Imagine this hypothetical situation:
Someone starts their day, within minutes of waking up, with a drink or two of alcohol. They have another drink with (or even as) their breakfast. Before noon they’re smashed drunk, and rarely sober up while they’re awake. Maybe you make a comment to them that you’d like to talk to them, but that it’s a serious subject and you’d prefer that they weren’t inebriated — and they reply that they can actually function when they’re drunk, even suggesting that they’d be less likely to carry a conversation otherwise. They drink with dinner, have a few more drinks in the evening with their friends and a last few before going to bed.
Now… what changes if instead of alcohol, that’s marijuana?
I’d say that person is still addicted. I’d say it’s incredibly frustrating, actually.
Imagine, again as a hypothetical, that you’ve had some pretty significant bad experiences with dogs. Bad enough that you’ve developed symptoms of PTSD, and when you hear a dog bark nearby or see a dog in the same room as you, it paralyzes you with fear, gives you flashbacks to a particularly traumatic experience, makes you want to scream and run and fight and ohgodohgodohgod get it away NOW!
Now imagine you’re living with someone who brings a big dog to visit your house on a regular basis, who talks non-stop about how cute and wonderful and cuddly and sweet this dog is, even keeps the dog around the house overnight or for a weekend sometimes. Imagine that you’ve completely freaked out a few times when confronted by this dog, flipped out and started screaming or maybe tried to attack the dog when it’s just being playful. Imagine telling your roommate that you’re dealing with PTSD and that having dogs around isn’t okay, that you understand this particular dog is harmless but that you can’t handle being around any dogs at all, and you get scolded for being mean to the poor little doggy, blamed for scaring him with your screaming when all he wants to do is be cute and lovable and adorable — and the dog keeps coming back again and again.
Now imagine any other PTSD triggers, say — not just as a random example — low masculine voices, especially loud ones. Same situation, same response. That’s what I’m living with, and today after having my schedule thrown apart with a last-minute cancellation, being absolutely broke but hoping to get something done around the house… the dog — erm, I mean the boyfriend — came by, and I’m trying to type this while managing some extreme anxiety. Not only am I having to hear loud low male voices that make me want to scream, I’ve got loud coughing too, because the addicts are all
drinking smoking in the next room and the wet lung-hacking that goes with getting stoned makes me want to scream.
If I had anywhere else to go to escape this shit, I’d be there. If I had anything I could do to avoid dealing with this, I would. I don’t. I need to be able to feel safe when I’m at home, and I rarely do — not that I’m physically in danger, but I feel emotionally threatened on a near-constant basis, and I’m not getting some essential things done that I need to, like searching for a new home, because I spend so much time struggling to barely maintain my fucking SANITY that I have nothing left to actually do anything.
I need to write some more but I can’t do this with all of the shit in the next room. I’m going to fucki9ing smash things if I don’t get out of here now.
fuck you all and go to fucking hell and DIE.