Truth and lies

I managed to make it home, but truth be told I‘m not sure if I wanted to… There was more than one bus, more than one vehicle that looked suitable for jumping out in front of. I have realized more than I thought that I would while keeping track of my thoughts. One is that I am not a good person; two is that I am on a path of self-destruction that my middle-class suburbia family doesn’t understand. They will never understand that it doesn’t take a shitty childhood with abuse, of any kind, to create an addict. They will never realize that just because I have brains doesn’t always mean that I want to use them. I spent most of my life dying to fit in with any of the kids at school. I never did. I don’t want to be someone’s poster child or letter of example. These are my choices, drugs did not ruin me, they ensnared me, there is a difference. To often I see or hear people complain that drugs destroyed their lives, what a cop-out that is. We make the choices, drugs don’t. By blaming drugs, we are just often putting blame onto something other than ourselves. (This is a society thing right now, it’s everyone else’s fault, it’s the experiences in my life’s fault) When are we going to stand up and take responsibility for the things that we do and the people that we hurt with our choices? I know that I’ve made bad or wrong choices, but they were/are my choices. Now I am forced to make a choice I never wanted to, my family or my lifestyle… I understand that it’s hard to watch someone be an addict, but is giving him or her an ultimatum really the best option? Clean up or else? I hate to tell the ‘preacher’s’ of the world, but whoever gives me the ultimatum is the one who loses… at least in most life decisions. Giving up your family isn’t easy, though neither is giving up an addiction. Most sober people would say that there isn’t even a question as to what to give up, but it isn’t that easy for an addict. We never, and I do mean never get rid of our addiction, it is always there in the back of our minds even when it isn’t right in front of us. Just ask any smoker, you always crave that habit, that addiction when you get stressed, or when things in life go wrong. Granted acquiring powders is a little bit trickier than going to the store and picking up a pack of smokes, but it can still be done… The point of all this, I sit here with a mirror in front of me, a few rails lined up, wondering if tomorrow will be any different.

crashing

I stood looking dumbfounded at the door, which had just shut silently behind her… I was shaking, my heart was pounding and I simply couldn’t breath. I was dieing… Why did it have to be like that? Why did it have to be all or nothing? My eyes slid across the room, falling on the shattered mirror… Thank god I hadn’t cut up the lines I was going to before the knock at the door. I had lost so much, but at least I could still get high and my body screamed to get high. I went to the bathroom and took down one of my make-up bags. I pulled out my compact, got a screwdriver and hammer, broke the mirror out of its case (cases just cause build up, I prefer my mirror as just that, a mirror), walked back to my couch broke up everything I had left (figure about a half gram or so) lined it up in five neat rails, picked up the phone and called my dealer (if I was gonna do this, I was gonna need more), hung up the phone, leaned over and inhaled, again and again and again and again and again… Until it was all gone. (Yes, I licked the mirror and blade) I sat back and let her fingers slide into my soul. She ensnared my heart as it began to pound, the rush of blood through my veins echoing in my ears. The moments before forgotten, as she wrapped me in her arms, entangling my senses and ensnaring my soul. I’m not quite sure what happened next, whether the phone or the doorbell rang first. I wiped my tear-stained cheeks, straightened up, yelled hang on and sat back down. I attempted the second time, grabbing the phone and answering it as I stood up. At the door I found one of my favorite girls, all dressed up and no one to go out with… On the phone my dad… I don’t remember the words, but I know that it’s all my fault and that I’m stupid and irresponsible, I also know he loves me and can’t understand why I do the things I do. He cried, I died again… I hung up the phone, looked at my girl and said let’s go. She asked if we could step inside, I said most certainly. She whipped out her pipe and we smoked ourselves into an increasing stupor. I asked if we could stop by my dealer’s as we put on our coats, she said yeah…as long as I shared, we both laughed, like that wasn’t going to happen… We got to my dealer’s and we got high again, have I mentioned that at this point I had about a gram surging through me? We headed for the club, I’m glad I wasn’t driving, the tracers where intense off the lights of the world. She threw a cigarette pack at me and told me to light a joint…I didn’t need telling twice. I remember getting to the club, I remember my first couple of drinks and dancing and lights and music and faces, lots of faces… I remember leaving the club, I remember the party after, I remember the sun rising, the eight ball snug in my purse, the boys were being generous and who could pass up generous… I remember stumbling home, the world buzzing with life around me. Me greasy from days of not showering, hiding behind sunglasses tinted as dark as the moonless night sky… The sun hurt, hurt everything, I just wanted to get home…

remembering can be painful

I know it was about five o'clock when there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find my mother (of all people) standing in front me. I panicked, the mess behind me was proof of the life that I lead... The words spoken are irrelevant, but the pain was unbearable. She was worried when I didn’t come home and now she knew the reason why. I fucked up and she cried, it was her heart that broke…not mine. She begged me to see reason, begged me to see what the choices that I have been making were doing to me. She actually thanked God (her god not mine) that she didn’t have to see me everyday. Then she screamed and raged at me, her disappointment and pity etched on her face. The words that fell from her lips clawed their way under my skin slowly eating away at my already exhausted mind (I’d been up for…well for awhile anyway). She told me to pack my stuff as she whipped the mirror from the table and shattered it against the wall. (we were in the apartment, door closed) I raged back, told her to get out told her it was my life, told her I was sorry, but this was who I was… I made a mistake… And that was it, no more, no less. She looked into my soul, livid with my truths entangled in the lies… My eyes pleading with her to accept my words, my heart broke as she picked up her purse. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she stood up and walked to the door. She couldn’t control me, only love me and she couldn’t watch me do what I was doing… I can’t go home unless I’m clean…no excuses, no exceptions…

I think I died

I know it's been a few days, but the last one was rather disturbing... I think... I don't really remember anything. A close friend of mine has a key to my place and apparently found me unconcious lying in the middle of the bathroom floor. After checking my pulse, determining I was not dead, shaking me into conciousness, putting me in bed and watching over me for the last oh I don't know (she just left a bit ago) how long (and yes she woke me up in intervals), I sit here wrapped in a blanket shivering but concious, at least for the moment. I have a cup of steaming chicken broth beside my computer (I don't think I can handle anything else as it hurts to breath due to the amount of retching I apparently did) and a hot cup of tea. I sat on the bottom of the shower for awhile and just let the scalding water wash over me as it filled the bathtub. I was freezing the whole time. I remember today, in bits and pieces and yes, I've smoked a few joints but truth be told I don't think anything else can cure my nausea. My head feels like someone has stuck a railroad spike in it (Mind you, yes, they used a malet to pound it in good and tight) Everything aches and I just feel off... I wonder if I think hard enough I can figure out what happend, but that may have to wait...

not feeling better

Have you ever noticed how stupid one can be? I mean how stupid and idiotic do you have to be to forget Easter? To forget about your family? The truth is I was stupid enough to get high on Friday and forgot to come down... As a matter of fact I haven't decided whether or not coming down is such a good idea. I mean once a drug addict always a drug addict right? I might as well justo plunge back into the world I'm trying (yes, I am trying) to leave behind. The truth is I struggle everyday, every time the world gets rough, everytime I'm bored all I really want to do is get high. People say that drug addicts can't break away from drugs by themselves. I'm begining to see some truth behind what I thought was madness. I know that millions of people in this worldfunction without drugs. I just don't seem to be one of those people. Even when I'm not high on powders, I smoke weed or go out for a drink (or ten). I realize that I have an addictive personality - a personality that is prone to become addicted to things like drugs, alcohol, even people. I've spent the past weeks trying to log what I do to see if anything I do makes sense, if the way I think makes sense...

feeling an eighth of an inch high

My mom couldn't hide the dissapointment in her voice when I called... It broke my heart as she almost whispered in moments and in others forced cheerfulness to the surface. I have managed to single handedly put a damper on her holiday. (I don't do Christian holidays if I can help it, though I humor my parents and my siblings by making them at least a way to get together) I did the only thing I could do when I got off the phone, I did another line...

who said it could be easter?

I realize that I've been a bit out of it recently, but who said that it could be Easter? I forgot just doesn't seem like it's going to be a good enough excuse as to why I didn't go home this weekend and I know that "I was high" isn't going to work either. I may have officially just broken my mother's heart and I was almost to high to notice. Actually if it wasn't for one of the people I was with who has kids I wouldn't have known until it was to late. At least this way I can at least call...