The OD

  Admitting to myself what has happened is one of the hardest things I must do, and this is a step forward. My life experiences have colored me to the rest of the world, and without explanation will continue to do so. Though this will only reach a select few, likely the ones that mean the most to me in the grand picture of life connections, it should explain much surrounding the question "Why?".

  In 2002 I had a significant drug over dose. It was accidental. I was not depressed or suicidal, I was simply in a bad place, falling into a lifestyle that I knew little to nothing about... Being dragged down a hole (not entirely willingly) by my now ex-husband.

  The story goes something like this... (Some details omitted... I'm not ready to spill all of the beans, just enough to see if they're still viable seed and can grow into understanding.)
  I was 17. The semi-serious boyfriend with whom I had created a new life, and had been abandoned by for a newer model had only recently left the picture on a permanent basis. This was when I met my now ex-husband. A charismatic 27 year old man, who I willingly trusted (though even then I knew better). I was heartbroken by the reality which I had hoped for, having been heaped onto the fire. That reality, I knew, was not what I truly wanted, no. That which I truly wanted was out of my grasp, and it would be many years until the picture began to come back into focus. It is only now beginning to do so.
  He was a "Bad Boy" type, and after the previous experience I was willing to fall into his arms, simply to have a place to feel welcomed. Otherwise, I would never have given him a second glance. As it would be, it took me 6 years to snap to my senses and leave. Amazing how strong that particular trap was, and even now I still see the scars from how deeply it had bitten into me.

  It was a long night, and I was offered a roll (ecstasy- or MDMA), and semi-willingly accepted it. After all, I had taken it before with positive results in breaking through some of the barriers which existed as a result of my previous relationship... Little did I know that it wasn't "E".
  The drug in question turned out to be a combination of what I later found out was Heroin and LSD. It was accidentally given to me, and the mix up was only later realized after I lost consciousness, went into respiratory failure, and then cardiac arrest.
  I recall sitting, staring at a digital clock, realizing that I was not breathing. From the time that I lost consciousness (which I oddly still remember) to when I was brought back was nearly four and a half minutes. In short, I should not even be capable of typing this. I will say, that if you are going to associate with addicts, at least make sure that they are of the boyscout variety- always prepared. I owe them my life.
  It was an interesting experience, death. I was perfectly calm, probably because of the Heroin, but I would like to believe because I could see it coming, and was at peace with the reality I was experiencing. I sat listening to the others, as they were unaware of what was happening, it's been stamped into my mind. Then the light began growing darker, the room looked bigger, I felt smaller, almost like I was in a cavern looking out onto open space, all the while staring at the clock. By this point I was aware that I was no longer breathing, but I was unable to speak, or to move. There I sat, silent, motionless. Dieing.
  Never did I receive medical care. I should have, but I was more afraid of those who were present being found out and seeking their revenge, then I was of long term affects. I did undergo several years of HIV testing to ensure that I had not been infected when they brought me back to life. Oh, how I loathe needles.

  The affects were immediate. The stutter I had long since left behind in early childhood came back with a vengeance, exacerbated by the damage done to my gray matter. It was terrifying. Worse was the memory loss, but fortunately it was selective, and not widespread.
  In the short term I was not terribly worried about the memory loss. But I should have been, it has proven to be more problematic than any stutter I could have imagined because I have been unsuccessful at regain the majority of what was lost.
  In a long ago time I once typed like the wind... Lost that. Slowly regained and no longer hen peck, but still have to periodically look at the keyboard. Math that once made perfect, clear sense to me no longer does, even on a basic level. I've spent several years in study, to no avail, attempting to relearn what was lost. Oh, the cost of my mistake!
  The stutter killed any social inclination I may have had. I simply could not communicate, my brain was scrambled. I would think "Where is the vacuum?" and then ask "Can I have a Valium?"... Word association became a game I played with myself when I was alone, learning to reverse the damage. I realized that if I couldn't find the word I was trying to say, and came up with a completely garbled sentence, I could think the garbled sentence and would say what my actual thought was- It is freakish how the brain works.
  For a couple of years I avoided people, or having a conversation with anyone I used to be close to. I spoke to myself aloud when I was alone, almost constantly, and slowly the stutter went away. As a result though, I had a hard time distinguishing between speaking aloud, and thinking silently. So I was prone to say things and not even realize that I had- Strike two for my social skills. I still have a hard time with my words, though I have no problem expressing myself in text, spoken word is often a daunting task. I find myself making a joke about "That big hard word I can't remember", when I find myself lost... usually over high frequency words at that.

  So, I became completely introverted, reclusive, bordering on hermit-ish. I'm sure my neighbors thought I was an Agoraphobic because I seldom came out outside, and never interacted.
  Now, here I am. Damaged, but slowly regenerating. I still feel like a freak sometimes, and at least in that sense I know I am not alone... I long for the days when I was well spoken, articulate, and made my stance on any given issue known with ease. Not anymore. I am awkward at best.
  Those who know me well understand, and some of them even forgive me for my shortcomings which is more than I deserve. I made my bed, and I must lie in it. I must credit my lovely for his patience over the past couple of years, though now grown so frailly thin, it helped me to for the most part overcome what I would consider an handicap.  Now, the rest is up to me.

  I have mixed feelings about what happened, and still have not come to terms with all of it. It's a mixed pot. I feel a sadness, a sense of loss for what is irreplaceable, and at the same time relief and even gratitude for the learning experience this has been, and the knowledge I have gained from it in a much more timely fashion that I would have if my life had run its course uninterrupted.

  Some of the most important lessons learned, when taken in a crash course can be devastating unless you can pick up the pieces and create something new from them... It's like fine china, if you drop it and it breaks, there is still a mosaic in it's future, where it has the ability to take any form, but at it's core, still remains that priceless piece.