mereggie, a.k.a. me, reggie macdonald a true story

I found this amazing site this evening while testing out a new search extension that I had just downloaded and installed to Firefox. I was randomly inputting various searches regarding the topic heroin. The site that I found is entitled mereggie, a.k.a. me, reggie macdonald a true story and its description reads mereggie, the sad true story of reggie macdonald of souris, pei, canada who lived life in the fast lane, involvement with / drug addiction, and subsequent disappearance.

His family is still searching for him or at the very least, hoping for his safe return to them. What he left behind is an unbelievable amount of his personal writings and what we have apparently lost is an incredible talent and voice that for now has been silenced. I’ve barely touched the surface of this site myself. The only thing preventing me from reading further is my desperate need for sleep at the moment. I dare anyone who visits this site to willingly look away.

mereggie is the true story of Reggie Macdonald.

In early December 2005, Reggie left home, while under the apparent effect of crystal meth and disappeared, and despite a country wide search could not be found.

Reggie led a troubled life dealing with drug addiction and the lingering effects on his personal and professional life. Shortly after he disappeared, his family found hundreds of pages of his writings which shed light on his struggles. Reggie had hoped to become a writer and that his life story would have a positive impact on someone, and so with this site, we present his writings.

Read the writing called Methadone, which describes the awful existence of a heroin addict on methadone. If this doesn’t want to make you avoid drugs, then I am surprised. For more harrowing tales that might lead one to avoid drugs, read the Iceland, Kidnapped! and other readings.

If you are intrigued, read on - you can start with Reg’s intro to his story …. more details will be added over the next few months …

NOTE:While Reg was very articulate and a very good writer, at times his perspective is very harsh, most likely affected by his addiction. We hope that his writings are viewed in that context, as the views Reg often expressed are not the views of his family.

The following entry of his is one that I can, unfortunately, relate all to well . Whatever. Now in my past I should think, and hope, and pray. This particular entry spoke to me specifically on many levels.

Prior to me starting back on MMT, I was hooked hardcore to dilaudids and just for me to maintain at a reasonable level, I required at least ten 8mg pills on a daily basis. This certainly doesn't mean that I got them everyday because even at this level, the best price one could hope for was $100 which actually meant for us $200 - there were two active addicts involved in all of this insanity after all. While we did manage to come close most days, at our worst we were still spending on average approx $2600 monthly.

I could have practically written this piece myself the similarities are so eerie. Again I encourage everyone to visit this site. This entry will be cross posted to METHADONE PRETTY as well.

methadone

When I get up in the morning, I don’t grab a coffee. I go to the fridge for my 100 ml bottle of methadone. After that my day is just like yours. But I wasn’t always like this. Life was a lot harder, a lot rougher. Every morning I would be sick as / like a dog. I’d crush up a couple of 8mg Dilaudid tablets and boil them in a spoon, then I’d fill a syringe. Tie my arm off and plunge the cure into my arm. And then I was good for … 3 or 4 hours. Wash, rinse, repeat. I couldn’t work.

Dilaudid is illegal unless your Dr. [gives you] a prescription. With a few phone calls you can get them for about $20 each. I used at least 10 a day. 10 to keep the sickness at bay, 10 to 20 more if I wanted to get high, and usually, I did if I had the money. It’s not easy to come up with $500/day for pills/medicine, but its gotta be done - or else the sickness – it’s always there. As soon as the pills begin to wear off, its banging at the door. Cramps, chills, sweats, diarrhea, the shits, nausea, chronic anxiety, insomnia – that’s just the beginning. Soon comes hallucinations and deliria, and unimaginable suffering. It all goes away if you take another pill, just one more. Then there’s methadone, a synthetic opiate, if you can get it. In most cities it’s easy, but not quite so in Charlottetown.

For @ 5 years my life revolves around Dilaudid and Oxycontone, percocil, morphine, codeine, etc. If I had money and pills were available, everything was fine. But I wasn’t always fine. I can’t count how many days I’ve lost to the sickness, how many times I’ve been to the treatment center. And a waste of time that was. They’d give you 2 or 3 mild sedatives a day for 3 days and then try to put you in god’s hands. It didn’t work – after the week, or 2, or 3, was over, I could suffer no longer. Straight to the dealer. It doesn’t help to tell me “everythings gonna be all right. You’ll feel better tomorrow”. Anybody who says / tells you that doesn’t know what this drug is about (why I take it).

But I had always heard about the mainland, where they gave you this drug, methadone, that took away the suffering and made you feel normal, not high, just normal, like I used to be … yeah, like it used to be, I miss those days.

I did the drugs for 5 or 6 years, but and I sat by and watched, as friends and acquaintances died one after another, month by month, because they couldn’t get the help they needed. I’m sure the doctor (at Detox) noticed too, but it didn’t matter [since] we are / they were expendable. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t handle the sickness. The detox couldn’t help. They didn’t have a clue. They would have nothing to do with methadone (methadone is addictive. You have to take it every dad or you get sick just like with the drugs, but it’s prescribed to you, you can have ready access to it. You never have to be sick again, you don’t get high on it, but you can live an ordinary life, like anyone else.

Finally, I scraped up some money, packed up my bags, and left for Alberta. All I had was a change of clothes, $500,and enough pills to last me 3 days, it was a gamble, nothing was lined up / set up - I was on my own.

But it worked out. Before 48 hours were up, I was in a doctor’s office getting a prescription for methadone. It was such a relief, such a good feeling. No more days spent looking for drug dealers, no more searching for a private place to inject my drugs, and no more waking up sick – I was human again. I got a job, an apartment, a car, and a normal life.

But I always wanted to come home again. I have children in PEI. What good am I to them if I am 3000 miles away? A few years went by, and I became used to feeling normal again and not needing drugs. I had seen on the internet that PEI was starting a methadone program. This year I came home. It was great. I missed PEI. I could see my kids, my family, my friends every day and I wasn’t sick all the time like I used to be. It was different now. Better. It seemed too good to be true.

It was. Sure I could get methadone now and I felt good … physically – but mentally? When I go to the pharmacy, I don’t go to the counter like anybody else, I go around the back, into the office, where no one can see me. I don’t feel different, but I am. The pharmacists are ashamed of me, or ashamed for me. Does it make a difference? I began to understand / grasp what life must be like for a black person, or these days, an arab, from their perspective. I don’t like it.

And things have changed at the treatment centre. They now have a methadone program – but they still don’t understand – they don’t get it. I came / went there with a perfect record from my doctor in Alberta. I gave urine tests every month, and never once did I fail only once in 4 years. I thought I had proven myself but no. It starts slowly, but within 3 months, for some reason, I realize that I am not like other people. I’m a drug addict, a junkie. I don’t feel like one now, but at the Detox, it is clear that is how they see me. I am a liar, a cheat, a thief, a dirtbag, scum of the earth. I know I’m clean and sober, with the help of methadone, but that doesn’t seem to matter – I’m a liar, a cheat, a thief. I must be if I’m on methadone. In PEI, it seems that only thieves, cheats and liars use methadone. In the rest of Canada, there are factory workers, plumbers and carpenters on meth[adone], as well as lawyers, and even doctors taking methadone!

But, my god, it is different here. I hate myself for having to do this. It didn’t bother me in Alberta, there I was treated like anyone else, but here, no. I’m walking on eggshells every time I go to the pharmacy, or the doctor, especially the doctor, I don’t know what to expect. On one day, I was asked twice for urine tests. Apparently, they thought that as soon as I gave the first sample, I was going to go and get some drugs. I live in constant suspicion and fear, even though I have done no wrong. Its just that I didn’t realize I was a cheat, a liar and a thief and as such I must be closely monitored. I am not on drugs, but they think I am. All drug users, past or present, are liars, cheats and thieves – that’s just how it is in PEI. They’re going to get me, to catch me, it doesn’t matter that I’m not doing anything wrong. It’s who I am I’m a thief, a liar and a cheat…

It’s Not a Habit…

I started methadone August of 1999. By then I was a solid year and a half into a pretty heavy opiate addiction. It had started with dilaudid but as soon as we were able we had moved on to heroin. We live in a funny city. While it is reasonably large with close to half a million, it is near impossible to find heroin here. Except for a time in the 1970's - so I have been told - it is one drug that does not seem welcome. Very white collar town so there is lots of pot and cocaine. Crack has had some effect as has speed but not like those other two. Because this is also very much a university and college town, there is also lots of ecstasy and its ilk. By the time I had even given a dilaudid a try, I was about two years deep into a large coke and speed habit. Funny can't even remember what that was like but I know that we were using every day and had been for a long time. Then along came a little yellow pill and it was as if nothing else existed. It was wondrous and it didn't take long to develop a tolerance for it. Thank heavens we knew someone that could get us heroin. He was out of town three out of the seven days and he happened to be working in a place that was literally drowning in it so every Thursday night right after getting off his bus, he would drop by our place with our weekly package. Sunday night we would wave him goodbye as his bus left town, our money in his pocket. This went on for over a year.

It started to get quite expensive as all habits tend to but this one also felt different. Where before, I may have been a bit of a bitch if I couldn't get blow or speed, I could get by at least but not this time. When I was without I hurt, I felt sick, I was in severe pain. I couldn't or wouldn't want to go to work and I had always prided myself on never letting any of my vices interfere with work and to be honest, life in general. Suddenly I had become single minded, nothing else mattered but not feeling sick anymore. I had to have a hit no matter what. Came close to bankrupting us. Sad but at least we had a house to sell to get us out of debt. And selling this one, our favourite, meant that we still had two others left although they were nowhere near as nice and they were in a much rougher part of town but that didn't seem to concern us so much anymore. We moved. We had to. We had someone else very important in our life now that very much needed to be accommodated. I had never lied before but suddenly I found myself doing just that. When my family doctor confronted me I couldn't admit it at first. I was every which way of denial until I couldn't take it anymore. This drug eventually wears you down, strips you of every vestige of dignity and self respect. I fessed up and when he started talking about getting us into a methadone program, I pretty much said yes just to humour him plus he said that as soon as we were on the list, he would be able to help us out and get us from having to buy our dope on the street at ridiculous prices.

I had never actually intended to follow thru with the methadone. The moment we were accepted our doctor wrote us each a prescription for 30 dilaudid a week. It was as if we had hit the jackpot. Between us we had 60 pills that would normally have cost us almost $20 each - quite a savings. He said that he could keep us supplied until we reached a high enough methadone dose that could sustain us on its own. I figured that we would ride this out as long as we could. Looked like it would be at least eight weeks that we could get our prescription and I figured that was long enough for us to get our finances back in order. We would in theory save a lot by not having to buy opiods for a two month period. As it was we were spending about $700/week and that was barely keeping us from getting sick so I knew that we were living on borrowed time if we continued spending at that rate. We were long overdue for a financial break.

But a funny thing happened while we going to methadone. It started working. I stopped grieving for any of the others. I went a day without a hit, then two and then a week. A week turned into a month and then two and three and we were still going. Suddenly two years had passed and I no longer did anything except for my methadone. I didn't even drink anymore. I forgot about heroin and dilaudid and morphine - oxys had yet to make their appearance but that was only a matter of time. The methadone made me so very tired though even if it did seem to work a small miracle. I would start to nod off at the worst possible time something I rarely did while addicted to the others. I needed to stay awake. So before we knew it we were back doing speed but this time we vowed that we would keep our spending under control and we did for a long time. Speed wasn't the same anyway now that we were on meth. Yes, you could kind of feel it but you never felt as if you were way out there. Oh well, it was still better than nothing. And we were spending about half of what we used to spend on the other.

Suddenly twenty seven months had passed. We were starting to get tired of the daily grind of having to grab our methadone. Yes, for the most part normalcy had returned to our lives. We fell into our own little routine. Gone were the hours upon hours dedicated to finding that one hit that would take away the pain. I could go back to work full time, we both could. Methadone gave our life structure once again. My credit card debts were now paid off. We had sold the other two houses and purchased a three story apartment building. Our self confidence and esteem had returned. We didn't want or need methadone any more. It was time to say goodbye. I had two weeks vacation at Christmas 2001 but a week before my vacation started I got a terrible flu. I was down to about 20mg of methadone a day. I felt so sick that I just didn't feel like grabbing my methadone one day and the next and the day after that. I just stopped going and when my flu ended, any withdrawal that I may have been going thru had also ended. It was hard to tell one from the other so I kept telling myself that there was no withdrawal just crappy flu symptoms.

Fast forward three and a half years. I am once again severely dependent on that little yellow pill. Well now it is the little white pill. No more #4s for us, we now need #8s. We are back spending ridiculous amounts of money and are consumed by abject fear whenever we find that we have run out or that none of our dealers is holding. It is no longer pleasant. But what of the intervening three years you ask? Well that is obviously a story for another day...TO BE CONTINUED

countless vain attempts get old and so do I

The last time I came that close I just jumped right in the bag. I had 14 years clean, living with my ex-husband, who had terminal cancer and was shooting a piece every couple of weeks. I was coping for him. I guess that must be the height of co-dependency or what ever the term is for that kind of ass hole love this week.

that lasted about 6 months and loooooog story short I fixed, and fixed again, and wondered if the next slam would the one that would make me die. I really didn't care one way or another. maybe it was the anti-depressants my Dr. put me on when I came into her office 7 months or so ago and started crying.

I'm not sure why she did that accept that's what Dr.'s do. But I had just gotten a divorce, just had been told my hep-c-liver was in dire need of interferon or the cirrhosis was gonna kill me, and my crazy ex-husband who wouldn't move out and had relapsed a few months before, now had 6 months to a year to live. Oh ya, I had just bought a business the year before on wish and a promise and a $30,000.00 dept. It was doing well as long as I tended to it 7 days a week.

Oh ya, I was taking a couple of 400 level Art Theory at the University. I probably should have taken business classes considering Mr CPA now had cancer. Follow your passion I always say. or some shit like that when I'm running on alot of self will and arrogance.

Then I just decided to shoot dope. I didn't care. I didn't not care. It didn't matter really. After the third time(?) I guess I went to bed. I don't remember. But I do remember waking up in the ER and some bitch nurse trying to find an artery for blood gases. I told her to just let me fucking die in piece if my life depended on blood gases. And please pass me the puck bowl so I didn't mess my jammies.

Thank God my Doctor Friend showed up to figure out that I hadn't OD'd but had somehow stopped my heart. And then my good friend, the Methadone Man showed up and gaffled up my Ex and gave him a few options. What a damn circus it all was. I had a business to run and 2 A's that needed some love and I was in the ICU. They wouldn't let me even make a phone call. Worse then County fuckn' jail.

What an arrogant shit head I was to these kind people trying to save my live. But three days with my feet elevated above my head, and no visitors gave me plenty of time to reflect. I did get to make some phone calls. First, to Chatty Cathy... I wanted everyone to now what I had done before I decided to just call it a heart attack and then to that old hard ass NA woman I really didn't much care for and asked her to be my sponsor.

When I got out of the hospital I wondered if I had taken leave of my senses. I just had to let go of the crap I like to feed my brain. The fantasy that somehow I am really ok when I'm really not. And that is where I find the people who might be able to help. The power of one addict sharing with another addict. It always works for me and yet some days I just don't care. And that's the day I hope for the miracle to catch me again.

So that was in 2000. Wouldn't you think I learned something? But no, in 2004, I had a one night stand with 10 of my own percodans. The bottle said take one every 6 hours for pain, not 10 all at once to sleep. And thats another vain attemt at bending the rules to suit me. Way to long for this blog. But, I really believe that the only thing we can do wrong in this 12 step program is to not come back.

Clean to dirty in the blink of an eye (THE REASON RELAPSES SUCK ASS!)

This is a post that should probably be on my personal blog; I am not sure the reason for posting it here. Well, other than Scout's request for fresh material. So what the hell, maybe it will do some other hurting soul some good.

I almost relapsed to night. No wait, relapse is to pretty of a word, it's too much a recovery word, and not being one in recovery, and what I did or almost did tonight being pretty fucking ugly, let's just call it what it was; I almost slammed some dope tonight. Yup, no I am not talking about smoking some weed, or taking a drink. I am not even talking about doing some lightweight opiate like a few Vicodins. No, I went straight to the connection's house to score some dope in order to "fix" a gram straight to my head.

I was sitting in Costco, eating a polish dog and drinking a coke. I had had a particularly bad day, well as far as bad days go for me, and I have more than my fair share, today was a fucking shitty day, which fell on the heels of a shitty week, and is standing before a pretty bleak and shitty near future. Now I preach about staying in the moment as often as possible, and well, maybe this is the exact reason one should do so as often as possible. See already earlier in the day I had considered using, after all it was just the night before I had be asked if perhaps I was using again. Being a few days shy of 90's sober, meaning without heroin, but with the use of methadone. I took offense, I mean how dare she question my sobriety, I'm fucking 90 days clean, WTF, and to top it off, I am in the exact same spot every time she had ever asked and I had lied. Meaning not once had she ever asked if I was using when I wasn't using, except last night. I was pissed off. I was indigent, but fuck, even if I was using, it's not like it's her fucking business anyway, I am outta here in two fucking weeks, what's it to her anyway. Those were my exact thoughts the night before.

So I sat in Costco, like I said, eating my polish dog, and I think to myself, who has dope? See, I had already made the leap from; well if I am getting blamed, I might as well do it. to; I hurt so fucking bad, and muscle memory of how all of that washes away in the matter of seconds. to: I just got pissed test at the clinic, so I am good for at least 3 weeks. to: I am on methadone, meaning I can use just tonight, be back on my dose tomorrow, no worries of an extended "relapse" (was I used that word, at that time). to: I am on methadone, so I better get a full gram, because a half gram might not be enough and I want to get good and loaded. to: calling the one person I know who still uses. This happened all in a nano second, all on a subconscious level, but nevertheless, it sent the conscious Ej. into direct action. That is the only way I can explain the process of a relapse for this junkie. The only way I can tell you what happened, was because I never went through with it.

Turns out this person happens to be hold, he has 3 grams, but they are $60 per. Fuck, I don't really want to spend $60. But make no mistake, if I can't get it for less, $60 it is. I say I am on my way over, and head over. But I had already made another leap, one I forgot in the first set of leaps, and that one was: I will stop at the main connects house and see what's going, what kind of deal he'll give me. Side Note: This is the very same connection who for the last 8 months of my last run, I had worked for. I had free dope and an extra $2K a month in my pocket, all for making 3 or 4 deliveries a week. But near the end, someone got busted, and I am a smart man, I knew that by this particular individuals arrest, meant trouble for the organization I was involved in. I cut my losses, and bailed. Gave up the $2k a month and the free dope, went back to paying wholesale prices until I got back on MMT.

As it turns out this was a very wise decision. As I learn at the connections house, they came for him about a month ago, and they subsequently raided everyone who worked for him at the same time. These were all the people I had worked with just months prior. This could have been me. This was me. As he told me the story, all I could think was, thank god I got the fuck out. They didnt get the connection, he was smart, he used people, they were the one's who got busted. While I listed to his story all I could think is thank god I am not in this life anymore. He lost his kids, of course he would get them back, he could afford those high priced attorneys. But fuck, that could have been me that went down with the 6 or 7 others. That was me. I didn't even bother to ask about the dope, I knew he wouldn't have any, and by that time, I had lost all interest.

I was walking to the car, thinking about how blessed I was. How I had almost made a huge mistake, how had I not left the world when I did, I would have had made an even bigger mistake. I thought about how good it felt not to NEED to get loaded like so many times before. I thought about how good it felt not to wake up every morning with that same need. How good it felt that I wasn't lying to my family about using. About how proud I was that I could look at my daughters and not feel shame over being loaded, or worse, waiting for them to go away so I could sneak off to get a hit. I thought about all my beautiful, wonderful friends, that would be crushed if I had done it. I felt such relief of not having to eventually admit it and not have had let anyone down. How those things meant something to me for the first time in my life. I had never cared about how what I had done or was going to do would affect anyone. No addict does, we are selfish and self centered people who are self involved. I was happy. I thought about all these things not in a nano second, but I thought about each one, as if time had stopped. I went over each and every detail, I felt the feelings, I relived the moments, I played them over and over and over again. Then as I got to my car, I got a text message. It was from D, it was a picture of my daughters. I just smiled. It was a message from God, he was smiling upon me. He was basking me in his light. He was showing me the exact reasons I made the decision I did, that I had made the right decision, and that I had answered to a high calling. It was beautiful, it was magical and ultimately divine.

Until the next day, which is all gloriously posted in the comments section and you can all read about my true insanity there.

The Relapse Days of Summer

This is a cross post from my site, but I feel the content is timely and appropriate for this site.

Everyone knows about how dangerous the holidays can be for alcoholics and addicts. Time off, stressful family situations and just the plain availability of alcohol and drugs during the months of December and January can often play a role in relapse. Sometimes I think the warnings you here ad nauseum from the recovery community and even the public at large have half us “expecting” a relapse! But you don’t here much about the hundred days of summer that start with the Memorial Day weekend and end with Labor Day weekend.

Speaking with others active in the recovery community including the director of a methadone clinic and an AA eternal we came up with some observations for this time of year. Meeting attendance, treatment retention, and new members for both groups tend to be low in the summer months. People usually have more time on their hands during the summer and for addicts and alcoholics this is not always a good thing. Especially dangerous for alcoholics; the summer sun, fun, and vacation activities of our society are traditionally intertwined with alcohol beverage consumption.

So if the heat has got you down in the dumps go find an air conditioned meeting. If you are out on vacation, take a chance and meet a new recovery group. If you have too much time on your hands… well you can come and mow my grass!

But seriously, keep the summer fun and your recovery strong.

The Discovering Alcoholic