The speed at which my mind can “go there” is a sign of just how weak it can be… this text exchange just happened:

The couple of minutes between my “?” and the response was consumed with I don’t really like H but I’ll do it and how much time before I have to show up for some place and how much money do I have… only then did my son and the probable guilt and shame and clean time thoughts followed… I was ready to do it before I wasn’t.

Slight disappointment followed the reply about it being a mistake… yep…

Today has been more meh than not and look at me… this isn’t to say I was going to actually do it, but it’s disturbing to me still… I’m imagining the insanity if indeed this wasn’t a drill… like if my friend actually was signalling to me… that insanity of the insanity… the okay, I’ve got to plan this shit out and the speed in which it would need to happen and the amount of variables I would need to figure out and inevitable frustration of how I’d be pressed for time and racing against my guilt… trying to beat it before it grew too much to convince me not to do it…

The power of one letter…

Forgiving myself

I have this app that I use for my guided meditations.  This one meditation on “Joy” guides me through thinking of joy for myself and then others… 

At the end, when the guide says, “now you may not be feeling joy right now… and that’s okay.” I always start crying… I’m fucking crying right now as I write this…

It is okay… it’s not that I’m not feeling joy… it’s that she says it’s okay to not be feeling it… I dont have to be fucking perfect or thinking a certain way or ready or willing or happy or sad or here for you or whatever… all the things I think I should be/do… I just can’t sometimes… all the expectations I place on myself and the pressure I feel from my own mind is hard to live up to… the shame and guilt and resentments I have about myself about what I’ve done make shit hard… hard to forgive myself for the simplest tiny little things that don’t mean near as much as I feel they do… probably anyway…

Sometimes I feel guilty for being so happy and sometimes feel guilty for being so fucking sad… I think because they take energy away from you… I don’t know.

 But right now… at this moment, I forgive myself for and not feeling certain ways about whatever… for beating myself up… for being ashamed over not doing it right (whatever it is)…

“and that’s okay.”  Love you.

Grateful I can forgive.

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.


I finally figured out my problem

I’m not really trying to quit.  I don’t want to stop using.

I’m sorry to all of you that came here to read about the struggle of recovery… it ain’t a struggle if you’re not doing any recovery.  I’m sorry for flip-flopping and agonizing over how to quit and what I want out of life… it’s pretty much fucking bullshit.  Yep.

I guess I’ll ride this run out until I can’t run anymore… something will stop me, just not sure what or when.  I’m not looking forward to that day really because it won’t be my decision and once again, life changing moments are decided for me.

I’ll probably still keep this running and whine about this or that, but really, all I want is to use what I want, when I want and no suffer any consequences… yeah, fuck getting into trouble… you can’t tell me what to fucking do….

I’m a fucking loser.  I totally suck at life and I’m wasting a lot of time… mine and those that care for me… it seems others care more about me than I care about me.  They have plans for me… like I can turn my life into something worth giving a damn about.  Ha.


Some sort of explanation, pt. 1

As I sit here, sitting in the shit of being in between use and non-use, I wonder how committed I am to being clean.

I have been using since I was 15 and I’m 46 now.  I had a stint in my 20’s where I got clean after time in jail and treatment, but I never worked the 12 steps.  Eventually I started drinking which eventually led to wanting my DOC and doctor shopping for Adderall and finally back to meth… it’s been on now about 7 years.  I’ve managed a few stints in Narcotics Anonymous and at one point getting 97 days and all of the gifts being clean gets you… well, except for one.

I use for a number of reasons… and I believe that using is a symptom of my disease… a disease that manifests itself in various ways, but mainly in obsessions and compulsive behaviors.

I’ve always been compulsive, never thinking about consequences until they were upon me and even then, I’ve been able to minimize the effects… either by being me (manipulation) or not having anything else to lose, therefore not giving a fuck.  But I was younger and didn’t have a wife, son, home, career, and the other grown-up things I’ve grown to appreciate.

So, whats my fucking deal… right?  Fear of being alone is a huge fucking part of my life that it causes me to act out in ways a normal person wouldn’t.  Like what… like shit I did as a kid that made you like me… even though it felt so awful inside.  Like compromising belief and morals as I got older just be be apart of your group… with a drink or drug available to make the shame and guilt disappear.  I need friends and love and it’s not any easier today then it was.  I have friends and some of them have been close, but I never feel as though it’s next-level… I have trouble putting myself in positions to be asked to dinner or float trips or the things that friends do together.  When I’m clean that is… I can get myself most anywhere if I’m drunk or high, but take away the mask and I’m fucking alone.

That fear of being alone has an antidote.  It’s an obsession and it has some serious side-effects… unhealthy side-effects that lead to consequences that I’m not able to fuck off like I used too.  And I’m not talking about substances…

I need to sit here, in my shit and think for a while…


I really do hate this part

During the quiet times at the end of a run is when I start reflecting on the damage I’ve caused… The actions that I gave no fucks about at the time.

In no particular order:

  1. Family
  2. Job
  3. Money to live on
  4. Friends
  5. …and more that will be revealed as I detox

Unless I get high, these will be so heavy with guilt and shame… It gets dark really fast.