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What Recovery Means To Me

July 1st, 2015

To me, recovery is something one person takes to heart to better him or herself and breaks away from the chains of addiction. It is far from playing with someone’s emotions and feelings in front of a group. When a person in a professional position picks apart a person’s flaws in front of the whole group, then this person is not taking that individual’s recovery seriously. Assigning 500 word essays that are not related to my recovery is no more than an abuse of power.

Here at this correctional facility, my recovery is a joke. It is nothing more than a waste of tax payers’ money. This is the wrong setting to break the chains of someone’s addiction. If you have someone in a professional position acting unprofessionally, how is that helping with recovery? All it does is push me to the point of anger and attitude, which just triggers my addiction.

I know that when I finally do leave here and go home, my recovery was not taken seriously. I will be going out that front gate worse than when I came in because of the way I was treated as a human being. I have come to realize that recovery is not the priority of this system. Instead, it is a way to condition me to be a failure. That will make me come back here, keeping the money rolling in, so everyone can receive their paychecks.

To me, my recovery is much more important than someone else’s paycheck. This DWI program is not allowing me to be honest. It is teaching me to lie, wasting money on teachings that are just common sense. I feel like this program is like forcing a horse to drink water. If I do not do this program, then I max out and lose all my good time. If I want my freedom, I am forced to be in this program, even though it isn’t helping me.

All I know is that my recovery goes far beyond this program, and I need real help.

I Knew But Did It Anyway

I got married when I was 25. I was heavily involved in a church and was considering ministry. I made a decision to follow my hormones instead of the ministry. I was dating a lady who I knew was not the one. Then I found who I thought was the one. She was dating a good friend. He moved out of the area, and I was right there behind him. Note that this was 1982, not just a few years ago.

We were planning to get married in October of 1983. My family was there, and her family came in also. The wedding day came and her father told me, “Son if I were you, I would not go through with this.” I said, “Now now, my family is in town, you guys are here, we are doing this.”

Two days later I had a can of soup thrown at me.

The marriage did not improve much from there.

After a couple years of misery, I thought, “How about having a kid!” Wow, I must have fallen off the train or something. We had a child in 1986. I spent more time in a hotel than at home.

Divorce came in 1991, and the lies started in the courts. “He makes X dollars.” I proved I didn’t, but they did not believe me. They said I forged my paycheck and tax documents. I went along with it because I wanted my child to have a good life. That was nice.

She kept up and would not let me into his life at all. The courts sided with her. She tried to get me fired! Why? I was paying her exorbitant child support!

That is Part One of my crazy story!

Chronic Neuropathic Pain

In 2003, I had my beautiful, gorgeous and sweet baby, 3 weeks early and after 5 days (yes, 5 days) of labour. As you can well imagine, when I got to the hospital (which also happened to be my birthday) I had been in labour for 4 days. I was tired, my blood pressure was going up and it was time to get her out. Physically, she was fine, so there were no worries about my daughter.

My back felt bruised, swollen and unsteady and I had had an epidural with her birth, but I assumed that it would go away. I went back to work ten days later as I worked for myself. Three months later – I still felt unsteady. My spine felt tender and I was getting concerned. I was out for a walk with my 120 pound dog, toddler and infant. My toddler ran out in the street and I went to scoop her up. It felt like I had been shot.

My legs went out and I was in white-hot blinding pain. It took me almost forty-five minutes to get home from my usual five minute walk. I managed to get us into my bedroom, shut the door and call my husband.

That was the beginning.

Since then I have had several occasions when I can’t walk, migraine headaches, insomnia, burning pain, loss of function of my hands and face, numbness, electrical shocks, cramping, shooting pain. Currently, I am technically un-diagnosed and am floating around the system. It is awful, but I have seen and know people who have had worse. I have done numerous different therapies, medications, tests, and seven years later, I have no answers and am still in pain.

Losing some friends and family; it has made me want to create an enhanced awareness about Pain Patients.

We are treated like pariahs, criminals, junkies, nut-jobs and the like. We are misunderstood, misdiagnosed, dismissed, referred-out and judged. Pain is invisible and the human brain will delete the actual physical memory of pain. Pain is different for everyone, making it difficult to relate. What is bad for one is nothing to another.

I want to increase understanding and acceptance from the Medical Profession that we are real people, with real problems, with real pain. The Health Care System needs to be properly educated on Pain Medication, Pain Management and Treatment for pain. So that there is hope out there for us.

We need to be heard and recognized.

Thanks for building this site for all of us Painies!!

Life Of A Compulsive Liar

Hello to all. I’m new to The Band. It looks like a great place to seek help, advice, and to have someone who will listen and not judge you.

I have known that I was a compulsive liar for years, but I never thought that it was actually something that was ruining my life. Compulsive lying is an underlying psychotic disorder that can be a sign of something much larger. I began to do some research about this, reading a lot of articles and websites. I had been thinking I was the only person having a hard time with lying, but I started seeing that this disorder is real, other people have it, and it is very serious. The messages written by other people on this site, as well as other websites, gave me hope.

At first, I thought I could really change on my own, but I’m realizing that being a compulsive liar is like an abdication. Some people may really need help to get past this point in their lives. I feel like I am to that point. My first course of action is admitting that I’m a compulsive liar, and that I need to seek help.

It’s so bad that sometimes I don’t even have a clue why I lie. It just comes out without hesitation. Most of the time, when it happens, at the back of my mind, I’m asking myself why I lied. The truth would have been easier to say in the first place. When I have a chance to correct the lie, I can’t because I feel so guilty. I don’t want to admit I’m wrong, or that I just told a lie.

The worst part is that I lie to the one person I love the most. That hurts me more than anything.

Today is the day. I’m going to keep searching for help and with my disorder and try my best to speak the truth, no matter what. If anyone who has gone through this has any advice on how to get past this, I’m all ears. And to anyone who is reading this, if my story is hitting home, please seek help. Know that you are not the only one out there going through this problem. You are not the only compulsive liar in the world. Help is there, you just have to want it.

Until next time, thanks for reading and responding. I’m turning my life around one truth at a time.

Am I Ruining My Children? Am I A Bad Parent For Having Them?

Many parents struggle with mental illness. She wonders if she should’ve had kids at all.

This is her story:

For as long as I can remember, I have been a touch crazy. I have suffered from anxiety and depression most of my life.

I was five years old when I had my first panic attack. Only five! I also worry about absurd things; I know they are absurd but I can’t stop worrying.

But now, it’s worse. I don’t remember it ever being this bad. In the last month alone, I have suffered six nervous breakdowns and I wonder what is wrong with me?


But what makes it worse is my children. I don’t want them to suffer with me. I don’t want them to know I am this way. I don’t want to mark them or make them afraid for me or themselves. I try to keep it all bottled up and away from them so they don’t really know I am suffering. The only people who know are my husband and my mother, and they aren’t always a huge help. My husband thinks that I should just suck it up and deal. That’s not easy to do. My mother tries very hard to understand what I am going through and help me because I know she watched my grandma suffer at times quietly just like me.

My grandma’s suffering hurt my mom, and that’s what scares me. What if I think I am suffering quietly but my children know? But how could they not? Sometimes a shower is more than I can bear and getting out of the same pajamas I have worn the last three days just doesn’t seem possible.

So they have to know right? Hell, they are 8,7, and 5; not exactly babies. My eldest has Asperger Syndrome and this ridiculously genius IQ; if any of them could figure it out would probably be her. I am so scared of them knowing. I don’t want to be crazy mommy who has meltdowns. I want my children to know me as happy and loving. I know I am loving, but I’m not always happy. And I don’t EVER want them to think it’s because of them. So do I talk to them? Do I explain to them, this is what is going on with mommy?

It’s not you it’s me? God I hate that.

Are they old enough to know?

Or should I leave them in their little children bubbles? Am I hurting them being this way?

Do you think they know?

My next biggest worry and fear is this: in my children I see some of my crazy. My eccentricities, if you will. My eldest, who has Asperger Syndrome, has her own eccentricities. But my son (whom I did not birth) also has these eccentricities, a touch of my OCD, and the anxiety (who could blame him with a mother like his; heck, thinking about me probably makes him sick and nervous). But my youngest daughter scares me the most. She is a very nervous child who worries just like I did. She is scared of so much. She has OCD already at five. No panic attacks yet, but I fear it may only be a matter of time. This bothers me more than I can say. I feel like I did this to her. I feel responsible and God help me I don’t want her to grow up like this. I don’t want her to suffer like I have. I want her to be well and happy and not have fears of irrational things. Therapy is an option.

It didn’t always do me much good, but at times it really does help.

But what kind of mother, who knows she has these illnesses, brings children into the world when they may end up just like her?!

This is my struggle.

Am I bad parent for bringing them into my crazy existence?

How do I handle my crazy so I don’t mark my children? How do I handle my mental health without scaring them?