Dear Drug Addicted Women,

Why do you, and how could you continuously carry pregnancies to term? Surely you can see the destruction of your drug use in your own life. Surely you realize that same destruction gets transferred over to your baby. Surely you understand that, just because you are relieved of the responsibility of care for your baby via choosing to give your baby up for adoption or your baby legally being removed from you, all of that destruction that you transferred doesn't just suddenly disappear. Sure, drugs warp the mind, and even outside of the confines of addiction we all do things that we are not proud of, make mistakes that we wish to take back, however, it is not you that I feel any sympathy or empathy for, because you are the one who has been allowed the power of choice. It is you who can choose to reproduce hurt or to prevent it. If you choose to birth a baby addicted to drugs, who will suffer the symptoms of withdrawal that you are too cowardly to feel, who will have delayed development, learning disabilities, possible physical abnormalities - you should be jailed. And then sterilized. Seriously. It is cruel and unusual punishment for a child to have to come into the world addicted, suffering the consequences of carelessness, only to live out a life of difficulty and pain, especially when you are not even capable of helping your child through his or her pain or guiding him or her through the struggles to come. Why do that to a helpless individual? Who the fuck are you to write the script of this life when you chose to write your own?

Not only is it cruel and unusual punishment for your child, it is unfair to the team that will have to be built around your child. You will not be there to see it through - someone else will be doing the extra hard work of trying to find the strength to insure that your child is not left behind. Quite frankly, you disgust me. If you are willing to curse the life of your own flesh and blood, you do not deserve to bare children at all. You may think that is harsh, but fuck you, what's harsh is the aftermath of your decisions. I don't care that you are currently in a bad way. I don't care that eventually in the future, you might be clean and able to be an adequate parent. Although you might get a second chance at a pain-free life, your baby will not.

My advice, use your power of choice to prevent a curse. Do not carry a pregnancy to term if your ass has no intentions of kicking your addiction!

I don't wanna take them. AT ALL! Isn't there a way around this?

I met with my doctor today and she says that when the meds hit a plateau that means the dosage needs to be increased.

Question(s):

- Why did the meds hit a plateau after just 1 month?
- Does that really mean that the dosage needs to be increased or that this med just doesn't work for me?
- How many other meds do I need to go through and how many more dosage increases on how many more meds do I need to go through?
- So, my only two options are to take the meds and/or to make time to see a therapist?
- Why did you look at me sideways when I declined your prescription offer for the morning after pill?

Yes, that last question might seem a little random, but she gives me these all over mini life evaluations when I go in there. She keeps track of what I'm doing, how long I've been doing it, and who I've been doing it with, and where I'm taking it next. I even had to explain my damn thesis at this visit!! I guess it means she cares, but sometimes it gets on my nerves because she's constantly overbooked, and when I really have a list of things I need to discuss with her she doesn't have time to take care of me, but when I don't feel like talking or can't remember all the shit that has been ailing me, then she wants to lay in on me and get the low down on what's been going on.

Now, my new task is to keep a journal since I'm having trouble with my memory, so that she can decipher what's a side effect of the medication and what's "me". My lack of affect, paired with my memory issues, makes journal writing a good idea. Then, I'm suppose to get reacquainted with a therapist in the office that I tried to build a relationship with before. I'm tired of sitting around retelling my story to those who get paid to hear it. I don't wanna talk. I just want some solutions. And besides, I don't particularly wanna talk to him. I wanna talk to a woman. In a setting that I am comfortable in. Not one where I have sit in a tiny office and stick my daughter in a chair outside the door while I talk about her dad or all my other shit. Sigh...

"happy pills have a way of numbing the passion it takes to string together thoughts and ideas"

I think Tameka was right. I wrote about my return to happy pills here, and since then, I've pretty much left them in the bottle. I refilled my prescription in hopes of restarting my routine today, but I'm just not so sure I want to. The Celexa started off ok. I didn't wanna give myself a placebo effect so I tried to view them as being sort of like a vitamin. That way, if I started to feel better, it wouldn't be because I desperately wanted the meds to work, but because they were working. I did feel a little better in terms of enjoying Miss J more, but it was semi-overshadowed by a roller-coaster of emotions. The ups and downs that first month brought had my doctor rethinking Celexa as a choice. Then, just like that, I was back to my old self again. Not the old self before depression and ill feelings because that self is never old, but back to my natural state of being irritably depressed. It was then that I missed a day's dosage, which turned into a few more day's dosages, which turned into me having a day of the jitters like a dope fiend.

I'll be seeing my doctor next week to see what the next steps should be, and I'm sure she'll have a lot to say about me suddenly stopping, but then again, I always suddenly stop when I feel like I'm wasting my time so I'm sure she's probably used to it by now. I've made the decision that I should just wait until I see her before cracking open that bottle back open and diving into the next 30 days, just in case we both decide that I should move on to the next drug or try yet another approach. You know, I'm starting to feel like there is some part of my brain that is un-fixable. I feel like "this" just is and I just need to figure out ways to make it work for me instead of against me. We'll see what happens...

Its my 44th day on drugs. Drug of force choice? That would be Celexa. I've been on the Celexa trip before, back after giving birth to Miss J. My pregnancy was great physically, but mentally? Now that was a completely different story. Changing hormones, paired with a stressful home sittation, and then add in an inconsiderate boyfriend, on top of an already existent mental condition... it was enough to land me in therapy. With a very good therapist might I add. One that didn't just sit across from me and agree with how fucked up my life actually was, or repeatedly ask me how I make it from day to day, or pick their jaw up off the floor long enough to ask me when my book was coming out, after hearing my story. Nope, she provided insight, guidence, and a bit of her own life story as a way of helping me effectively work through my issues. It was great! But then, I went back to school, which required me to relocate to a different county, which resulted in me losing her as a source of support. Enter: Celexa.

After my insurance company's discontinued coverage of the drug and my trails and errors with Paxil and Prozac, I swore off drug therapy for good. Why commit myself to my doctor's pet drugs when they did nothing but make me wanna sleep all day. Hell, I could do that without the drugs! And besides, drugs don't cure depression all by themselves. Its a collective effort between drug and behavioral therapy (which I could never find time in my single mommy - full time student schedule for). So, I made the decision to fight depression naturally. To let it just run its course; to just have its on space; to just come and go as it pleased. This may seem like a brilliant idea in theory. Not so much in practice, especially when you choose to do it alone.

To most, I am a very easy going person. Very friendly and likable. Somewhat shy and withdrawn at times. But for the most part, a decent and loyal human being. To the public that is the mask that I wear, and once behind closed doors, the mast is discarded and the terrified, insecure, severly depressed, often suicidal, irritable, traumatized, needy and helpless feeling, life skill-less Barbara emerges. The Barbara that is always sad and in hiding from the world. The Barbara who hasn't yet found her place, her calling, and wonders if there even is such a place or calling set aside for her. The Barbara who has been abandoned due to the natural cycle of life and death. The Barbara who muffles her cries and silently begs for someone with a warm and compassionate heart to want to lend their helping hand just as much as she needs to accept it.

A very tormented way to live exist.

Realizing that my mental state was in a scary place, I had to think long and hard about just what to do about it. I desire a specific type of behavioral therapy, from a therapist who is trained in very specific areas and from a specific background, which takes time and energy to pin point. So then, do I just give in and accept the drugs? Things were at a point where I felt like I had no choice but to do so. Things had started up again with Miss J's dad, its an absolute must that I finish up my classes this year and move past this life that I have been rooted in for the past 7 years, and what about my relationship with my daughter? Truth is... I love her to death, but I grew to not like her... AT ALL. Life definitely could not continue on this path... its just not me... or at least, I wish it wasn't me.

So, here I am. Going on a journey that I have taken before, in hopes of becoming a better me, for me, and for my little girl. As a result, I have been able to show my love to her, the way that I used to. The way that I do when I am not stuck inside myself and feeling like life is unlivable. There have been some very bad days and there have been some fantastic days, within this 44 day period. We will see what the next 14 days brings me and if my unconventional brain will finally strike a happy balance. Stay tuned...

Something happens to irritate the fuck outta me!! I swear, happiness around here is short lived.

"He" contacted me today wanting to know if Miss J could come over for a visit. I found this bold since he had not called her with that apology for acting an ass and making too much out of nothing. I asked Miss J if she wanted to go visit her dad, to which she replied, "no, I don't want to go back over there and if you try to make me then I wont go!" On a regular day I would have gladly left it at that, but I chose to take on the role of peace-maker to see if I could get the two of them to kiss and make up. She explained to me that she was still upset about the argument, so I asked her if her dad told her he was sorry for insulting her would that make things better. She said yes.

After our trip to my grandma's house, I took her over to his house. In the 10 years that I have known him, I have yet to hear him utter the words "I'm sorry", so I really wasn't expecting him to come right out with it today. Especially since he didn't seem to see anything wrong with his actions when we talked about what had went down. But, he did ask her if she was upset and he did tell her that he was sorry. Didn't say specifically what he was sorry for, but sorry nonetheless. She seemed to warm up to the idea that her feeling toward him were returning to pre-argument status and she was once again excited to be in his presence.

Great end to a crazy situation, right? Wrong!

He brought her home an hour ago, and after he had gone the smell hit me. Miss J hugged me and reeked of weed smoke. I don't know if he smoked before or during her stay, but that shit was on her like white on rice. Luckily I am doing the laundry tonight. I damn near ripped her coat off her back. I'll be damned if she goes to school tomorrow wearing a coat that smells like I'm over here running a fucking marijuana farm! That shit is just disgusting! I FUCKING HATE WEED SMOKE... AND CIGARETTE SMOKE... AND ANY OTHER TYPE OF ADDICTIVE ASS BEHAVIOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just don't get it. I fail to understand, to comprehend, the pleasure one gets from killing brain cells. Can someone PLEASE explain this to me? What is so great about puffing on blunts and leaving the essence of that shit on every single thing that you touch? Its just gross! And fucking stupid!! I went for a hair appointment on Friday and damn if one of the stylists didn't come in smelling like she had just put a blunt out. And then there came one of my stylist's clients smelling the same way. Again, I don't get it. Don't you dope fiends know that shit lingers? Don't you know that WE ALL know that you are a dope fiend, whether you think so or not? Yes you are! Unless you have a prescription for it, you are a fiend. And if you do have a prescription and love to abuse it, then you are a fucking fiend! This gets me sooo irritated. I don't smoke weed, so therefore, I don't want to smell that shit when I am out doing my daily business... and I don't want that shit all in my clothes or my baby's.

I texted her dad telling him that if he is going to ask for her to come visit him that he needs not smoke that shit. Of course he didn't reply. I don't even know why the fuck I bother. How about this just be the last damn visit. I don't have time to be telling no grown ass ***** how to be an adult and how to make adult decisions. How about I just keep my baby with me, where I know that she ain't being exposed to no nonsense. It never fails... I remain to be THEE most responsible and mature person within my inner circle. Its a damn shame. I'm 24, and yet, I am the one that has to constantly point shit out to mofos who are in their 30's. Got damn shame! No wonder I have grey hairs all-got-damn-ready!

Dispite all of this petty foolishness, I am going to continue to strive to view the glass as being half full because... well... my life is depending on it. All this stress ain't doing nothing but digging me into an early grave. That's what stress does. Its way beyond wrinkles, and more about the damaged that gets done to the brain, heart and spirit. I want to live every ounce of time that is meant for me so I am going to work on breaking out of this life, these situations, with these kinds of people and finding my peace.

Last week, while standing in line at a place I absolutely HATE and will not name, a man standing to my right was having a conversation with someone about how much he hates prescription medication. I could kind of feel him on preferring to be med free because that's how I roll too. I don't believe that I need to take a pill each and every day of my life to be ok, especially when that pill doesn't even work. And especially because taking a pill isn't going to change my physical reality. I do believe that some mental disorders require a "drug for life" plan to stay safe and sane, but not all, and I am in the not-all category.

So anyway, as the line inched along I could do nothing but continue to listen in on his conversation and continue to secretly agree with him, that is, until he said...

If God, and my weed, and my crack can't keep me cool, then I don't need nothing else.

I immediately flipped my SideKick and jotted this revelation down. I had to. It was one of those "What The Fuck" moments. Who in their right mind would actually tell someone, everyone in the vicinity, that they are a well and functioning crackhead?? I have heard a bus load of folks admit to being weed heads without shame, but never a shameless crackhead, NEVER. And since when did crack become a prescription med substitute? Probably around the same time that they started handing out medicinal marijuana cards to mothafuckas that ain't even sick! And about that marijuana, why is being a weed head cool??

Listen, I know that times are extra bad right now, and for some, good times are a rare occurrence, but damn! There comes a time when we just have to put the blunts and crack pipes down and receive the help that people offer. Doesn't matter if you actually want to stop or not, you have to realize that you are addicted and stop lying to yourself and those around you. If you're ingesting stuff for no damn reason at all, but to run away from problems that are still gonna be there whenever you come down from your high, then guess what? You are addicted. Ok!! And you know what else? That shit isn't cute, or cool, or anything else other than a cry for help and we hear you.