I’m writing this kinda high… not on my DOC which seems like an important point…
I officially relapsed last week and in between then and now, I’ve gotten high a couple of more times… I should have 9 months today.
The list of reasons I stayed clean this long were numerous, but not endless and not enough… some days it was for me, but mostly not… it was for you and the kid and the cheap rent and the girl and the fellowship/friends and the not being able to because of consequences… I can’t, not I don’t want to.
So am I done? Well fuck… using isn’t changing anything… my life isn’t any better… I don’t have the friends/girl/peace… I haven’t had any consequences (yet)… Currently, I am and still feel alone, and even more so really.
And yet, I can’t say for sure… I didn’t get to use my DOC, which feels like missing out and if I went this far, why not try it once… right?
I’m done for today though…
Can someone remind me of today and that nothing changed for the better by using if I ever say I want to use again?
See? Just me.
I fucking knew this would happen… I didn’t want to be up at 3:00 AM the day of the fundraiser I’m speaking at… Nor did I want this to be my 2nd day up… Throw in some other stuff I didn’t want to happen or that I needed to happen, but knowing damn well it would/wouldn’t and it all adds up to a new career in the art of predicting the future.
I will now predict that I have a stressful day… I am certain that dark circles under my eyes will all but ensure that pictures will be taken of me… without a fucking doubt you know, I will feel self conscience about my appearance, not want to engage with others, not smile and, this is just a guess now… I will hate myself more than ever around 3:00 PM… The time is a guess because I hate myself all the time, just I’ll hate myself more later.
Still have packing and cleaning to do, still have IT projects to wrap up… I really do suck and if I ever tell you that meth makes you more productive… if productivity means lots of porn and very little else, then I’m telling the truth.
LAME: not having milk for coffee, nothing for breakfast, no jelly for lunch, no time, no money for anything, no meth and no energy. I’m not happy with myself today…
might as well pack. might as well eat shit. might as well say sorry now.
So, I guess I need to go and be productive and try to finish packing and
So… in about 48.5 hours from now, I’ll be sharing my story for a fundraiser for Open Aid Alliance. It has been weighing heavily on my mind and I’ve been avoiding it because, 1. I’m ADD and don’t do things until the last minute and 2. I don’t like looking back at all my shit… and so I don’t… until I have to… like now, which I’ve waited to do and now that it’s done, a huge relief has come over me and I can move on to packing and dealing with other things before I leave for Houston…
But I wanted to reflect a bit and let myself know that I’m not all that I’ve written… my life story that I’m talking about in 48.25 hours is not my whole life story… it’s possibly the most drawn out and probably the most dramatic, but it certainly isn’t all of me…
I need to go easy on myself and realize that this person… the one writing this blog, that struggles and fights himself, and finds no good in himself is part of my personality, but doesn’t make up my entirety.
As I uncover more, I hope to share it.
I don’t want to think about what I need to be thinking about… writing this is making me think and I’m only doing it to punish/shame myself into doing the right thing… what I need to be doing… instead of what I’m actually doing which is finding all sorts of distractions of which I have none because I have no money and only one thing on my fucking mind which is getting high to distract myself from doing what I need to be doing.
The longer I go, the worse I/it gets… the right thing… looming all around… the feeling of doom impending is greater than the feeling of accomplishment waiting on the other side… or that’s how I perceive it right now… again… to afraid to make a fucking move. I’ll have to face uncertainty… possible questioning of where I am or what am I doing… all of which are still there when I get high, but high is a distraction feeling… distorted reality… a delay tactic…
Writing this out is supposed to help… I am supposed to gain some clarity… some insight… call me out on my own bullshit. I am too foggy with hate and fear right now. Muddled and wallowing in shame. Disappointment in myself for selling my abilities and fuck it, me, to others as a reliable source of anything… sure, if you want unreliable communication/support/service/ you can rely on me…
The thing is… look… here’s the deal… seriously… I need meth to get through the day to stay reliable to finish what I’ve started and not feel guilty and leave shit undone… I don’t want to be this way, but I am and we have a decision to make about what the fuck is going to happen… and it’s not just you, but you and you and you and the others as well… I am not able to do it… without it.
The right thing requires energy, long hours and a stream of consciousness I cannot obtain anytime soon… I need a fair amount of meth to get my shit done so I can get off meth.
I saw a guy I know yesterday and he looked awful… totally methed-out with ill-fitting clothes… mannerisms that intend to portray calm and collected but signal “I’m on meth and only I don’t know it”…
I thought, “that poor guy.” Yeah, I said that. Fucking dumbass. Everyone says the same thing about me… I am that guy. It’s embarrassing. It’s denial about my condition when I leave my house. It’s insanity to think I can pull of normal.
If you see me out in public… if I look like shit, please tell me. Tell me I look like I’m dying of AIDS… or that I must have a tapeworm… tell me I look like I’m on drugs…
The people who tell me the truth are the ones that care about me the most. Don’t let up please. I may get mad and I may hate you at that moment but be relentless in your care for me… I look at funhouse mirrors all day and see distorted images… Be kind and tell me how bad I look, act, smell, whatever… if you can. I won’t blame you for just moving on.
When I use meth, it’s apparently obvious to everyone… like, right away. My facial features give it away and my friend Kat summed it up this way… she said to me, “When you use, you go from hot to Holocaust.”
It’s true this time.
I am the guy that I’ve dreaded becoming. I’m terrible at the art of finding time to kill. The ability to live off a bag of pretzels and water for an entire day is not in me. The courage to sit and nurse a cup of whatever for hours just to be someplace while the proprietor glares and directs silent disdain your way, I haven’t mustered.
I don’t even want to accomplish or learn those skills… living this for one day… knowing I am lucky to have support so I know if the end… is fucking hard enough and helps cement in my mind that I’m low fucking enough. It’s a peaceful feeling to give up… mostly peaceful. There is a little resentment still, but not near enough to cause me to lose my shit like recently.
Back in the day, I was able live in the worst imaginable conditions… bugs, speed-freaks picking at “bugs”, scamming new diner owners by copying free dinner coupons, mentally tough and aware of running out of speed… but that shit is easy at 17-20 years old… no kids, no taste of having earned yourself some nice shit… getting a little belly from eating and drinking too much. Once the soft flab rings your waistline, you are toast if you have to suffer.
I’m burnt toast.
I got high today. The feelings were too much, my resources too low. I don’t hate people anymore… my mind is at semi-ease, but certainly not a fist full of fury to be unleashed at any citizen that I deemed unworthy… which was everyone.
The relief I have now will turn on me soon enough as I’m already out and no prospects for more currently… but I’m getting a little work done and taking care of a few items I’ve been putting off.
That rush I got was real nice too… miss this big time.