Again I am faced with the same dilemma...I keep avoiding my meth maint. counselor because I WANT to kick the meth maint. after 21 months of no p-dope. I WANT to feel the burn, the rush, the pinprick of a slightly dull rig in my arm or hand or wrist or kneck. I want to kick the meth maint. after 21 months of "stability" to get high nice and proper one more time..One more time..One last time..just this time..one more time after this..that's it after today..I know, I know myself so well..I will use and use and use and get a habit and get a bigger habit and run..run..run..Lose all I gained for a bag of sweet, sweet salvation...I hate my thoughts, the feel of my emotions in a sober body..I hate my brain..my face..my teeth..my smile..my meth maint induced weight gain...It is all so disgusting and sloppy and so sober and normal.
I feel so out of place amongst the "normal 9-5'ers" I can't fit in. What do I talk about? Even my hobbies are solitary. I want to be alone, wrapped up in my cocoon, thinking and dreaming and plotting and creating all alone where no one or nothing can touch me or ruin me.
I want to take my lovely pictures and save the stray cats I've come to love and know, feed Sammy the Squirrel Maria Goya cookies and watch him chase cats, make pretty insightful collages out of old magazine clippings, read my old and new magazines, dream alone about a life filled with never ending riches and luxury, write my dreams down, my thoughts, my hopes, my anger, color in a coloring book filled with fairy's and scenes of "normal" families opening Christmas presents under a real tree that smells like pine and cranberry's, eat my chocolate pudding, write to my BFF who is in prison till she is 45 (she is 32 now and has been in prison since she was 18) she is a pretty, pretty girl who got into a fight and a girl died. It was a group effort/fight and she as the only white girl was looking for acceptance from a spanish gang of girls and guys because her mom was a junkie who turned tricks while she was in her room listening to the radio that the noise of the squeeky bed springs was louder than, play on my computer, dance like I am at a Grateful Dead concert, daydream about my past, day dream about meeting up with my friends that died before their time, miss my daddy and nana who died, be all alone and soak up the silence and be at peace. Alone. In other peoples company I am ill at ease. I am shook to the core. I am judged, I am quiet, I am judged, I am not me, I think before I speak, I act like a normal "9-5'er", I over compensate, I forget me..
I want to be me and be accepted at the same time. I love and think of others first and foremost. Any suffering brings me to tears and springs me into action. I abhor gossipy, cruel, petty people.
I desire ethereal beauty in me and everyone around me, I want to have a glow that radiates like a 4th of July sparkler from my head to my toes.
I once saw a french girl in NYC with blond curly hair and it glowed like a halo. She radiated golden light from her and everyone was enchanted by her. Strangers stopped and stared in awe. It was amazing and so beautiful yet simple at the same time.
I want to have the rare and beautiful innocence of a kitten who is playing with it's litter mates.
I have tried to have my life while on p-dope, on meth maint., in prison, in detox, in a rooming house room all alone, while smoking crack and philosophizing about life and addiction, living in a tent in the woods dope sick waiting till my connect got back from NYC, sitting in the basement with my dealers, getting high with my clubhouse friends, sitting in the bushes of the funeral home watching the cares drive by oblivcious to the fact I am in the bushes shooting up and smoking up, in Tompkins Sq. Park, in my bathtub in my kitchen, in abandoned houses all over the place, in the back of police cars, in my tricks cars, in my car, in my dads house, in my old apartments, while feeding the neighborhood stray cats and squirrels, in a closet, in a store, in a park, at a fair, at the zoo, at a concert, in a church, at a cemetary, on the phone, in a journal, in a collage...
I've tried my life clean and it failed, I tried my life high and it failed....
Should I keep avoiding my meth maint. counselor and remain on my 95 mgs? I go 2x a month to pick up my bottles. I avoid the clinic "riff raff" and clinic gossip and drama that way. I enjoyed the solitude of my 21 months CLEAN but now I crave and yearn for the gossip of the clinic again, the hustle and bustle of "9-5" addicts on the go, meeting the people, seeing what's out there again, copping with 5-0 around the corner, the rush of it all, the chill of it all..It is EXHILaRATING. It is ALIVE. It breathes and beats on it's own and I am missing it's life. I am dieing alone in my home and while I love my little hobbies that keep me from slitting my wrists with a dull butterknife I am BORED to salty over dramatic tears.
What my boyfriend (such a immature thing to call a 36 yo man who has been with me for over 2 years) does for me is forgets me. BUT he takes care of all my other needs so why should I sweat a forgotten holiday gift?
How important is my or anyone elses birthday? I have no family and no one is glad I am alive. Feel sorry for me dearies. LOL. That I know of. Oh yes, my pets are glad for my life. For my life sustains theirs. Celebrating a day of life when you have none seems patheticlly sad. A lame attempt at trying to be important to someone, anyone when you're clearly not important to them on any other day of the year. Telling people it's your birthday to get gifts and/or recognition is immature. If they truly gave a flying fuck they'd already know. I know their birthdays so why don't they know mine? Why don't they care enough to write mine down somewhere and remember it? You want answers? Ask my living, breathing mother why she forgets her only kids birthday YEAR after pathetic YEAR. I fall into a pity trap when thinking of my dear old mama. She left me as a wee one and I beg for her attention all the time and she ignores me. No other kids but does not have time for moi.
Zip, zang, zooey baby.
You know what sweet pea's? I think I shall give good old Harry my meth maint. counselor a call on the telly after all...
After all life is short. 2 short to keep forgetting ones birthday. Right? 2 short to stay sober when you're so miserable that way. Right?
Ramblings of a mad woman. Maybe my liver is toxic and it is in my brain making me go bonkers or maybe I am allowing myself to see and feel the truth of my reality.
Or maybe this is a big old fashioned pity party fully catered by me and with a guest list of "0". As usual "0" guests at my party and I will fucking cry, kick and scream if I want to!! Fuck you very much for your feigned concern but I shall go now and hang up Halloween decorations. I love Halloween it celebrates death. Death of what? That is up to the individual who has something they want dead. Death is not always physical so when people say they want to die I do not talways take them literal. They may want their smoking addiction to die, they may want their bad haircut to die...
I hear the roar of my honeys car and he wants us to go out for lunch. I like to mingle with the normal people every so often. After all I look like one of them on the outside...
Noise: The Wallflowers