On feelings

I've been selling myself short I guess… not wanting to feel sadness, but the NA Basic Text says that part of recovery is having real feelings which includes sadness with joy, love, excitement, etc.

Hmmm… I like that actually. When I feel sadness, it's real. It's not based upon anything related to using but more to living life on life's terms.

I do like that.

That gives me permission to be sad which I've felt was wrong and a sign of poor recovery… so it's okay to be something other than positive and still have good recovery.

Seriously liking this.

gchzzzz gchzzzz

So my mind is telling me to shut down… to stop talking to you and that it’s better to go on alone because… all of the becauses.  There is always more than one.

I felt this coming on starting last week… Like a movie where the protagonist is jolted to another glimpse of another life for a second and he starts to understand his past through millisecond visions… I have them too… but mine are like electrical shocks (gchzzzz gchzzzz) and fuzzy black-green flashbacks of just a few months ago where I was using and miserable… sometimes they go further and remind me of embarrassing episodes in my life pre-dating my using… getting caught picking my nose, being rejected by the girl after building up the courage to ask her out (via note… couldn’t even do it face to face), introducing someone and forgetting their name… sometimes the jolts flood my mind with feelings of self-doubt and worry and my own prediction of the future which is never very worth trying for…

What’s happened since late afternoon yesterday is that a real reality came on and is making me face things again… things like doing a resume which is forcing me to look at my past and I don’t like looking/thinking/feeling the past… uh, yeah… that gap in time from being a business owner to now?  Drug addict.  Why did I sell my business?  Drug addict. Why should you believe that I won’t go out and use again?  Or get so depressed again that I can’t work?  Good question.

I’ve also felt a little like I’m slacking off in my recovery… I’ve stalled on my 4th Step… not good.

I’ve been trying to distract myself with other activities and helping other addicts and being with my son and family and those help… they bring immense joy and serenity to my life… gratitude abounds mostly… but that’s where the jolts come in… right in the middle of joy (gchzzzz gchzzzz)… and I know.

But I avoid… and this happens.  I’m in Extreme Quiet Time of the worst kind.  This is my only communication.  And I’m in between rational and irrational right now… I know what to do but don’t want to do it… I’m in that fracture of realities. 

I’m really good at holding walls up.

Do what you gotta do

That goes both ways…

So at my suggestion my parents went to an Al-Anon meeting and listened to a NA speaker tape and now they’ve decided they’re enabling me and they’re done (with certain expenses… not that I’m totally cut off or out of their lives…).  I suggested they talk to a sponsor since they didn’t actually talk to anyone and just heard the stories of some random (their words) people at a Thursday night meeting… I think it’s similar advice I’ve heard from them but whatever… I told them they gotta do what they gotta do…

So now I have to do the same… I have to figure some shit out…

What I want to do is something spiteful… I just went on a walk and all I could think about was how much I wanted them to hurt… how easy it would be to make my mom cry and that wouldn’t even begin to help and that I’d come up with a terrible way to hurt her by hurting me and that in turn would make everyone else miserable because of my mom isn’t happy them no one is… I thought of using… I thought of just telling them to fuck off… I thought of disappearing… I thought all sorts of ways to hurt as much as I “hurt”…

But I’m stupid…

That shit won’t help.

I’m not even hurting…  I’m just mad and looking for reasons to stay mad because I lost control of a situation and now I have to find all sorts of acceptance/strength/courage… what you might call adulthood.

I do what I do… get comfortable and skate.  Put off until the last minute what I could have done in the first… I used to write proposals for customers when I owned an IT company… “Give me two weeks to get things together and I’ll have this proposal back to you sir.”… 13 days later and I’ve done hardly anything on it… that last day though I kick the shit out of it and write my masterpiece and collect a check the next day… this is very similar in the sense that I needed a deadline and I skated up to it and here it is…

I’m mad because I had a plan to extend it and that plan was blown the fuck up by my own hands… I suggested my parents get with the program… WTF was I thinking?

Well… at the time I wanted them to know that what I go through they have no control of… I wanted them to have the strength to carry on if I couldn’t… I wanted them to have a support group to help them when I couldn’t help myself.. to know it wasn’t their fault/problem.  But it turned into this… and they think they can just decide overnight how fucking strong they have to be and that they are enabling me and it’s time for me to grow up?

Yep… I guess that’s what I was wanting for them… for me.

So, challenge accepted… thank you.

God, I need you more than ever… help me unfuck myself.

Mom… I’m not mad.  You can stop crying now.  :0)

Control or lack thereof is my problem du jour

I went to my 6:45 AA meeting and then tried to get myself punched out by the houseman because I’m unhappy and scared and would rather not deal with whatever… life… gifts… me.

I’m afraid of meeting new challenges… of introducing myself to new people… I’m anticipating conflict instead of fellowship… I already know it’ll suck even though it can’t suck any worse than it does now… with that logic, why not just accept the same level of suckiness?  If it can’t suck any worse… right?

I’m trying to control my emotions by human connection and it works oh so fucking well until it doesn’t and then it really fucking doesn’t and it hurts and it causes all sorts of maladies and resentments and PTSD…

Thanks to my friend that helped me realize what I’m trying to do by starting with this joke:

What did the sadist say to the masochist who begged, “Beat me”?

“No.”

 

I seriously laughed my ass off… it’s funny because it’s true.

 

 

I’m in that space…

That space in time where my mind starts to get pissed off.  Pissed of at my situation and wants to destroy me.

In between meeting times is tough.  If there was one right now, I’d be there, but the next one isn’t until 7:00 PM and I’m starting to pace back and forth, rubbing my hands together, missing my family and friends and wanting to call in a score… this is the space of loneliness I’ve made for myself.  I just need someone to reach out to me, but they don’t know to do that because I won’t fucking say anything… to anyone… about any fucking thing.

I’ve been looking at old photos of my life not so long ago that I wish I qould have never thrown away… was I as unhappy as I think I was?  I miss my boy.  I miss you.

This space builds character… it can make or break… can I pace enough to get through it?  Just a few hours of suffering/self-loathing/uncertainty/tears… it’s just a few fucking hours.  Right… it’s just a few fucking hours… right.  Don’t let anger take over… don;t let your hate beat you up… stop please.

I drank a beer and smoked some pot last night and this morning I found a syringe with about 2cc’s of blood left in it… my blood or someone else’s I didn’t fucking care… I shot that shit and got a tiny taste.  so that one day I had yesaterday is shit.

What to call this?

I’ve got one day today… one day that comes at the one week anniversary of the start of my final run.  Fucking final run motherfucker… please fucking do it this time… aren’t you sick of it all yet?. .No… I’m not and that sucks… I don’t want to feel like this…  Get the fuck over it fucker… How much money do you have?… How much dignity do you have?… Fine fuckface… how much shame and guilt and hate do you fuckug have!!!?  Fucking piece of shit.

It’s crazy, but eventually, drugs will make anything not matter anymore.  I really have no concern for the well-being of others or myself… especially myself.

 

Last Friday was almost my last

Last Friday, I attempted suicide… something I thought I’d never, ever, fucking do… never, ever… get to that point… but at that time… the moment that I swallowed all those fucking pills, it was my only solution.

The details of the events leading up to the attempt aren’t important… the main thing is that I was two days into detoxing, my wife wasn’t doing what I was expecting her to do (she was doing what she needed to do to protect her sobriety and I wasn’t thrilled with her tactics… I mentioned I’m a dick in a previous post you might recall…), I wanted to score, but had no money and didn’t want to ask for a front, and finally, my using partner is clean and being a productive member of society and not available to soothe me.

At that moment, as stupid as it sounds when I write this, I felt totally alone and unsure of what to do… fuck that… knowing what to to, I chose to let my brain create a panic attack and my emotions/feelings/fears went into overdrive.  I took about 50 25mg hydroxyzine pills and rode to the store and bought some beer to help with the forever sleep… the whole ride down to the store was full of “what did I do” and “it’s the only way to be free of all this pain”… it was very real this fear and sadness… I made sure not to cry on my way to the store so I wouldn’t have to explain why.

I got home and stood around and didn’t really feel anything, so still feeling these real emotions/feelings, I took another 50 or so. I didn’t count, but I had a prescription for 120 and the bottle was mostly empty after the second handful.  I grabbed a beer, went to my bed and laid down… not sure what to do at this point… write a note?  To who?  Saying what?  Do I stay dressed?  Do I clean up the syringes/spoon/etc… it’s like I missed Suicide 101 as it was all very real and of concern to me… how will people find me?  I then remembered the dog, fed him and made sure all the doors were unlocked, lights off and headed back to bed. I decided to lay down, fully dressed and watched YouTube and drank… it got cold… and I had to get up to get my blanket and my legs would hardly support my weight… it was taking effect. I laid back down and decided I should write a note…

I started writing a letter to my using partner… fuck me if that doesn’t say how sad I am… before my family, friends, etc., I write her… I start it, but then delete it because it sounded stupid… kind of like this shit…

I was tired so I got comfortable and closed my eyes… only then noticing how hard it was to breathe and how hard my heart was pumping… and I fell asleep.

Sometime later I woke up because I had to  pee… my legs could hardly hold me up and I had to steady myself as I walked down the hall… as I try to pee, I could feel my body labor as it tried to pump oxygen and blood and it’s then I I got scared… what if I don’t die and end up disabled… I definitely don’t want that… then I decided I want to live… but I didn’t want to call 911 and make a scene at the house… and then I thought if I go to the hospital, they’ll make me sign myself into the psych ward and that thought almost won… but I texted my friend and said I needed help and sat down… regretting that I involved someone else.

I made it to the hospital and was admitted immediately into the ICU and given something to counter the effects… after they found a vein… I’ve destroyed most of the veins in both arms and hands… The ER techs were getting a little pissed it seemed and I had helped cement the image of dumb ass addicts and the importance of vein care… the night was Hell… I was tired as fuck and the bright lights were fucking bright… I was being asked a million questions that were stupid, had been asked before and were making me think about what I had done to myself… I just wanted to sleep while they monitored me… trying to control things again.  Eventually I woke up in a room with tubes and monitors attached to me… I was grateful to be alive. I remembered my wife visiting me and loving me and telling me that she wanted me to be okay. Why does she still love me?

Psych ward was next and that will be another post… but know that I’m grateful for my friends and wife and that I cannot believe I thought suicide was a solution… it sadly, was… is.