Sept. 8, Tuesday 2009 rated 3.75 (disgust, failure, shame, “THIS NEEDS TO STOP NOW”)

Today I betrayed myself yet again.  I rushed off and bought yet another 40.  A complete repeat from last month, 165 dollars down the f**king tube yet again. Something is different though.  This time I have a genuine feeling of disgust, of failure and shame.  This time I wasn’t physically addicted, it was only my mind this time, I completely betrayed myself.  Sick, I feel sick, and sad, and down.  The OC didn’t make me feel any better this time, it was terrible feeling. I got so angry at myself that I broke every one of my needles, threw them all way–the one bright spot in the day.

I’ve just realized, right this second, that the junkie thing just isn’t working anymore, not at all. I am a ruined individual–I have no real friends, I don’t have a real job despite being moderately intelligent, I haven’t been to Ukraine or back in school, I feel like shit all of the time just trying to live with myself. THIS STOPS NOW. THIS ENDS BEFORE MY REAL LIFE BEGINS.

Intake: (40 mg oxyco IV F**K!)

(I wonder who has been through this also, this feeling of absolute failure. I also wonder why addicts are not given empathy if not simpathy. Why would anyone curl his lip at someone who so wants to be free? Is the reason possibly due to the degree of judgment already leveled at addicts? Is this man really so hard to hug?

Our society would throw cuffs on him and a label–criminal. Yes, what he is experiencing is criminal. He was given opiods at a young age. Someone should go to jail for that. ….

Matt’s mom)

12 thoughts on “Sept. 8, Tuesday 2009 rated 3.75 (disgust, failure, shame, “THIS NEEDS TO STOP NOW”)

  1. I have said these very words to myself so many times. Two years ago, it’s exactly how I felt. desperate,hopeless, and totally alone. . . . . As an addict you feel so much shame and guilt, but you can’t stop. Its just such a deep dark pit you can’t see your way out. I’m lucky to be breathing, and I too, (like the first comment) am trying to put a “face” on addiction. It IS the stigma that doesn’t leave. On one hand, it’s good, becuz you CANNOT forget where you’ve been. On the other hand, it would sure be nice to have a ‘do-over’ button. 17 months (and counting) Matt lives on, thanks to your writing/sharing his story. Thankyou


    • Hey Amber at 17 wonderful months!,
      So, you said these words too? Really? I like your do-over button. I could use that daily! Thanks so very much for reading my son’s journals. He lives on through them! He is the face fo addiction, and what a human face it is…


  2. I have heard this before, many times — they hate the drug. Hate it so bad. But they have to take it, their bodies need it. I have often felt (and still feel) the same way. But my drugs are legal. White coats have told me they are okay. Even so, I feel like some of them are killing me — giving me some semblance of normalcy, but only in the short-term. The treatment is myopic.

    Sounds like Matt was almost there, on the cusp of a healthier life. I truly enjoy reading these journals, getting to know Matt, but I am sad he is gone.


    • Hey User, I just typed and deleted a wonderful rant based on your reply. Thanks for letting me get that out and not seeing it tomorrow! You are so wonderful in so many ways. To begin, myopic just spurned a deep response in me. Also, white-coats are so symbolic of the establishment. Thanks so much for your candor.
      Also, thanks so much for your empathy with Matt’s writings. You have no idea how much I appreciate comments like yours, which express enjoyment of his life and understanding of him. I truly wish more people had the chance to know him. What a deep soul he was and is, like you.
      Matt’s mom, Jane


  3. I commented previously on another post on this blog. My son was facing jail time for DUI (2nd offense). My son didn’t make it to jail because he overdosed on September 13th.

    In the month leading up to his death, I believe my son was in the same place as Matt is here in this post. He called me crying, high, telling me he couldn’t live like this anymore. I told him I would come & get him. I told him I would do anything — ANY thing — to help him get sober. But in the end he hung up with an I love you mom, don’t worry I’ll be ok.

    I honestly don’t know or even think that my son would’ve ever gotten sober. I knew in my heart when I found out about his addiction that it would kill him. But I did get to tell him every single day how much I love him. I have peace. But I miss him so. I wanted to tell you because I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you understand what I’m feeling & going through.


    • Dear God, Lord, Jehovah!, Joy, I am so so so very sorry. I can truly say that too, as I know this journey you are on. Crap, I can’t even think of a damn platetude to say, as they all ring so flat. So, the 13th, hey? Uhgh. I remember all the funeral crap so well. Casket, flowers, returning the cards, followed by crying at night and smiling at the stupid things people say by day. I can’t even type the things ‘friends’ have said here as I would punch a hole through my laptop just viewing them.
      Okay, I’m done crying for a bit and ready to give whatever crappy adice I have accumulated after this:

      Tell everyone who gives condolences right out front that your son died from Big Pharma and ask them if they take Vicodin. Tell them that it is heroin. Stop them in their tracks right there.

      Cry everyday on purpose. Make yourself cry. Find some music that fits the mood and wail away to it.

      Burn everything of his except two bags full. God will provide shoes and shirts when he rises from the grave, so you don’t need to.

      Remember that God is good, really truly good. He will dry your tears. Ask Him to see your son in Heaven and don’t worry about anything else. He can do literally anything.

      Help others that are like him; take in strays as this will grow you into what God intended. Every piece of evil has a stronger reflection of good. Your son’s death should not be in vain. This has value.

      Life is always fleeting, always. You wanted your son to live his to the fullest, so don’t waste yours in misery. Do what you wanted him to do. You might be snuffed out tomorrow.

      You have nothing left to lose, so live without fear. Pick up hitch-hikers, sleep in, walk into the boss’s office and have a candid chat, go skinny dipping, and start a blog which says it all.

      Tell people that you have #children and include him. He’s still yours!

      Talk about your son as if he is still alive in your memory even though he is somewhere else, as if he is still apart of the family. Not creepy like saying he is part of Christmas or something, but more like not avoiding his memory. Laugh when you tell stories about him too.

      Okay, that’s all I can muster and I ran out of tissue and am on to the toilet paper roll. So, I will end this without the usual condolences and say the truth: You and your son didn’t deserve this: what a crapy life this is. I can’t wait to see Heaven!

      Hugs and tears on your shoulder,


  4. I know so many who have struggled with that feeling of self-loathing Matt describes (my son included). It’s horrible to watch that struggle, want so desperately to help, and have no idea what to do. You feel like you try everything and nothing works, and that battle within their own minds pulls them in again and again. It sounds like Matt may have hit bottom here. I know the end of the story, but in my mind I’d like to believe that he was at a place where he was ready to turn away and fight his demons. I feel so deeply connected to your child, Jane, and my heart aches for the pain he was feeling and for you. I hope this blog of yours reaches all the children and adults like Matt and helps them find the push they need to start the battle for sobriety. And I pray that they have the strength to continue fighting everyday. And I hope this reaches all the parents who need help understanding, either to cope themselves, or to reach out to their child. No one is alone in this. You are doing such a wonderfully brave thing by sharing Matt’s story. God bless you.


    • Thanks so much for the blessing from God; I appreciate them all. Your phrase, “I feel so deeply connected to your child, Jane,” really resounded with me. It was so touching, really. Thanks so much. You mentioned being brave, not really. If I may interject a bit of comic irony, this is like being in a Saw movie. Caught in a vat of needles I need to cut off my arm to walk across broken glass in the hopes that I might see daylight. Okay, a bit dramic. However, I do find myself feeling like I need to do this to see the light of day. Comments like yours shine brightly! Thanks, truly, thanks and God bless you too.


  5. Yes! I have been through this also. I feel such a connection to Matt. I look at the picture if Matt’s coffin and KNOW how easily that could have been me and am honestly surprised that it wasn’t. The last time I OD’d not even the doctors expected me to live. I have been sober for over two years and when I think about the 10+ years that I was in active addiction, the memories are more like watching a movie than being my true memories. My behaviors were not my own. The person I am today does not even resemble the person I became in active addiction. My addiction still haunts me. My criminal record holds me back from a decent place to live or having a decent job. The stigma that you speak of is the number one barrier to treatment, in my opinion. No one can easily get help for something that they are so deeply ashamed up. It keeps us sick. As recovering addicts, we have to tell our stories. Put a face with addiction in the hopes of lessening the stigma so that more people, like Matt, can get the help that they desperately need before it’s too late. I am now a junior in college studying Psychology and Sociology and I hope to help other addicts find recovery like I did.


    • Total and huge thanks, Angie, for being honest an real! Part of my reason for all this typing is just this: to see that I am not having a vacuum experience. Thanks for adding air, life giving oxygen, to my reality. May the Lord God of Heaven and Earth save you, bless you, keep you, and unite you and I and Matt one day in such freedom!!!! that we will laugh with joy over having had this experience. You know what, I think we are better than those who live vanilla lives. We live and eat Rocky Road 🙂 Thanks so much for working toward a human goal of helping others!


      • What a beautiful person you are, Jane. Thank you for your kind words and encouragement. I really love your comparison with vanilla and rocky road. You hit the nail on the head, I think. 🙂 bless you.


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