Tag Archives: life

Impasse, or Momentary Lapse of Progress?

Hi all.  It’s been a while, but for as little as I have to say, there hasn’t been much time to say it.  The long and the short is, I don’t really have anything great to report, so I’ve been staying away.  Thing is, I didn’t realize I was in so deep until I tried to get out from under this thing.  I find that I keep hitting walls, most of which I suspect are internally rooted.  There’s an old Japanese proverb that fear is only as deep as the mind allows.  The origin and solution to this problem can be found inside my own head, but I’m not doing enough about it.  Life is becoming frighteningly real and raw, and there’s no slowing it down or reversing it.  Time to make a serious move forward and reclaim something that resembles a life worth living.  On to the fore.

Hope everyone is doing well…I’ll be checking in more.



Filed under My Life

We All Started Out Small…

My parents are good people, but they were never particularly attuned to remembering details.  I always wanted to know more about my childhood.  I had a million questions, like what was my first word, or what other names did they consider for me?  I have this memory of when my mom told me I could no longer have bottles…ouch.  A lot of tears were shed that night.  I don’t know how old I was, but I was crawling around and lugging my big stuffed rabbit by its ears with my favorite bear bottle in hand.  (That’s bear bottle…not beer bottle.)

I’m always curious to learn about other people.  For anyone who doesn’t mind sharing, I would love to learn more about you.  What was your first word, or favorite food, or favorite toy or story?  What was your first step like?  Did you have any major injuries?  Did your mom describe what it was like to be pregnant or give birth to you?  Do you remember transitioning from a crib to a bed, or going to school for the first time? …etc.

Always greatly appreciated.


Filed under Beautiful People, Fun Stuff

Hanging In

I’m still holding out, but it’s getting so much harder.  Some moments bring reprieve, but most seem to amplify the frustration of trying to hang on to sobriety.  Grr.  It’s out of my system, but I have a long way to go before it’s out of my mind.  If I could take on sobriety with none of the associated shit, like stirred up emotions and physical paroxysms, I’d be completely gung-ho for it.  But therein lies the challenge.  How does anyone do it?  It’s a mystery.  Nothing is tiding me over adequately.  I mostly just think I’m cracking up, and the pain from every bump and bruise is excessively amplified.  I keep coming back to the obvious answer…duh, legalize smack…but maybe that’s asking for trouble. 

I sincerely admire anyone who’s kicked an addiction or bad habit of any sort and lived to tell about it.  So much of what life throws at us isn’t a choice, but addiction is a road that’s littered with choices along the way.  Those choices become increasingly entangled with desire, then compulsion, then force, until you risk losing yourself to the chink in your armor completely.  God give me the tools and know-how to repair this hole in myself.


Filed under Drugs

Knight in Tarnished Armor

My heart breaks for him at times.  He has been through the mire and survived to tell about it.  He rarely talks about it…but for some reason, he chose to trust me years ago and open up.  Maybe it was because I wasn’t sober at the time and he thought I wouldn’t remember; but I did, and he continued to be open to me.  It created a unique bond of trust that has never broken completely, no matter how many times it’s been tested.  His childhood was a nightmare, and I know it’s affected every decision he’s ever made, but he made it through and doesn’t look back all that often.  He’s hurt me immensely, but the times he’s been there for me are more touching and sweet than words can convey.  He is a cultural relativist to a fault, which spills over into refusing to blame his parents for his flaws, and refusing to blame me for mine.  If he were in charge of the world, we would all be doomed.


The first time I met him, I thought I was in love.  I didn’t know God could make people as extraordinary as him.  I spilled over him like water, and I thought I was the luckiest girl on earth to have captured his interest.  The second time I was around him, I didn’t stop crying for days.  I was really young.  I thought I could save him, and I thought he could save me.  I think he believed that too.  He became my family.  I was so vulnerable to him at times that I was sure he would be the death of me.  I fought not to fall for him completely and get lost in his existence.  I was weak for his eyes, his smell, his laughter, his charm.  His balance of intellect and passion was intimidating.  His presence was electrifying.  I thought there was nothing and no one he couldn’t master.  I still believe that.  I’m convinced the temperature in a room is always hotter around him.


He has a soft spot for people who are vulnerable, but he can lash out at them too.  He made me feel protected, something I had never really felt.  It was intoxicating.  He became a sort of parent figure.  I was young, and I was enraptured.  By letting him be my knight in shining armor, I forgot how to protect myself.


I watched him carve out his niche in the world.  He focuses all of his efforts on the material.  It makes me sad, and I used to try to change his convictions, but he never changes for anyone except himself. 


When I needed help, I went to him, and he took me under his wing with sympathy and sincerity.  He showed me a path that he warned was dark and dangerous, but I followed him anyway.  My life has been reeling since then.  He handed me ecstasy.  We became entangled again, and this time he broke and cried for me.  It was strange to see him vulnerable to me, when I have been vulnerable to him so many times.  We have been reckless…I think we both quietly wonder if we will be each other’s downfall.  That remains unknown, but we carry on in an ebb and flow of using each other and trying to save each other.  He still scrapes me up and puts me to bed sometimes, and I still stroke his back when he has nightmares. 


I pray for release.  I’ve lost so much, and he’s taken it without apology.  I can’t find my way out.  After everything, I am still weak to him.  Loyalty and debt outweigh reason.  Every day I wonder how this will end. 




Filed under Drugs, My Life

Hostility Among Friends

Today a friend caught me using.  In a general attempt to avoid presumptuous conclusions, I strive to keep an open mind to how people react to anything in life, but there are a few reactions that I can generally expect to bank on.  My everyday life is dichotomized into two distinct worlds…one with drugs, and one without.  I have logged a lot of hours trying to keep them separate and tie up loose ends, but lately, I feel them converging.  It scares me.  So far, my using has been accompanied by a degree of predictability in both realms.  In the world with drugs, standards of behavior are low enough that nothing is shocking anymore.  People are violent, aggressive, indifferent, and caustic.  In the sober world, such destructiveness is not tolerated, and would certainly elicit strong condemnation.  Loyalty is paramount.


My friend broke that streak of predictability today when he discovered my skeleton in the closet.  I quickly conjured up a host of responses that I’ve mentally rehearsed for just such a moment, but he beat me to it.  After stating his surprise, he told me drugs are stupid and people who use them are stupid.  I defensively retorted, “Yeah, well, I’m trying to get a handle on it,” and he fucking laughed at me.  His laugh was insulting, prolonged, and in my face.  He expressed no concern or curiosity.  He was bold and unabashed and doubled up in laughter.  It left me stunned.  My friendship with this person meant the world.


His response troubles me.  More and more “sober” friends are finding out about my substance abuse, but for every one that knows the full extent, there are probably two who don’t.  I’ve woven an intricate web of concealment, and when that fails, I remove myself from the group.  I’ve come up with more excuses than I thought humanly possible to explain my absence from everything.  Addiction is a lonely way of life, and it doesn’t take people long to forget.  In that sense, the drug world has routinely offered a relaxed and tolerant respite, because excuses and justifications are never demanded (except in the form of currency, of course).  Now that I’m trying to rebuild healthy contact with people, I’m questioning my next move.  If my friend’s response speaks for others, I might be making a mistake.  Maybe I should let sleeping dogs lie and start over completely…?  It’s frustrating that I managed a half-assed balancing act for a long time, and now that I’m trying to do the right thing, it’s all unraveling.  Adversaries seem to be increasing on both fronts.  Members of my “deviant” circle are lashing out at my attempts to clean up to the point of being aggressive and threatening.  It seems every effort to mobilize toward sobriety is a boomerang right back in my face.  If it’s this hard now, how much harder is it going to get?




Filed under Drugs, My Life

Sobriety Turns Me On

The humdrum, simple moments of life are what I want so badly I can taste it.  I fantasize about it.  I have dreams flushed with the radiance of life’s simple pleasures, the everyday trials and rewards that routine brings.  I also have exasperating dreams where I use copiously and can’t get high, and mind-blowingly satisfying dreams where I use and it feels sooo good, like it did the first time.    

I wake up every morning with the hope that my high today will be better than it was yesterday, that maybe it will feel good again.  The ecstasy of using disappeared a while ago.  For the most part, all it does now is help me maintain and keep feelings of sickness at bay.  My greatest wish is to wake up, go to a dull job, come home, eat dinner, spend a few hours in the evening winding down, and repeat it the next day.  I would find so much satisfaction in that.  I fear losing everything, including drugs, which are my final and failsafe lifeline.  I am fucking up so badly with my obligations at work and home that I anticipate encountering something drastic every time I step outside my door.  Even so, drugs create this invisible shield that buffers me from all of it.  It’s a mental partition that keeps me from being too concerned over the reality of my situation, which is that I’m hanging on by less than a thread.  My goal is to make people think I’m hanging on by at least a thread, but that veneer is beginning to wear extremely thin.  Every day I screw up and blow things for myself and people around me, and I think, tomorrow; I’ll get it right tomorrow.  Every night I go to bed with the best of intentions to get up at 5AM, crank out a week’s worth of work by 9AM, another week’s worth by noon, tend to everything I’ve been neglecting for months, and achieve some damage control by patching up a bit of the harm I’ve caused.  Realistically, I usually stay up using until 5AM, but this thought process carries over from Monday to Tuesday, then to Wednesday and so on, until another Friday has come and gone.  Then I think, I’ll catch up this weekend.  I anticipate each weekend as a chance to make up some extra credit points.  It never happens.  Pretty soon weeks start bleeding into each other, then months, and it starts to sink in that I’ve lost control.  Still, every morning I wake up hoping that today will be a better day than yesterday, and that I can make things up a little to the people in my life.

I used to have this fantasy as a kid that I could freeze time and still move around in the world.  For instance, I would freeze time and spend a week doing whatever the hell I wanted, and I could clean my room too.  When time started up again, my room would be clean and I wouldn’t be in trouble anymore.  I wish I could do that now, and just take some time to myself to rest and recharge.  I would keep time frozen as long as it takes to finally get a restful sleep and wake up feeling refreshed and restored.  I wish I could actually ask people for an opportunity like that, to just take a week to rest.  I hit a wall a long time ago, and I just need to back up for a short while and catch my breath.  I can’t bring myself to talk about it with anyone though. 


Filed under Drinking, Drugs, My Life, Sleep