice.

After that first cigarette, I started sneaking out of class with some of my friends who also smoked. We would sneak down to the pool hall by our school, and smoke cigarettes out back. Some of my friends started noticing that I smelled like cigarettes, and I admitted that I smoked. I loved the buzz they gave me, and how cool they made me feel. It felt like empowerment in a stick. Several of my friends got very upset with me about smoking, and lectured me. I didn’t want to hear it, and pretty much blew them off. I lost a lot of friends over the situation, but I didn’t care as much as I should have. I even had one friend tell me she hated me to the depths of her soul, dramatic, but it still didn’t seem to get to me. It was the first time I chose something stupid over my friends. I didn’t want to quit smoking, and loose that buzz, so I let my friends go.

It wasn’t the right decision. I should have cared more about my friends, and that they only cared about my health. This was the beginning of a terrible habit of choosing things that were bad for me, over people who loved me and cared about my well-being. It’s part of the mind of an addict. We don’t care what we do to get there, we just want to make sure we get whatever it is that we are addicted to in the end.  The mind of an addict is a dangerous place, and choosing substances over friends isn’t personal, we are just so wrapped up in our addictions we can’t see properly. I didn’t see it then, I thought it was just cigarettes, and I didn’t really care, but over the years I chose a lot of bad things over some truly great people. I wish I could have told myself then that it wasn’t going to do me any favors, but hindsight is 20/20 isn’t it?

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Confused~Advice

5 Feb

Dear I Am Not Defined,

I’m not sure if I’m asking for advice or what, but just I’m letting you know I admire what you’re doing, it takes a lot of guts. My brother was molested when he was younger, but he was living with my grandparents because my mom couldn’t handle him anymore. It was a retarded guy who lived in the nearby area, and more is being revealed as i get older. He’s all over the place emotionally and he decided drugs were the thing to help him, if not just get him through the day. There’s been a shift lately though, and he is clean and he feels better. He is seeing a psychiatrist to find some meds that can help him feel normal again. He’s been diagnosed with bipolar/borderline personality disorder, all sorts of other things. It makes sense, but he was just a boy trying to figure out what was wrong with him, and he tried every method available. He just tried negative ones, and they all lead him to one addiction or another. The only trouble he got in were cries for attention, like going to rehab, or getting some woman to pay a train ticket to Montreal, where she would wire him money, and he could party for a while. He got to Montreal and didn’t have a photo id, so he couldn’t get the money, and was stuck there without a dime. He was 16, but the adventures he’s been on, and the quest he’s been out for was to feel good. He just wanted to feel good, so i could never stay mad at him for long when he didn’t get along with us. He was violent when he was younger, he did live with us off and on, but it was too late, and the damage was done. I don’t think he ever felt accepted. I tried telling him, to do what he had to do, but I’m always here for him, and I always have been. He’s been there for me too. I hope this time around he sticks to his guns, and stays positive when things get tough. Life is harsh sometimes, but it doesn’t have to be bad, or stay that way. When i was a bit younger, maybe 5 years ago, I went for a mental evaluation, to see if there was anything wrong with me. Sure i smoke pot, and had dabbled with mushrooms and acid, but my plight was different. I knew there was something wrong, something holding me back, but i couldn’t put my finger on it. I told them about my brother, and that i thought it may have happened to my sister. I’m pretty sure it never happened to me, but what if it did? And, why them and not me? I mean, I feel emotionally messed up as well, but my luck has been great in comparison between my siblings, I’m the middle kid and sometimes the oldest, but emotionally, i was like everybody’s father, making sure they weren’t doing anything too stupid or hurting themselves or anyone else. I blame my mum for a lot of the shit now, how negligent she was, and a recovering alcoholic. Now I’m just starting to think she switched from alcohol to her meds. There’s a lot of stuff she did not prepare us for. I’m father myself, and had my family split up because I was so scared the same thing was going to happen. I shut down, and broke down trying to manage my depressed-prone wife, and my own shit. I couldn’t take it. We fought all the time, nothing violent, just yelling and emotional hurt, so i left until things calmed down. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but my wife decided to go back to her hometown with our daughter. I obliged, and let them go. I think I was not able to handle a family because i lacked any sort of emotional experience. I didn’t know how to deal with them properly, and my wife struggled to get better. She strangled me emotionally, and i broke down before I became violent. As soon as the urge to starting hitting something comes up in me, I run away. I’ve seen drunken abuse from my mum’s boyfriends and my brother; i didn’t need to be like that. I always think of my daughter, and she’s my reason to keep going. I want a better life for her, and i hope she’s a lucky one, like me, so that she can help others who need it. I think we all have certain traumas brought into our lives, but it’s how we deal with it that counts. It’s our actions and reactions, not losing control and knowing that life is good, things will turn out ok. Thank you for letting me know that you know it too, and that you’re doing what you can to help those who can’t talk about past traumas, thanks again, you’re doing great :)

 -Confused

Dear Confused,

First I want to tell you that your brother is very lucky to have such and understanding, loving sibling. It is very hard to watch someone you love destroy their lives with addictions and emotional issues, and it is even harder to be there for them when they fall.

It sounds like you carried a lot of weight on your shoulders as a child. It can be very stressful always being the “parent” sibling. It takes a lot of effort to make sure that the people around you are taken care of, and I am sure you didn’t have as much time to worry about yourself. Acting as a caregiver can really force you to grow up, and see the world in a different light. Maybe you were robbed of your childhood because of this?

It also seems like you grew up in a world where things seemed fairly out of control, which might cause you to act more controlling in your adult life. It seems like you have a handle on your anger, in a sense that you know when you need to get away, but have you figured out why you are so angry? Maybe if you can get to the root of your anger, you will be able to get a better hold on it, and not always have to flee?

It sounds like getting help has done a lot for your brother, maybe you need someone to speak to, an impartial person who can just listen while you get it all out. Bringing things to light, and understanding them can do amazing things for the soul. Just because your brother and sister had different traumas then you, doesn’t make yours are less important. You still had to grow up under the same circumstances, with the same people.

Maybe your wife having issues was too hard on you, after growing up with your siblings, and always having to help them. Was it too much to have that in your marriage as well? If you’re not emotionally stable in your own mind, you will never be able to help someone else get or stay emotionally stable. Maybe you both need someone to talk to.

At the very least you seem able to clearly see where your upbringing was flawed, and now that you have a daughter of your own you can do you’re very best to make sure that she is brought up differently. Things may or may not get better with your wife, but you have to come to terms with yourself before the two of you will really be able to hash it out. It sounds like you have a very good head on your shoulders, and I think you can do really well and go far. Turn your experiences into something better, and grow from them. I really think you can figure this out, and feel better about yourself and your life. I’m sure times are hard, but they will get better!

-I Am Not Defined

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Advice/Questions

1 Feb

Thanks to the amazing comments and feedback I’ve received about my posts, I have decided to create an Advice/Questions page. I don’t promise to have all the answers, but I will do my very best do give solid advice, and answer questions honestly. I’ve experienced so much in my life, and it would mean so much if I could help other people! I’ll take your questions about life and just about anything you have gone through, or are going through, thanks so much for taking the time to fill out the cool form I made :)

Please feel free to head that way and fill out the nifty little questionnaire I made! Then make sure to check back often for updates, or FOLLOW us! I can’t do this without your help and participation. I need you to help me get this started, without your stories, and questions I can’t get this off the ground!

Please give it a go and maybe you will be the first person I get to write to!

Thanks,

I am Not Defined

Your name will remain completely anonymous if you take part!

Advice/Questions-go here to fill out the form and seek advice :)

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Adapting

29 Jan

Elementary school was not very difficult for me. I got good grades, and I was in the schools gifted programs. I was pretty active in school activities and I had a few friends. I was by no means one of the popular girls, but I went to school in a small town with a lot of people I grew up with.

When I was in fourth grade, I didn’t like recess very much, so I would go visit old teachers. My favorite second grade teacher would let older students come in during their break, if they worked with the younger students. I really enjoyed helping, so I gathered a group of other students, and we spent our breaks helping the younger kids learn to read and spell. It was a lot of fun.

I became more of an outcast as I got older. Weird things were going on at my home, and most of the kids just weren’t dealing with the kind of issues I had already. Things like anger, death, and sex aren’t normal topics for the average elementary student. I found it very difficult to relate to the other kids, and I didn’t have much in common with other girls because I was such a tomboy.

Outside of school I had several friends. The street I grew up on was full of young families, so all the kids played together often. Afterschool the kids would get together and play street hockey, or hide and go-seek. We would go on adventures, ride bikes, and explore the area. I didn’t have friends over often, it just wasn’t my idea of fun, but I loved going to friends’ houses and seeing how their families interacted.

One of the families’ that lived on our street had an older mentally disabled son. He would sit out on the bricks in front of his house, and try to get the kids to come talk to him. He often convinced the girls on the street to come sit on his lap, and he liked to hug them. I won’t lie; I sat on his lap once to and just thought he was weird and overly friendly. I didn’t think much of it, but I knew I didn’t want to go near him anymore.

About a week later another girl on the street sat on his lap too. I guess he tried to kiss her, and her Dad saw her trying to get away from him, and the police were called. He was apparently a registered sex offender, and his parents were supposed to be supervising him. I am not sure what happened to him, but we never saw him outside again.

It was saddening to think that there were bad people everywhere, at home and on the street. Where was I safe? I didn’t have very much trust or faith in people after that. I felt like my parents couldn’t keep me safe. I felt like I had the world on my shoulders, and I had to take care of it on my own. I think it made me a very independent person early on. I never worked well in groups, I felt like the other kids would fail at their part, and it would all come down to me any way, why not just do it all myself? I made myself an outcast with this attitude, and I really started to dislike people in general.

I decided if the people who were supposed to keep me safe and take care of me were going to do a crappy job, then I would do it myself. This “do- it-yourself” attitude stuck with me. To this day, I still feel like I can do it better myself. It’s funny how the things you do to adapt as a child help shape who you are as an adult.

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A Difficult Christmas

22 Jan

I was very close to my grandparents growing up. I was lucky enough to have two grandfathers and a grandmother around for my childhood. One of my grandfathers, my “Papa” was an alcoholic.

When I was younger, I didn’t really understand words like drunk, alcoholic, sobriety etc. I didn’t understand what people meant when they would talk about my Papa and his drinking problems. To me he was just my Papa. I loved going to visit him, he lived in his trailer on an orange orchard, and there was always plenty of room for whatever outdoor fun we could imagine.

To me, my Papa was a hardworking man, a little rough around the edges, but he was always friendly and loving. We didn’t get to see him a lot, I have a feeling my mom didn’t want us to see him drunk. He would occasionally show up at holidays or family functions. I remember being excited several times because I thought he was coming to see us, and even as a child my heart broke when he couldn’t make it. I didn’t understand why he was always “sick” and couldn’t spend time with us.

A few times my Papa got so “sick” that his body just wouldn’t hold up to the abuse. He would come over and stay with us for a while to sober up, and help his body get better. He was never there for very long, but I remember loving it when he would come to stay.

On Christmas Eve one year when I was in elementary school, my Papa was expected as usual, but unsurprisingly he didn’t call or show up. The Christmas Eve festivities went on as usual, and no one really thought anything of it. Later that night my mom tried to get ahold of him, to wish him a merry Christmas, but got no answer. I am not sure who found him or how, but my grandfather was found on Christmas morning, behind his trailer. He had passed away.

My parents explained to us that our Papa was gone, and we did the best we could to grieve, and continue on with our lives. After that, I didn’t put much thought into my grandfather’s passing, I knew he was gone and it was left at that.

My mother sat me down one day, and told me that she needed to tell me the truth about Papa. I was very confused about what she was talking about. She told me that my Papa had gotten very drunk on Christmas Eve before he died, and he had taken himself out behind his trailer and committed suicide. My whole world spun a little, and I didn’t know what to say. She made the situation much worse with her reasons for finally telling me the truth.  Apparently she was afraid my older brother (the one who ran away), was going to tell me the real reason my Papa was gone, to turn me against my parents, and decided to beat him to the punch. So in one happy afternoon, I not only learned that my grandpa shot himself, but I learned that my mom liked to one-up my brother…classy.

I can honestly say that I was very bitter at my parents for hiding something like this from me. I was even more upset that my mom somehow thought my jail-bird brother would be able to get the message to me, and that I would believe him. As I got older, I came to the conclusion that I wish my parents would have either A) not told us in the first place, why would you put that on a child? Or B) Told us when we were a reasonable age and capable of handling such weight, and not under such crappy circumstances.

I sometimes wonder if he would still be around, had he decided not to end his life. I wonder if the people who choose this ending think about the people they leave behind. I wonder if the think of the holidays, birthday parties, weddings, and special occasions that their presence will be terribly missed at. Sometimes I am bitter that he gave up these moments because he didn’t want to be around, but then I remember how sick he was. Having suffered addiction problems myself, I know how hopeless and horrible it can all seem. I will still always miss him, and I will always wish he could be there, in body, for all the amazing moments I have been fortunate enough to live, but I hope he has at least found peace.

Authors Note:

Suicide is never the answer. It is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, and will not solve anything. If you have had, or are having suicidal thoughts, I encourage you to find someone to talk to. Seek help. You are loved and unique, and the world needs you here. If you don’t think anyone cares, I do. I think the world is made up of beautiful, unique, amazing people, and it would be a tragedy to lose anyone to such an unfortunate end.

If you need someone to talk to:

The International Suicide Prevention Wiki

Or give me a holler, seriously; there is always someone out there that cares!

iamnotdefined@yahoo.com

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© I Am Not Defined, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

In The Beginning

18 Jan

I am 24 and I am a mom. Most people don’t see past their preconceived notions of a young mom, to see that I am so much more. I have made many mistakes in my life but the road that finally led me here was a bumpy but happy one. My 9 month old daughter truly is the light of my life, and I can only be thankful that I made it to this point. There were many times in my young adulthood that I did not expect to see the next day. I think I often believed that there was no way I would make it to my mid 20’s let alone through another week with myself. Growing up in my shoes had its difficulties, and I quickly grew to be my own worst enemy. For many years I dabbled in drugs and bad decisions. I neglected to care about myself and the people around me. For years I used whatever drugs I could get my hands on to numb my feelings and thoughts. I didn’t want to feel, or have to think, or handle reality.

I know there are millions of people out there who choose to use and abuse substances over living their lives, and for many years, I thought they had the right idea. I in no way condone drug use, I have been down that road and I can tell you endless stories about the stupidity and bad decisions involved in drug abuse. I have driven friends away, watched people die, and nearly killed myself in an endless quest for what? A better high? I hope for a chance to share some of my stories and memories in a format easily accessible to other people with a past.

I strongly encourage any readers to share their own stories. If you felt you could relate to something I have said, please feel free to share. I hope for this to be a place for free flow of thought without judgment. I know that so many people out there have a colored history, but I also know that we are the people we are meant to be because of the experiences, and lessons we live through. I personally believe that we go through all the things that we do, so we can be better equipped to handle situations later on. An easy example of a life lesson? Put your hand on a hot stove, after you burn it the first time I doubt that you will put your hand back, or any other body part for that matter. Life is just a series of lessons accumulating and turning you into the person you are. I plan on laying out several of my own personal life lessons, with hope that someone out there can relate, learn, or enjoy my personal stories.

I am not defined by the person people see when they look at me. I am defined by the way I have lived my life, the decisions and mistakes I’ve made, the consequences I have lived through and the way I have handled the hurdles life has thrown my way.

© I Am Not Defined, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

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