Hey ya'll,
So the thread title should tell you just about all you need to know; I am currently a senior attending a local university, and drug abuse was a HUGE problem in my life from around the age of 15 on. Fifteen was when I first began experimenting, and from the very first time I felt the effects of intoxication, I knew I loved it. I still vividly remember the very first time; discovering that one can change the way they feel with just a hand full of pills was a very astounding and life altering discovery for me. By the age of 16, I was already sitting in a drug rehabilitation center for teens; it was at this point in time that I decided to become a doctor. I made that decision for all the wrong reasons; specifically, so that I would have free access to narcotics, or so I thought. But what started in jest has developed into a multi year chase of a dream that, while initially for all the wrong reasons, has become about helping my fellow brothers and sisters that suffer from the disease of addiction in the way I have.
You see, addiction takes away your dignity. In 2011, I wound up in the emergency room 11 times due to seizures, overdoses, and car wrecks, all because I could not get the idea of one more high out of my head. I wound up visiting a total of 5 different psychiatric wards, where I saw many a degrading thing happen to those suffering from mental illness. I even got so desperate to stay high that, during a stay in Acadia psychiatric hospital in Abilene, I attempted to cut my finger off with a plastic butter knife in hopes of obtaining a days worth of pain medication. This was the same hospital at which, during a stay 2 weeks earlier, I had punched cement walls with my fist in hopes that the staff would be forced to administer an intramuscular valium injection to me; they gave me the valium the first few times, but soon caught on to my drug seeking ways. There was no dignity in this life, and sadly these are just sampling of the awful agony addiction brought me though. I made my own choices (at the age of 15, but they were still my choices), and I've had to suffer the consequences as a result.
But anyway, back to the topic, I developed the dream of becoming a doctor at 15. Drug abuse soon landed me in front of many a physician, though it took over 9 years before one would be able to find something that actually helped me. In fact, during a brief ICU stay at Hendrix Medical Center in Abilene, I became so desperate for a head change that I broke into the ER's crash cart and began shooting epinephrine. The physician became so enraged, and understandably so. It was so hard trying to explain to these intelligent and logical doctors why I was doing what I was doing; I am sure it made no sense, but to me it felt as though there was a gun to my head demanding that I get high in whatever way I could. In truth, i've used needles to shoot drugs, I've committed robbery, lied, manipulated, forged, snorted, smoked, and done about anything and everything that one should not do. My late teens and early 20's were a terribly confusing time.
The midst of this confusing fog found me at the University of Arkansas, where I studied for a B.S. in bio from my freshmen year onto the start of my senior. I maintained a 3.0, with a science around a 2.8, while working full time as a veterinary technician in a local ICU. I shadowed a local physican, but spent the majority of my extra time high on various drugs. In the early years much of my drug abuse arose from within the veterinary industry; I worked closely with controlled substances, and having been so young I did not fully understand the potential implications of my decision to abuse illicit substances. Warning signs abounded; nearly half of my extended family suffers from alcoholism or drug addiction. Yet, I ignored these signs and found myself in a progressive cycle of increasing abuse. I managed to maintain a job and at least decent grades all the way through my junior year at Arkansas, but by the start of my senior year I was far too hooked to maintain anything resembling an independent existence. Less than one week after arriving back at Arkansas for the start of my senior year, I was caught by the local police forging prescriptions at a local mom and pop pharmacy. By the grace of something greater than I, I was released with a public intox ticket. This incident is just another in a long line; repeatedly I would get myself into terrible situations though the pursuit of drugs, and repeatedly I would wind up coming out the other side unharmed.
But by the start of my senior year, the pursuit of staying high had taken a severe toll on me. After being transported to a local hospital in Fayetteville, I was forced to attend a detox/rehab program in exchange for not having the forgery charges brought against me. I obliged quickly, and soon was in Texas (my home state) attending a drug detox program. This was the start of institutions for me. Narcotics Anonymous says there are three ends for the using addict, either jails or institutions of death. Well, over the next couple of years I wound up sitting inside several institutions, and at least a couple of jail cells, and I came very close to death as well. I eventually gave up on my dream of becoming a physician; with every failed attempt to go back to school, along with every failed attempt to stay clean, I lost a little more hope. On 7/30/12, I hit what I view as my rock bottom, the point in time where the pain became too great. It was my birthday, and the same day that I was discharged from my first visit to Acadia Psychiatric Hospital in Abilene. I left the hospital with no money, no phone, no friends, a family that would not talk to me, and no home. Addiction had finally driven me to a point of pain that was simply too great to endure. I had to stay in a homeless shelter that the hospital operated, which was stuffed full with other patients that were suffering from the daemons I myself could not get rid of. I immediately ran to the local pharmacy and got high; initially guzzling cough syrup (it was all I had), then downing an entire bottle of strattera, followed with an entire bottle of seroquel. In short, this was my first and only suicide attempt. I came back to the homeless shelter and waited. I waited for hours. I waited for death.
But death is a very scary thing. After about an hour of waiting to die following ingestion of all the aforementioned pills, I began to feel periods of brady and tachycardia in my chest accompanied by severe visual hallucinations. Feeling weak, I knew I was going to die soon. I got up and managed to get help by walking around 50 yards to the front of the hospital; I was so weak, I had to do this about 5-10 yards at a time, as I would get so tired I would be forced to lay down in the grass and rest after traveling just a few feet. I decided to get up because I was so terrified of dying; truth be told i was terrified of living as well, but I felt I had to go on. And so I did. Around the time EMS arrived, I could no longer hold my eyes open. I drifted into unconsciousness. I woke up around 36 hours later hearing the strangest noise; it was a nurse crying by my bedside. I remember her saying "Blake, you have to fight your daemons, you have to keep fighting". I did not know this nurse, and to the best of my knowledge had not met her before. This, overall, was the darkest point in my addiction. It was my rock bottom; little did I know that the night truly does get the darkest before the dawn.
I was discharged from the ICU back to the psychiatric ward; I spent another two weeks there before being bounced around to two more rehabs and two more psychiatric wards. Finally I wound up at Red River Recovery Center in Wichita Falls, TX. Now, prior to arriving here, I had been kicked out of the Serenity House Rehab in Abilene for attempting to break into their detox med room (I was trying to steal their detox meds in order to get high). They had caught me, and subsequently sent me to Acadia. But upon arriving at Red River, I immediately began contemplating robbing their med room, even though I had been caught doing the same thing just weeks before (and had no where to go if caught). This is the insanity of drug addiction; even though you know bad things will result, you can not fight off the urge to get high, no matter the consequences. Well, anyway, I arrived at Red River and began having thoughts of stealing the meds from the pharmacy. I told this to the doctor there; he was an older and kindly gentlemen, a rarity for a practicing drug addict to run into. He listened to my plan; I would pull the fire alarm and hide while I waited for everyone to leave the building, then kick in the med room door and steal everything that could be abused. He listened to my insanity and, apparently FINALLY understanding the hell I was in, actually did something to help me. He prescribed me a drug I'd never heard of before, suboxone, which oddly enough was a drug I had worked around for years as a veterinary technician (buprenorphine). I didn't quite know what suboxone would do for me, but I decided to give it a try. I am so glad I did.
Suboxone gave me my life back; I started taking it that very evening, on 10/04/2012, and I have not felt the need to use drugs since. I just take two strips a day, and the formerly insatiable urge to use is gone. It is amazing; I have used this last year to re-enroll at a local 4 year university in order to finish my B.S. in Bio. I also managed to obtain another job at a local veterinary hospital, working as an ICU vet tech. Suboxone literally stops the cravings in their tracks, and grants me the capability to live as a normal human again. Today I live with Dignity again! No more needles or robberies, no more sticking my arm, no more stealing from my loved ones, no more hurting my friends and family; today I get to live with FREEDOM, and it is so amazing. Suboxone didn't take away all the symptoms of my addiction; I still attend NA meetings at least 3-4 times a week, so that I may better learn how to live with spiritual principles. But it has taken away the need to use drugs. I am so thankful. Over this past year, I was highly discouraged regarding making an attempt at getting into medical school; while my criminal record is nearly nonexistent (2 public intoxication citations), my GPA is around a 3.0 with an even lower science GPA (2.8). In addition, I took my first MCAT high on lorazepam and wound up with a 15. I honestly was not even going to waste my time applying. But this past week I had somebody important to me tell me I should go through with it; she is a friend that knew me from my using days, one that has been a constant support though my darkest periods. She said that I should apply, and lately some of the signs in my life have pointed to me needing to at least try. So I am going to. My questions are numerous.
I want to do this with the intention of either going into psych or any kind of specialty that treats those dealing with the problems i've faced. I think having a doctor that has FELT addiction is so important when treating an addict, and I really want to help addicts. I know my chances are slim but I have to at least apply to one school. I was thinking UNT Health Science Center in Ft. Worth. I mean, today I am a very spiritual person due to the path I've traveled, and I do believe that if it is my Higher Power's plan for me then I just need to do the footwork (apply) and the rest will be taken care of by God. I have 33 hours left to obtain my degree, and am taking 14 this semester. Again, my GPA is a 3.0 overall with a 2.8 science. EC's consist of tango dancing, NA meetings, working 40 hours per week as a vet tech, teching for the humane society, playing playstation, and a few other things. I've maybe shadowed for around 40 hours (a primary care doc), but I really can't get a letter of rec from him as I tried to forge a script under his name (and got caught doing so). My criminal record contains 2 misdemeanor public intox tickets, along with MHMR records (mental health/mental ******ation). I'm willing to apply/go anywhere someone thinks I may have a shot. I know I will probably have some people say I am a troll, or that I'm an idiot and a bad person, and thats okay. I have the medical bills, rehab discharge papers, NA keytags and basic text, all the things I need to prove its real to anyone of any importance. If anybody is willing to dispense some advice, it would be greatly appreciated (sorry this was so long, but it felt good to get this off my shoulders).
BB
So the thread title should tell you just about all you need to know; I am currently a senior attending a local university, and drug abuse was a HUGE problem in my life from around the age of 15 on. Fifteen was when I first began experimenting, and from the very first time I felt the effects of intoxication, I knew I loved it. I still vividly remember the very first time; discovering that one can change the way they feel with just a hand full of pills was a very astounding and life altering discovery for me. By the age of 16, I was already sitting in a drug rehabilitation center for teens; it was at this point in time that I decided to become a doctor. I made that decision for all the wrong reasons; specifically, so that I would have free access to narcotics, or so I thought. But what started in jest has developed into a multi year chase of a dream that, while initially for all the wrong reasons, has become about helping my fellow brothers and sisters that suffer from the disease of addiction in the way I have.
You see, addiction takes away your dignity. In 2011, I wound up in the emergency room 11 times due to seizures, overdoses, and car wrecks, all because I could not get the idea of one more high out of my head. I wound up visiting a total of 5 different psychiatric wards, where I saw many a degrading thing happen to those suffering from mental illness. I even got so desperate to stay high that, during a stay in Acadia psychiatric hospital in Abilene, I attempted to cut my finger off with a plastic butter knife in hopes of obtaining a days worth of pain medication. This was the same hospital at which, during a stay 2 weeks earlier, I had punched cement walls with my fist in hopes that the staff would be forced to administer an intramuscular valium injection to me; they gave me the valium the first few times, but soon caught on to my drug seeking ways. There was no dignity in this life, and sadly these are just sampling of the awful agony addiction brought me though. I made my own choices (at the age of 15, but they were still my choices), and I've had to suffer the consequences as a result.
But anyway, back to the topic, I developed the dream of becoming a doctor at 15. Drug abuse soon landed me in front of many a physician, though it took over 9 years before one would be able to find something that actually helped me. In fact, during a brief ICU stay at Hendrix Medical Center in Abilene, I became so desperate for a head change that I broke into the ER's crash cart and began shooting epinephrine. The physician became so enraged, and understandably so. It was so hard trying to explain to these intelligent and logical doctors why I was doing what I was doing; I am sure it made no sense, but to me it felt as though there was a gun to my head demanding that I get high in whatever way I could. In truth, i've used needles to shoot drugs, I've committed robbery, lied, manipulated, forged, snorted, smoked, and done about anything and everything that one should not do. My late teens and early 20's were a terribly confusing time.
The midst of this confusing fog found me at the University of Arkansas, where I studied for a B.S. in bio from my freshmen year onto the start of my senior. I maintained a 3.0, with a science around a 2.8, while working full time as a veterinary technician in a local ICU. I shadowed a local physican, but spent the majority of my extra time high on various drugs. In the early years much of my drug abuse arose from within the veterinary industry; I worked closely with controlled substances, and having been so young I did not fully understand the potential implications of my decision to abuse illicit substances. Warning signs abounded; nearly half of my extended family suffers from alcoholism or drug addiction. Yet, I ignored these signs and found myself in a progressive cycle of increasing abuse. I managed to maintain a job and at least decent grades all the way through my junior year at Arkansas, but by the start of my senior year I was far too hooked to maintain anything resembling an independent existence. Less than one week after arriving back at Arkansas for the start of my senior year, I was caught by the local police forging prescriptions at a local mom and pop pharmacy. By the grace of something greater than I, I was released with a public intox ticket. This incident is just another in a long line; repeatedly I would get myself into terrible situations though the pursuit of drugs, and repeatedly I would wind up coming out the other side unharmed.
But by the start of my senior year, the pursuit of staying high had taken a severe toll on me. After being transported to a local hospital in Fayetteville, I was forced to attend a detox/rehab program in exchange for not having the forgery charges brought against me. I obliged quickly, and soon was in Texas (my home state) attending a drug detox program. This was the start of institutions for me. Narcotics Anonymous says there are three ends for the using addict, either jails or institutions of death. Well, over the next couple of years I wound up sitting inside several institutions, and at least a couple of jail cells, and I came very close to death as well. I eventually gave up on my dream of becoming a physician; with every failed attempt to go back to school, along with every failed attempt to stay clean, I lost a little more hope. On 7/30/12, I hit what I view as my rock bottom, the point in time where the pain became too great. It was my birthday, and the same day that I was discharged from my first visit to Acadia Psychiatric Hospital in Abilene. I left the hospital with no money, no phone, no friends, a family that would not talk to me, and no home. Addiction had finally driven me to a point of pain that was simply too great to endure. I had to stay in a homeless shelter that the hospital operated, which was stuffed full with other patients that were suffering from the daemons I myself could not get rid of. I immediately ran to the local pharmacy and got high; initially guzzling cough syrup (it was all I had), then downing an entire bottle of strattera, followed with an entire bottle of seroquel. In short, this was my first and only suicide attempt. I came back to the homeless shelter and waited. I waited for hours. I waited for death.
But death is a very scary thing. After about an hour of waiting to die following ingestion of all the aforementioned pills, I began to feel periods of brady and tachycardia in my chest accompanied by severe visual hallucinations. Feeling weak, I knew I was going to die soon. I got up and managed to get help by walking around 50 yards to the front of the hospital; I was so weak, I had to do this about 5-10 yards at a time, as I would get so tired I would be forced to lay down in the grass and rest after traveling just a few feet. I decided to get up because I was so terrified of dying; truth be told i was terrified of living as well, but I felt I had to go on. And so I did. Around the time EMS arrived, I could no longer hold my eyes open. I drifted into unconsciousness. I woke up around 36 hours later hearing the strangest noise; it was a nurse crying by my bedside. I remember her saying "Blake, you have to fight your daemons, you have to keep fighting". I did not know this nurse, and to the best of my knowledge had not met her before. This, overall, was the darkest point in my addiction. It was my rock bottom; little did I know that the night truly does get the darkest before the dawn.
I was discharged from the ICU back to the psychiatric ward; I spent another two weeks there before being bounced around to two more rehabs and two more psychiatric wards. Finally I wound up at Red River Recovery Center in Wichita Falls, TX. Now, prior to arriving here, I had been kicked out of the Serenity House Rehab in Abilene for attempting to break into their detox med room (I was trying to steal their detox meds in order to get high). They had caught me, and subsequently sent me to Acadia. But upon arriving at Red River, I immediately began contemplating robbing their med room, even though I had been caught doing the same thing just weeks before (and had no where to go if caught). This is the insanity of drug addiction; even though you know bad things will result, you can not fight off the urge to get high, no matter the consequences. Well, anyway, I arrived at Red River and began having thoughts of stealing the meds from the pharmacy. I told this to the doctor there; he was an older and kindly gentlemen, a rarity for a practicing drug addict to run into. He listened to my plan; I would pull the fire alarm and hide while I waited for everyone to leave the building, then kick in the med room door and steal everything that could be abused. He listened to my insanity and, apparently FINALLY understanding the hell I was in, actually did something to help me. He prescribed me a drug I'd never heard of before, suboxone, which oddly enough was a drug I had worked around for years as a veterinary technician (buprenorphine). I didn't quite know what suboxone would do for me, but I decided to give it a try. I am so glad I did.
Suboxone gave me my life back; I started taking it that very evening, on 10/04/2012, and I have not felt the need to use drugs since. I just take two strips a day, and the formerly insatiable urge to use is gone. It is amazing; I have used this last year to re-enroll at a local 4 year university in order to finish my B.S. in Bio. I also managed to obtain another job at a local veterinary hospital, working as an ICU vet tech. Suboxone literally stops the cravings in their tracks, and grants me the capability to live as a normal human again. Today I live with Dignity again! No more needles or robberies, no more sticking my arm, no more stealing from my loved ones, no more hurting my friends and family; today I get to live with FREEDOM, and it is so amazing. Suboxone didn't take away all the symptoms of my addiction; I still attend NA meetings at least 3-4 times a week, so that I may better learn how to live with spiritual principles. But it has taken away the need to use drugs. I am so thankful. Over this past year, I was highly discouraged regarding making an attempt at getting into medical school; while my criminal record is nearly nonexistent (2 public intoxication citations), my GPA is around a 3.0 with an even lower science GPA (2.8). In addition, I took my first MCAT high on lorazepam and wound up with a 15. I honestly was not even going to waste my time applying. But this past week I had somebody important to me tell me I should go through with it; she is a friend that knew me from my using days, one that has been a constant support though my darkest periods. She said that I should apply, and lately some of the signs in my life have pointed to me needing to at least try. So I am going to. My questions are numerous.
I want to do this with the intention of either going into psych or any kind of specialty that treats those dealing with the problems i've faced. I think having a doctor that has FELT addiction is so important when treating an addict, and I really want to help addicts. I know my chances are slim but I have to at least apply to one school. I was thinking UNT Health Science Center in Ft. Worth. I mean, today I am a very spiritual person due to the path I've traveled, and I do believe that if it is my Higher Power's plan for me then I just need to do the footwork (apply) and the rest will be taken care of by God. I have 33 hours left to obtain my degree, and am taking 14 this semester. Again, my GPA is a 3.0 overall with a 2.8 science. EC's consist of tango dancing, NA meetings, working 40 hours per week as a vet tech, teching for the humane society, playing playstation, and a few other things. I've maybe shadowed for around 40 hours (a primary care doc), but I really can't get a letter of rec from him as I tried to forge a script under his name (and got caught doing so). My criminal record contains 2 misdemeanor public intox tickets, along with MHMR records (mental health/mental ******ation). I'm willing to apply/go anywhere someone thinks I may have a shot. I know I will probably have some people say I am a troll, or that I'm an idiot and a bad person, and thats okay. I have the medical bills, rehab discharge papers, NA keytags and basic text, all the things I need to prove its real to anyone of any importance. If anybody is willing to dispense some advice, it would be greatly appreciated (sorry this was so long, but it felt good to get this off my shoulders).
BB
