Author Topic: My particular version of the addict history story - by Matt S  (Read 2703 times)

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Offline Eon T McKnight

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(This testimonial appeared on the vox list.  It's a fantastic description of one person's journey.  I think you'll enjoy reading it and benefit from its unvarnished truthfulness.  eon)

     My particular version of the addict history story

I started using at age 11. I had tasted alcohol a time or two prior to this but nothing more than a taste of hard liquor which predictably, I found disgusting. I had also smoked a few cigarettes by this time but was not overly impressed by them either. But one day at age 11 I somehow got it into my head to do a shot of my Mother’s whiskey. This was my first experience with getting high and I absolutely loved it. It was the greatest feeling I had ever had, and so I proceeded to drink myself into a blackout.

By the age of 12 I was busted for drinking in school. At 13 I was arrested for burglarizing liquor stores. At 14 I started sampling other drugs. I started with ephedrine pills which were over the counter at that time. Again I absolutely loved it. I couldn’t believe that something so easy, just swallowing a couple pills, could so radically change the universe for the better. So when I crossed the line into illegal drugs it seemed like a natural enough thing to do, I mean as far as I was concerned I had already dispelled the myth about how horrible drugs were. I was in possession of the first hand truth that drugs were the greatest thing there ever was.

My first experience with illegal drugs was pot. Strangely though, while I kind of liked pot, I kind of didn’t simultaneously, it was fun but it produced a lot of anxiety for me. One of things I loved about alcohol was that it diminished anxiety, in fact it was through alcohol that I discovered that I was pretty much anxiety ridden 24/7 and it was through the unexpected absence of that anxiety that I realized it was there in the first place.

Throughout high school I sampled every drug that came my way. I discovered that while I preferred to go down, I was willing to go up if that was what was available. I liked psychedelics also although I learned that they are an unreliable source of getting high. They would reliably produce powerfully altering effects but the form of those effects was very unreliable. I learned, sometimes the hard way, about the importance of set and setting. I discovered that cocaine and methamphetamine were most fun when mixed with a downer like alcohol. I sampled a wide array of prescription medicines also with a definite predisposition for benzos and opiates. But throughout all of it, the drug I used most often was alcohol. It was simply the easiest to get.

By the time I was 21 everyone knew I was an alcoholic. No other drug had shown itself so destructive for me. I had broken bones as a result of drinking, I had lost jobs and relationships, and I had run afoul of the law many times. So I started wanting to stop drinking and soon discovered that I could not. At 21 I went to my first 12 step meeting by choice, I had been to quite a few by court order prior to that, but I was just starting to get some willingness to do something about my drinking problem. But in retrospect I really didn’t want to quit, I wanted to manage my drinking. Alcohol was the only thing that made life livable in some ways and I didn’t want to give that up, I just wanted to stop getting into so much trouble. I wanted to stop pissing off the neighbors in the middle of the night by cranking up the stereo and passing out. And I wanted to stop making an ass of myself by calling my friends in the middle of the night slobbering drunk. And I wanted to try and have some inkling of where the night would go when I started drinking instead of waking from blackouts on a regular basis with no idea what I had done.

I gave some semi-serious effort to using AA to quit drinking for over a year. I had various sponsors, went to meetings fairly regularly, tried to work steps, but could never get more than 2 days sober. The anxiety just became unbearable and I always drank again. Meanwhile I also continued to dabble with other drugs. At that time I considered alcohol to be the problem.

Over the next few years I became very depressed. I was hospitalized several times for suicide attempts including one occasion when they accurately diagnosed me as an addict and committed me to a week long detox after releasing me from the ER for a drug overdose (benzos and liquor on that occasion). Through my hospitalizations I came into contact with various psychologists and spent varying lengths of time on anti-depressants. On and off I was on a pretty wide variety of anti-depressants and other medications, sometimes more than one type at a time.

At age 24 I was introduced to heroin. Actually I had done heroin once previous and at that time I had injected it all at once (that was only my second time ever using a needle) in yet another attempt to kill myself. On that occasion I spent the first hour or so unconscious on the bathroom floor and then the next 10 or 12 hours alternately nodding off, drinking huge quantities of water in an attempt to sate an enormous thirst, and puking my guts out. But on the second occasion that I used heroin, I used it with some friends so I used a more reasonable amount. I still puked but once that was over with, it was very pleasant. So I did it again. And then I started doing it as often as I could. And I discovered a wonderful thing, that if I did heroin I could actually go without alcohol and the anxiety and withdrawal symptoms were no big deal. So I switched.

At first I found I could use heroin 2 or 3 times a week and still not have to drink for the whole week. At that time I smoked it but I had a friend who was injecting from the start and after a while I decided to try that route, which of course I loved. Predictably within a few years I was using daily and experienced withdrawals if I did not use. It took several years before the negative consequences of addiction started to really show up in my life. I had already been slowly divesting myself of my possessions in favor of the temporary succor of heroin but other people didn’t so much notice that. What they did notice however was when I started divesting them of their possessions. I started with employers and family members. I lost jobs and I lost the trust of family. When I look back it amazes me how much bullshit my family was willing to take from me before they kicked me to the curb, but eventually they did, I gave them no choice.

I briefly tried again to go to AA, this time to get off of heroin, by that time I hadn’t had a drink in a few years. But heroin was a different animal than alcohol. Stopping for only 24 hours was enough to bring on anxiety and withdrawal. I did, through the help of friends, family, and on occasion even doctors, kick. I would have someone take me out of town for a week or so until I was feeling better physically, only to score dope almost as soon as I was back in town again. I burned through most of the relationships I had, I became unwelcome everywhere, and with good reason, I stole from everyone. I had a few friends who were either paralleling my decline or leading the way and soon they were the only people I could spend time with because none of us had anything to steal, and we all had the same daily mission, get dope.

Somewhere in this period was when I first tried ibogaine. I had, long before ever trying heroin, read about ibogaine in an issue of maps (multidisciplinary association for psychedelic studies). Prior to being kicked out of my Mother’s house I went online looking for ibogaine and information on it. I was lucky enough to come into contact with someone who was willing to help me out.

My first ibogaine session was at my brother’s apartment. My Mother had paid for the ibogaine and she and my brother, remained in the other room and looked in on me every so often. I stayed at my brother’s apartment all weekend and while I had no withdrawal symptoms to speak of when the ibogaine wore off, I still wanted to use. So 3 days later I did. I tried ibogaine again some months later but having had it before I was afraid of it, ibogaine is a powerful experience and my psyche was not particularly well conditioned to handle those sorts of experiences anymore. I had ridden out a number of bad acid trips in my younger days but that was prior to becoming a total thief and a liar who betrayed everyone who ever cared about him, and having the sort of psyche that results from being that type of person is not conducive to positive psychedelic experiences.

So when I tried it again, I split the dose with a longtime friend who had descended the same heroin path I had, and as a result it wasn’t a large enough dose for either of us, so we both used again right away. Again I tried it, this time I got a larger quantity, but again when it came time I was scared and I split it with the same friend. This time it sort of worked. I stayed clean about a week I think, I had some withdrawals but not terrible, it did not work for my friend. I decided to give ibogaine one last chance and to do it right, to take the whole dose myself and not screw around. That time was more successful. I stayed clean for 43 days, the longest period of abstinence from all drugs (except nicotine) that I had had since I was 11. But I changed essentially nothing about my life and eventually I started using again. That all happened over a period of a couple of years time.

After giving up on ibogaine I resigned myself to a life of heroin use. I became involved in many criminal endeavors mostly involving the same friend who I had shared my previous ibogaine doses with. I also started using crack in earnest. Heroin simply wasn’t getting us high anymore. We had started working for the dealer and so usually had enough heroin to get well, but just couldn’t get high anymore. So we spent the money we made from dealing and our criminal enterprises on crack or coke (which we turned into crack).

After awhile it started to appear very likely that we would wind up in prison. We regularly had close encounters with security guards and on occasion even the police. I was arrested for shoplifting. My friend was arrested for distribution when he was setup in a sting, but he managed to swallow everything so they did not have as good of a case against him as they might have had. Another friend OD’d and while he didn’t die he did suffer brain damage from oxygen deprivation. So we made some drastic decisions. I had a year or so earlier given into the temptation of getting on methadone because it made getting well in the morning so much easier. My longtime friend decided to move to the Pacific Northwest to get away from dope (whatever). I decided to negotiate a deal with my father and try a geographic of my own so I moved to Colorado to live in my father’s garage. He agreed to support me and pay for my methadone and I basically had no responsibilities. I thought that I would use the opportunity to just take the methadone and not use anything else and see if I could rebuild some semblance of a life. I was successful for about a year or so. I did not use any heroin or crack or anything else but methadone. I tried to work but I found I was too tired to work an 8 hour shift. I slept for about 15 hours a day. I isolated severely because the only place I went was the methadone clinic and I didn’t want to make friends there because they were likely to be using and I was trying not to. I used my take homes to get high and as a result spent the last 72 hours or so of the week getting progressively more dope sick until I could go back to the clinic for another round of supplies.

Eventually I did get to know some people from the line at the clinic and eventually I used again. I was horribly depressed again and since I could get free health care as an unemployed (and basically unemployable) poor person, I wound up back on anti-depressants. I spent a little over 3 years in Colorado and in that time I made 2 using buddy friends and worked maybe 8 or 9 days total. I lived in my father’s garage and had a totally dysfunctional, poisonous relationship with him.

After I had been there for 2 years my longtime friend who had moved to the Pacific Northwest contacted me and surprise, surprise he was clean. His story involved getting arrested and extradited back to New Mexico, where we were both from, for the distribution charges he had run away from. He kicked in jail as the extradition process took over a month. Since they had not found anything on him at the arrest he ended up in drug court which sent him to NA where he had managed to stay clean for a little over a year by the time he contacted me. He called me to tell me he was going to an NA convention in Colorado and invited me to go along which I did.

I’m not sure exactly how everything lined up in my head but that last year in Colorado I knew I needed to change some things. I wanted to get off the methadone but I had been slowly tapering for almost two years and was still at 74mg. I was going down about 2 mg every other week but that meant several years still before I would get off that way. By then I had been on methadone almost as long as I had been on heroin before I got on the methadone. And I absolutely hated my life. So somewhere I formulated an idea. I wanted to do ibogaine again and this time when I was free of the dependence on the drugs I was going to go to NA.


     The ibogaine treatment portion of my story

After over 2 decades of using drugs, the last 8 years of which I was physically dependant on opiates I took ibogaine for the 5^th time. More or less out of the blue I contacted the same person who had provided ibogaine to me the previous times and asked for the same favor again. By then I actually owed him money for some of the previous times he had sent it, but being the good soul that he is, he sent me some again. This time however there were some new considerations.

A number of people had died from ibogaine. Even before when I had taken it the first time there had been a few deaths, but largely they were considered to have been the result of taking other drugs while on ibogaine. But by this time there were a number of deaths that were not thought to be caused by concurrent use of other drugs, including a very important one (not that there are unimportant deaths) that had occurred with someone very close to the friend who provided me the ibogaine. It appeared as though ibogaine was more dangerous than previously thought.

It had been over 4 years since my last ibogaine experience but that was not long enough to forget how difficult it could be. But I reasoned that no matter what the outcome, it had to be better than the way things were for me at that point. I even viewed death as a preferable outcome.

In the past I had had some issues with nausea with ibogaine and my friend who supplied it mentioned the possibility of doing an enema. Throwing up a portion of the dose is a real concern and having never taken ibogaine for methadone I was concerned about getting the whole dose so I followed his suggestion and did it in an enema.

I had quite a bit of anxiety leading up to this experience. Frankly I was very scared, but I was also determined to go through with it. After taking the enema I went to my bedroom and sat on the bed to await the onset. In the past it had taken about an hour for the drug to take effect. As soon as I had gotten to my bedroom I began to notice some strange flashing in the corners of my eyes, but I at first dismissed it. It had been maybe 5 minutes since I had taken the dose so I did not even consider it possible that it was the ibogaine. But in another 5 minutes or so it was obvious to me that something strange was happening to my vision, and although I still thought there was no way it could be ibogaine taking effect so quickly, I started to have doubts that it wasn’t.

Another 5 minutes removed all doubt. I was definitely starting to feel it come on. The speed of the onset was very frightening to me. I turned on the TV with same vague notion that maybe it could distract me enough to chill out a little. What I ended up watching was about 5 to 7 minutes of one of those sensationalized police chase shows that used to be common to the fox network. I was trying hard not to think about the freight train of energy pouring into my cranium while watching one of these big-rig logging trucks barrel down the freeway while the sheriff doing the voice over talked about what a horrible piece of crap excuse for a human being was behind the wheel. Apparently he had kidnapped his 3 year old child and the kid was in the truck with him. Meanwhile erratic driving had knocked some logs loose and they were hanging off the sides if the truck. During the chase, the truck driver nearly sideswiped a school bus, among many other vehicles, and so the voice over guy says the decision was made to kill him. And so they did. The final scene I watched was from an overhead as the truck passed a police officer on the side of the road who aimed into the cab and killed the driver.

To say that I was powerfully affected would be putting it mildly, I was shocked. And I wasn’t totally clear as to why, my thoughts were a furious jumble. I felt revolted by the sensationalized way they displayed what was obviously a tragedy for the edification of who exactly? Me? I thought it was terrible that that little kid had to live with what happened including seeing his father’s brains blown out right next to him in the truck. But most of all I was moved to a point of hyper-vigilance by the in-your-face nature of death. It was inescapable.

Turning off the TV, I attempted the same tactic of distraction but this time with music. I put on a song I had already setup for the occasion. It was a techno song with very regular repetitive beats that I had thought might sound good on ibogaine, which by this time was affecting me very strongly. My vision in particular was massively distorted and every time I moved my eyes or blinked all I could see was flashing lights as if someone were standing in the same room panning a flood light back and forth across my vision. Only by keeping my eyes unblinking and unmoving could I make out my surroundings. I turned on the music and lay down and all I heard from the speakers was random sound. I tried to pick out a beat to it and was completely unable to, it was just noise.

And I panicked. My senses were completely unreliable. I had by this time started to feel as if I was dissolving. It felt as if my insides had turned into acid and I was slowly coming apart molecule by molecule. I also had the sensation of sinking, of moving downward, backwards, as I was lying on my back. So I prayed. I prayed without reservation, I just said to whatever there might be that could hear my prayer, that I needed help, that I was terrified. And I immediately felt relief. I felt an overwhelming feeling of love just completely envelope me. It was like a wind to which I was completely transparent that blew straight through me and filled every square inch.

I had, during my previous attempts at getting clean in 12 step programs, made attempts to resolve the “God issue”. My Mother was an atheist and used to argue “How can there be a God when all these horrible things happen in the world?” which made good sense to me. My Father on the other hand (my parents divorced when I was 3) went to church regularly, even attending mid-week services, and yet still found time to physically abuse his kids. I say that facetiously (although it was true), but my point is that he took great pains to maintain all of the appearances of a religious man while exhibiting very little in the way of spiritual principles. So my opinion had largely been agnostic with strong atheist leanings. I did not believe in God and I felt as if I had plenty of evidence against the existence of God. So when I came into the 12 steps programs I was made to understand that only a “higher power” could help me overcome my addiction. They sort of hit you with the “higher power” phrase and then sneak in the word God a little later. As a result, much of my early attempts at getting clean in the 12 step programs was an attempt to resolve this issue. I simply did not believe there was a God. I was open to the possibility but my personal experience suggested that there was not.

Following this ibogaine experience I have never wrestled with this issue again. It was fully resolved to my satisfaction, although by one perspective you could say it has taken on another form. I am convinced there is something, some force, some power, some “thing” that is certainly worthy of the label “God”, now days I just find myself sometimes wondering what it’s motives truly are.

I encountered that force, or being, or whatever it is that day. When that overwhelming love filled my being I sensed it, more than that, I simply “knew” it was there. Although I had visualizations of various aspects of what happened, I did not really “see” anything. People speak of visions on ibogaine and other psychedelic substances but it was obvious to me that all of the visualizations I had were in my imagination. Nothing felt like it was being presented to me; it was more like my mind created a visualization to represent what I was already feeling and experiencing. And the visualization I had for this was of myself as a small child, perhaps 2 or 3, at the feet of this being. I could more or less make out the outlines of the feet and ankles. And I could feel the love beaming down on me from where the face should be, somewhere above my head and it almost felt like sunshine shining down on me, except that as I said it totally penetrated me and shown straight through as if I were completely transparent.

And I wanted to look up at the face but I could not. I knew, and I knew that this being knew, that I was wretched beyond belief. I looked at myself with total crystal clear honesty for the first time ever, and I was horrendous to behold. I had lied and stolen from everyone who had ever shown me kindness and love. I had betrayed people to their very core. I had used and abused every human being that had crossed my path for years, decades even. I was pathetic. And I began to cry, not just cry, I wept as I had never wept before or since, I wailed even. And I thought maybe I should just die, maybe everyone would be better off if the ibogaine just killed me.

Then I felt as if God offered me death. I saw this place of filth and stink and rotten decay, and it was incredibly lonely and isolated, and barren of hope, and very, very, sorrowful and although I did not hear words, I experienced it as if I was told “If you want death here it is, you can have, just don’t take another breath.” And I looked at that horrible hellish place and I revolted against it; my reaction was a very deep, from the depths of my soul, “FUCK THAT!” And the conclusion was obvious to me at that point, I had to change. I had to change the way I was showing up in the world, the way I treated and interacting with my fellow humans. I had to re-evaluate my priorities. If I was to live, then my life had to be much, much different then it had been.

Some people claim not to understand this when I explain it, but I had always had morals, I just could not live up to them. I hated what I did to get drugs. I hated the lying and the stealing, especially from my Mother. I felt like shit for it, but the drugs could cover that up. There is a sick cycle wherein you need to use drugs to cover the guilt you feel for doing the things you have to do in order to get drugs. I had lived in that cycle for a long time. But it was about to be broken.

I asked a few questions of that being that day and received a few answers I felt. I am probably just as unclear about the meaning of life and existence as I have ever been, but I feel like one piece of understanding is in place. I don’t know what God wants from me or expects of me or if it even does want or expect at all. I simply have no idea. But I do feel I know a couple of important things. I believe that I know that that thing is real. Did it make this universe or did it come along with it? Who knows? But I also believe that I know that that thing loves me, in fact all of us, immensely. Even when I was coming to very clear terms with the fact, the cold hard fact, that I was despicable, the love that I felt, never wavered at all.

Once I had started crying, I literally could not stop for 3 days. And I cried most of the 4^th day as well. The experience itself lasted for several days, I can’t say for sure how long. I may have slept 2 hours total in the first 3 days. After that I slept 2 or 3 hours a night for a week or so with it gradually increasing. After a week I started exercising by bike riding which I found very tiring at first. I had some slight chills that would come over me every 4 or 5 hours or so which lasted almost 6 months. But that was pretty much it. I had no other symptoms of withdrawal, and perhaps most importantly, no depression, in fact I felt very good. I felt connected to that love for close to a year following this experience. Although it did eventually fade, at least my experience of feeling connected to it faded, I have found new ways of connecting to God now. The 4^th day after taking the ibogaine I decided that it really had worked and poured the rest of my methadone take-homes down the drain. Fuckin-A I was a free man!


     The post-ibogaine addiction recovery portion of my story

As I mentioned, I had felt even prior to this experience that I need to have a good follow up to the experience itself. I felt that I had already discover for myself that ibogaine could interrupt the addiction, but that I had to do something more to stay clean. Based on seeing my long time friend staying clean in NA I had decided even before the experience to start attending NA meetings regularly after the ibogaine. Given the experience I had with coming to terms with my “God issue” this seemed particularly appropriate. I attended my first NA meeting just 4 days after taking the ibogaine while still quit raw. I soon hooked up with a guy who I asked to sponsor me which at that time just meant that he took me to lots of meetings. Neither of us were working, he being a disabled vet and me being recently unemployable, so we went to 2 or 3 meetings a day for a few weeks.

I very quickly realized that I needed to be away from my father also. I soon made some plans whereby I could move back to New Mexico with his help. I arranged to rent a room from the brother of an old friend (this old friend was several years sober in AA at the time, another person I had used with in the past). I worked it out where my father would pay for 2 months rent and then I would be on my own. He had already provided a car to me some months previous so I drove it from Colorado back to New Mexico.

From the beginning I immersed myself in NA. I particularly made efforts to work the steps. I was very powerfully motivated to change my behavior and I was very driven to exhibit what I considered to be integrity. To me this meant as close to total honesty as I was capable. My ability to recognize honest was not damaged, I could tell honesty from dishonesty, what was difficult, was not giving into my tendencies and urges towards dishonesty. Sometimes this meant embarrassing myself or making myself vulnerable. It meant being uncomfortable. But I did not allow myself to waver.

At my first job clean my supervisor told me to lie to a customer. Even at the risk of losing the job I told him he could not pay me enough to lie. He had someone else do it. I quit even without having another job lined up a few days later.

At about 8 months clean I stole something from another place I worked, I justified it to myself because no-one was using it and it was outdated technology anyway (it was a computer data storage device, a Jazz drive to be exact in case anyone actually remembers what those are). It sat unused in my house for 2 days while my conscience just tore me up, until I finally returned it to work. A few months later I even told my boss about it, (he laughed). But I realized that I cannot cross that line for any reason. I have to make those lines of what is and is not integrity very black and white for myself because I know that I will erode it and erode it until I am justifying all kinds of dishonest bullshit. At the end of the day I need to be able to face myself, and I still believe that at the end of this life I will face that being that I encountered on ibogaine that day. And although I am still of the opinion that I am unworthy to look into the face of that thing, it will not be for lack of trying since our last major encounter.

Although I have no major difficulties with my conscience today and I am largely satisfied with the way I manage to show up in the lives of my friends, family, and co-workers, I am not without my issues. I have been accused of arrogance which I think is sometimes very true. I sometimes feel I have less compassion and too much judgment towards others. I try to give other people as much of a break for their behavior as I can, but sometimes I fall short. But I am willing to change still. I am willing to be wrong, and by that I mean I am open to finding out that what I thought was right at the time, was actually wrong. I am open to discovering that I am more flawed than I thought. And on those occasions when it is pointed out to me that I have come up short, I try to be as embarrassingly open about my imperfection as I can stand.

Coming up on 5 years clean I still attend NA meetings regularly. I work steps with my sponsor. And just as important in my opinion, I exercise regularly, I meditate, and I read spiritual and philosophical literature. Some other changes I have made since that fateful day, I am vegetarian, I do not watch TV, I donate money to causes I believe in, and I remove bugs from my house by catching them in a can rather than squashing them. These are all expressions of things that I realized were important to me on ibogaine.

I met a woman in NA when we were both less than 60 days clean. And against popular opinion and traditional advice we got into a relationship. At just over 4 years clean we got married. We bought a brand new car recently, the first new car ever, for either of us. We are talking about buying a house and having a rugrat. These are all things that I had long ago assumed were never going to be part of my life story.

By the time I returned to New Mexico there were actually 3 people who I had used heroin with in the past who were clean in NA including the old friend I have mentioned several times who I shared the ibogaine with. Today, almost 5 years later, one of them has returned to heroin and disappeared. The other two including my friend who did ibogaine are still clean.

As for myself I have not returned to my drugs of abuse. I had quit smoking for the third time in less than a year, about a month before my 5^th ibogaine experience. Of all of the drugs I have abused in my life, nicotine is the only one I have partaken of since that day. I smoked a single cigarette on one occasion and had a couple of drags on another, both within my first year clean. Other than that I have abstained from all of my previous drugs of abuse. The partial list is that I have not had opiates, alcohol, cocaine or crack, methamphetamine or any other amphetamine, benzos, barbituates, or any other OTC meds (I call it a partial list because there were no doubt other drugs that I abused that I did not list here). I cannot however say that I have refrained from all mind altering drugs however. And although I did after about 3 years clean give up caffeine also I am not referring to that one.

At about 2 and a half years clean I started to really suffer from depression. It had been coming on for some months prior but I kept waiting for it to lift, I kept thinking that without abusing drugs it should go away. I mean after all I had a pretty good life at that point. Eventually I did go back on anti-depressants but not before talking to all of those around me (90% of whom were in NA) about the possibility of doing ibogaine again. Predictably they were all against it. Eventually after some medication juggling and dissatisfaction over the side effects of the prescribed drugs, I took ibogaine again. At the time I basically bowed to the popular opinion of those around me and publicly changed my clean date. In time however I changed my mind and just as publicly changed it back.

I have since then taken ibogaine in a sizable dose twice more and in smaller doses many times. I have suffered from depression on and off since and made subsequent attempts to control it with prescribed anti-depressants. What has finally seemed to work to my satisfaction is amino-acid therapy, which I found out about online and have tailored to my own needs, combined with low dose iboga root bark, and occasional ayahuasca experiences. Most of the people in NA would say I am using (in regards to the iboga and ayahuasca) and that is fine. At the end of the day I don’t have to answer to them, I have to answer to myself and to my higher power. I have done a great deal of soul searching and introspection on the issue as well as discussed it with a number of people both in recovery and out. But in the final analysis I show up responsibly for my community, for my family, and even for the society of which I am sometimes reluctantly a part. And I can do so without spiraling into an incapacitating depression. And more than that, I can experience real happiness and joy in the occasional and unpredictable way that I think it is meant to be experienced. I get to have a full range of emotions without being made slave or hostage to any one.

Today I think I am well positioned to actually live a long, healthy and meaningful life regardless of whether or not others agree or disagree with what I do in my personal life. I don’t think people who wound up in the places I did from addiction get the opportunity to get to where I am today very often at all. I am clear that I was graced with a tremendous gift on that 5^th ibogaine experience. And no matter what you believe about what really happened to me that day, the mere facts of my story are remarkable enough to indicate the importance of ibogaine.

Matt

fallout330

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Re: My particular version of the addict history story - by Matt S
« Reply #1 on: June 30, 2010, 08:30:16 PM »
Very excellent experience Eon, thanks for sharing again!

Offline x

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Re: My particular version of the addict history story - by Matt S
« Reply #2 on: June 30, 2010, 10:25:58 PM »
Loved this, he's one of those on vox I always read.

I would've asked him before reposting, but you prolly already did. ;P

Go Ibo!

Tia

Offline GratefulDad

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Re: My particular version of the addict history story - by Matt S
« Reply #3 on: June 30, 2010, 10:31:00 PM »
Yes, great report!  Thanks Eon for the snip, and thanks Matt for your story!
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Offline riverhaven

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Re: My particular version of the addict history story - by Matt S
« Reply #4 on: July 03, 2010, 08:45:24 PM »
What is the vox list?  It sounds like a place I need to be reading also....

Offline GratefulDad

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Re: My particular version of the addict history story - by Matt S
« Reply #5 on: July 03, 2010, 08:50:30 PM »
http://ibogaine.mindvox.com/ 

You can go to the above link, and under the mindvox logo you will see the ibogaine list.  You can sign up to receive emails from the list.  It was started back in the late 90's and is the oldest forum for ibogaine providers and others interested in ibogaine.  The email format makes a lot of emails to your inbox daily, but you have the choice for a digest, as well.  You can browse through the site, sign up your email and catch several of us, as well as many others on the list.  I must warn you, though, the signal to noise ratio on the vox list is much higher than our forum, so be prepared to wade through the emails to find the gems..  By the way, I am Helpful Hopeful on the list..
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Re: My particular version of the addict history story - by Matt S
« Reply #6 on: July 03, 2010, 10:03:28 PM »
I'm there, too. Using Gmail helps with the organization of the mails that come, it neatly stacks them. :)

Offline riverhaven

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Re: My particular version of the addict history story - by Matt S
« Reply #7 on: July 03, 2010, 10:49:50 PM »
Thanks... I'd like to keep up to date on ibogaine as I'd like to be more involved in helping people with it.  As a retired physician I think I could offer a lot to this effort.