Feeling lonely makes me want to use

Feeling alone at the moment and this…

Typing a message to a guy I know to see if he can score. I got to this point before I realized I should do something different.

Fuck this feeling of loneliness… using doesn't bring me friends or cure the feeling… I know it makes it worse ultimately… but it's my go to… my right away go to… my almost and did it go to.

Work thank God just picked up. I hope I can ride this out.

Needless suffering

This…

This was me for this past 7 months… needlessly enduring mental anguish and suffering daily because of my trying to fight my way through my bipolar issues…

I didn't want to give in… considering it giving up to the medication.

I was relying on my old ways… I was a hard motherfucker (granted in a soft shell)… mentally, most things didn't get to me… my obsession and my family got to me the most, but I endured gobs of pain of all sorts and it was a badge of honor…

Jail, institutions and near death were accomplishments to prove my ability to endure pain… piercings and tattoos the same… accidents on my bike required just a dusting off… the physical pain from cooking meth was part of the cost…

Today I'm happier than I've been in a long ass time… I surrendered to meds and they're working. But as I ride my bike around town… for fucking miles on miles in the sweltering Houston heat, I'm enduring it for the reward of doing it and of the reward for bragging about it which is in effect, about attention. Not totally as I do love doing deliveries on my bike, but I have the skills to do so much more… but that's something else as well. Another part to figure out.

I love the NA literature and it's really been a guide and opened my eyes lately. This is just one more bit of my recovery/discovery I'm excited about.

Love you.

The consequences…

Earlier today I posted about wanting to shoot up… that I was killing time and that being in Target brought those memories of shooting meth back up for me… but that I ultimately couldn’t afford doing so and I was grateful for being able to decide not to do it instead of acting compulsively on a feeling… that decision had consequences after all…

The time I was killing then was the moments my son was in school taking final exams and me picking up from school since he got out early.  The consequences of me not acting compulsively are that I have this opportunity to spend with him before he moves back to Montana on Tuesday… that we ate lunch together… that we played FIFA16 together (always him as PSG and I as Chelsea) with him winning… that we packed his big ass suitcase… that I fixed his computer for him so he can use his kick ass graphics card and not worry about framerate issues while playing CS Go with his friends…

Basically, I am available for the last days with my son.  I’m being a dad.  I’m his dad and here for him physically and emotionally… focused on his needs instead of my own.

There is no guilt and shame with these consequences.  This is everlasting and only gets better the more I do it.  Yeah, there is a bit of my mind still requesting that electric rush of a big fucking shot of meth… but that comes with some really shitty consequences and people get hurt… I have joy in my heart right now and I’m able to create that in others as well… to stop doing that… to take that away from my son would be incredibly selfish and mean and that is what I would hate most and what would create that continued cycle of self-hate and loathing… fuck that.

Right now, my boy loves me for a million reasons (mostly for fixing his computer, but I’m good with that) and the smile on my face, tears in my eyes and joy in my heart for these next few wonderful days together are the consequences of being clean today.  Love you Jackson.  You’re the best.

All the fps a boy needs. Love you Jackson.

I want to shoot up…

Which is to say, I want to ruin my life… 

which I don’t want really want to do… or I’m not prepared to do anyway…

I’ve got some time to myself right now… quiet non-distracted all by myself and my mind time.  So what do I do?

I’m just killing time so I go to Target.  I used to go to Target a lot… I used to shop there, I worked there and I fucking shot a lot of meth there… 

I had to use the restroom so I did and that’s when the thought of wanting to shoot up came about. I still remember the feeling of a good fucking shot and the power and the surge and sweat and the electric and the beating heart and the everything else I can describe to romanticize the act of shooting meth.

I’d kinda like to feel that again… but I know it comes with a cost so high that I can’t afford to actually do it. The feeling of the feeling I have right now for just wanting to do it… for indulging my memories… for the slight planning as I shopped Target for supplies to make my own… these don’t make me happy and I’d absolutely want to die to be rid of the even worse feelings after that shot… 

Fuck.  It would be bad.

My time to kill is almost up thankfully and I’ll have more life to keep me focused on the positive in a few minutes. I just wanted to share where I’m at so you know this shit still comes up but feeling is one thing… deciding is another… doing is the worst… the final thing. 

I’m feeling better just getting this out of my head. Grateful I have this release… 

Meth sucks ballz.

Alcoholic, former addict, arsonist: Never too late to ask for help

Priscilla Keim is an alcoholic, a former meth addict and an arsonist. She comes from California and a background of abuse, generations of it.

Read the story here.

An excellent article from 2013 about a friend of mine.  Her story is amazing and inspiring.

 

Just one more

The past few days have gone longer than normal as I lay in bed way past sleep and think about just one more.

As I write this, the same feeling is coming on…  what does this just one more thought feel like?

It feels like a distant thought shot a grappling hook into my mind and while it’s tiny, it’s got a hold as it’s sliding old feelings down the wire faster than I can counter… I can’t block them all… and they start to flood my mind with longing and the desire to try one more and they force my gaze to my forearm and make my hands rub my veins… there is a physical sensation of my heart beating faster with nervousness and that causes my body to energize and I toss and turn and then I can smell the meth… the cat piss smell if it’s good shit… the images are fed down the wire and I see huge rocks in my hand that definitely smell like cat piss… it becomes very fucking real… 

Eventually the feed slows down and I catch up and think my way out of this mindfuck… somehow I fall asleep even though I never remember doing so… I just wake up.

I know there is never one last one unless that last one kills me… I’ve had my last one, December 1, 2016. It wasn’t that last last one though… the one in my dreams … it’s hard to explain except maybe another addict knows what I’m talking about. 

The idea of this just one more thankfully, is just a passing idea/feeling/brain teaser… I don’t want to feel the everything I will after that shot… if I took that just one more, it wouldn’t ever end and my life would be complete shit.  I think I’m lacking some gratitude at my current level of life… and in the quiet moments between it happening and it not, my addiction tries to chime in with its opinion.

Thinking of friends right now… to those I’ve lost, I miss you… to those still in it, I hope you find the strength to get out… to those out of it, keep fighting. 

Love you.