Month: April 2018

I Wanna Take You for Granted.

Now playing: Matchbox Twenty’s “Push.” 

I know, I know — you missed me yesterday. But I had nothing to say. I needed some time away seeing as how my previous post was one of those dramatic ones that I wasn’t expecting to ever write. Funny how I forgot recovery would have good and bad days.

Today has been better.

Except I injured my foot twice in two days and the pain’s pretty bad, but given my history of narcotic and prescription pain pills abuse, I don’t want anything and I wouldn’t be given anything anyway. So there’s that. Just something else to deal with. Work — where this injury happened — has also been weird. I was reprimanded for something that I shouldn’t have been reprimanded for, and it’s affected my entire mentality. Essentially I was accused of not wanting to do my job, of insubordination.

When that happened, all I could think of was “I want a drink.” I even asked my coworker if she wanted to go out but she had to get home. I never realized just how many Thursdays after work I’d go to the bar with BK and drink away my workday stress. Because work sucks the life out of me and I only have so much energy.

That sort of, kind of, except not really brings me to the point that I wanted to touch upon earlier in the week but didn’t because I suck — alcohol! And how pretty much everyone drinks and it’s everywhere.

My bitch ass is trying to “get sober.” Whatever that means. For right now, it means drinking a maximum of 3 drinks, two days a week. That is nothing compared to what it was before but it is also (I think) manageable and attainable. Challenges with that goal are that if I’m drinking vodka Redbulls, 3 drinks go by very quickly and before I know it I’ve drank so many that I’ve started drinking Jameson and I end up on the floor. Five times a week. Funny how alcoholism works.

But like, I always think about how my friends go out for drinks multiple times a week and don’t seem to have a drinking problem and can control themselves. They have stressful jobs too. So what’s different between us? Sure they don’t like, do drugs, but they have and drugs don’t necessarily mean you have a problem. My intake counselor said it might just be genetics or bad luck. Or the fact that the first time I had a drink it was to quell a deep loneliness and I was 10.

But who knows, really?

The worst thing about this stupid sobriety thing isn’t the fact that I want to use, it’s those stupid Facebook memes. The ones from those pages your aunt likes that say stuff about how you’re spending your weekend drinking a bottle of wine, or how you used to lie to your parents about spending the weekend with your bff and it was really keeled over drunk. God, have some respect. It’s fucking normalized problematic behavior.

Everyone I match with on Tinder is like “let’s go get drinks!” You are a damn stranger, how about we go to Starbucks? Every profile has a photo of them with a beer. First of all, beer is disgusting unless it is laced with acid and I’m already drunk. Alcohol is everywhere and it’s just never going to go away.

And I need to learn to say no to it. But I can’t. BK and I went to the bar where I got (slightly) drunk before a concert (then I got trashed at the concert. Lovely.) He repeatedly asked if I wanted a drink. I kept shrugging because I honestly didn’t know if I did. Looking back, I probably didn’t want anything, because I didn’t want to be out at all. Sometimes I experience that pesky discomfort I mentioned before and I don’t allow myself to be present, so naturally when he brought me a cider with a shot of fireball, I drank it. Or most of it. I hadn’t eaten (because eating is hard when I’m actively using) and if I had kept going, it’d be bad. The glass sat there on the table, mocking me, calling out to me, as if I was doing something terrible by not drinking it. And BK completely understood and said if he wasn’t sober, he’d have finished it. Because we’re alcoholics.

So then shame took over because I wanted to finish it, not because I was enjoying it, but because it’s alcohol and I’m obligated to. Same goes for the day we hit up That Alley and he bought me a bottle and proceeded to tell me I’m only fun when I drink but amended it to say that it seems I’m only having fun when I drink. (But I am fun when I drink, or roll, or trip, just FYI). I didn’t want the bottle, I didn’t want to drink, but I took it and did anyway. He told me, with such fucking ease, “then you don’t have to take the alcohol.”

Wouldn’t that be fucking nice?

But I haven’t drank in a while. I don’t keep track, though. That way I won’t be disappointed. I haven’t drank and I haven’t used. I still want to. Cravings are still pretty bad though I suspect that’s more psychological than physical at this point. I work in an area that’s drug heavy and though I’ve never purchased drugs there — and would never — it’s tempting every time I walk there.

Alcohol is everywhere and it’s going to be everywhere. It’s far too important in this universe to ever go away. People drink and don’t become alcoholics and then some do and develop problems and they get help and they come through on the other side. I want to get to that side. I want to be able to sit at a bar with some friends and have one ridiculously sugary drink and be done after that. I want to experience things, like my friends birthday at a bar with a lot of coin operated machine games and feel welcome instead of out of place and unwanted; to be able to join in conversations without thoughts of wanting to down a bottle, pop a molly, or snort a gram. Let’s face it, snorting a gram would have me depressed after 45 minutes anyway and who wants that when you’re supposed to be having fun?

BTW ever since I stopped using, I’ve been eating like a fucking pig and I’m pretty sure I’ve gained at least 5 lbs. I’d complain but these enchiladas are delicious. Oh well, back to Leah Remini’s Scientology show. Ta ta!

Daisies are Yellow, the Flowers are Dead.

Now feeling: Lil Wayne’s “I Feel Like Dying.”

I missed my talking group today and I feel like shit (dying.) All I did instead was sleep and that didn’t do anything for me. The day was shitty either way. Work left me entirely dissatisfied and angry and all I want to do right now is drink.

I’m eating raspberries instead because I can’t stop eating. I haven’t been able to. Fucking cocaine. I miss it. I miss everything. Right now even the bad days seem worth it. I don’t even smoke weed and I was gonna ask my coworker who gave me a ride to let me smoke with her.

Fuck I just want to do something.

Because I’m miserable anyway, sober or intoxicated, with or without friends, with or without a job. I don’t see why I should keep trying, It doesn’t make sense right now.

Nobody’s even on my fucking side.

Whatever. I’ll rewrite this tomorrow.

It’s Only in Your Head.

Now playing: Jimmy Eat World The Middle. 

Have you ever felt like a plastic bag? Or rather like your friends are actively ignoring you? Dialectical behavioral therapy’s been trying to get me to combat those feelings and to acknowledge that it probably is all in my head. But some times maybe they are. In the adult world, ignoring someone doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. Other people are draining and require expendable energy that one might not have in that moment. But in this specific blog post, I’m feeling really nervous about a particularly important friendship because I can’t quite help feeling that it’s over. Sure, I’ve felt it was over about a million times before but in this moment in time, it’d make a lot more sense. It’d probably benefit them, since they’re growing and bettering themselves and like, I’m not there (yet).

So it sucks and my feelings are kind of hurt because my messages have kind of gone unanswered. Maybe I’m completely wrong and they just need space. Maybe this person’s just like “see you, bitch.” Either way, I’m not really going to ask. I’m going to let this build up, ruminate, and if they ghost me then that’ll answer my question. If they start talking to me again and not mention the distance, neither will I. Because I’m scared nobody wants to talk to me.

The tone of this post is entirely different than others, I can tell it is. Loneliness is a big part of why I use. The first time I picked up an alcoholic beverage was due to my father berating me and my wanting to quell the sadness and separation from the rest of my family that was arising within me. The first time I popped a pill was when I was in a high school with teens who saw me as nothing but a brown kid who hopped the border. And when I relapsed in Fall 2016, it was because I was close to finishing my undergraduate career, which meant I’d be leaving behind the only place where I’d ever felt like I belonged.

So right now, I’m here trying not to overreact to losing a friend, because I’ve gotten by before and I’ll still have AJ and TJ and they’re mostly there for me. Even though the distance between SL and EA and others whom I love has widened to the point where I know nothing about their lives and they know nothing about mine beyond drugs (do I even have a life?) It hurts and I feel like it’s something that I’ve caused for myself.

Part of me wants to call up my other friends, hit up a bar and drink while talking shit. I mean, I’m absolutely fabulous, who wouldn’t want to be my friend? Four vodka redbulls in, though, I’d be even more depressed and nobody wants that. Loneliness is intertwined with my using, and I don’t know what to do. Loneliness leads to drinking/using, using/drinking leads to loneliness, and the world of alcohol and other drugs that I once found as fun and social has turned into me locking myself in my room but unable to look in the mirror because I can’t recognize myself.

My friends who support my Road to Joy told me that I might need to change my friends to get better and I fervently proclaimed that no, I didn’t. How could I, when everyone drinks anyway? But I didn’t consider that maybe my friends in recovery would change their friends and that would include me. One called me a drinking trigger, and that hurt, more than anything because it was true. The name could go both ways, but it didn’t because I wouldn’t have said that to anyone’s face.

Who am I left with if I change my friends? What am I left with? Starting over doesn’t even seem possible at this point. Yesterday’s validation seems so far away, almost like it didn’t even happen, and I’m brought back to reality. Reality meaning that this is something that is one day at a time and one day’s success won’t be enough for every day.

I should have expected things to change. There was a tweet that fucked me up once, about recovering, that said something like recovering wasn’t going back to how things were but rather moving forward to something new. And maybe that’s what I need to see. I don’t need to go back to before. Because then I’d have to go back to being what, 12? I’m 27. I can fucking deal with shit now. I just gotta deal with it without drugs.

And if my friend, even my best one, has to cut me out their life to move forward, I have to be okay with that. The loneliness won’t go away overnight but adding shame from a night’s bender won’t make anything better. I use motivational interviewing with my clients at work all the time to find the motivation behind their actions all the time.

Why can’t I do that for me?

If I’m honest, this friend is why I started going to the meetings. This friend said we’d be recovery buddies. This friend said they’d be there for me. They probably meant it then. But now is a different moment and I’m a (slightly) different person. Now I do it for me.

Now I get my ass up and make it to that damn 9:45 am talking group and sit my ass down and talk about how damn much I want a line but it’s officially day 14 without it. And no friendship loss or loneliness can outweigh that.

You’ve Got a Reason to Live.

Now playing: New Radicals You Get What You Give. 

So, I’m writing part of this during the day so that I don’t forget what I discussed during talking circle. And in case you haven’t noticed, my titles are song lyrics that I find somewhat relevant to my Road to Joy.

It was a fucking amazing group today. Harm reduction may not be enough to get me to kick the habit, but it’s enough to get me to go and participate. We touched on the topic of radical acceptance (get it? New Radicals?) and that’s something I’m really working on. I shared an example of how I’ve applied it to the relationship between my father and I, using humor of course, and the end I did my usual self deprecating “but it’s probably not very relevant,” and the entire group commented that it was. It was validating. Of course you shouldn’t get all of your validation from other people, but when you’re not even sure why you’re attending meetings and working towards sobriety, it’s something that helps.

So it made me feel good. Positive. And I’m carrying that over to work right now. Granted it’s only been 19 minutes as of writing these two paragraphs, but it’s fresh in my mind. That’s something I’ve always wanted — to be heard. Without having to go to borderline lengths that totter on emotionally manipulating others for the reaction that I want. I’m sure that there were others who disagreed, who felt that my story was shit, but who cares? My reality is valid, and real, and it’s fucking awesome.

And I was excited. I forgot what excitement without blow felt like. Maybe my brain is resetting itself.

Alright, let me write down the next things I’m going to talk about before I forget:

  • Music and it’s positive/negative impacts
  • Alcohol and its widespread, worldwide acceptance
  • Goals

It’s 3:08 pm now and I’ve decided that I’m going to take a break to continue writing. Tuesday’s been alright, still fairly positive, still motivated. Adderall free which means concentration free but I can only do so much. Is it really my fault that my brain is dopamine deprived?

I want to go to another music festival or concert and I want to go now. That’s me searching for instant gratification. I went so long without them during Lent and it was a surprisingly difficult task. There are probably plenty of upcoming shows but money is a huge factor right now. I’m broke as shit. Still had money for drugs, but not for bills. Funny how that works, right? I’ll figure it out but still. Oh wow I’m suddenly fucking tired. Maybe I’ll take a brief nap.

Suddenly writing about the above topics seems really difficult.

I want to make this blog something meaningful, like those poetic things that people share on Facebook to enlighten others and shit. But that’s not really how life works. A post a day keeps me sane and that’s enough.

It’s 4:19 pm now and I’ve made the decision to post this. It’s my blog, I’ll do what I want. But I don’t have group tomorrow, or Friday, or the weekend, so maybe that’s when I’ll touch on the topics that I listed above.

For now I’ll end this with the notion that radical acceptance leaves me with the opportunity to take back my power. To step away from the mentality that things are happening to me. That I have the right and the chance to make active decisions in my life even if I do nothing. It’s the opposite of giving up. It’s making a move. Taking a step.

Here’s a step: Hi, my name is [insert name here] and I’m a fucking junkie who’s powerless right now. That’s the first time I’ve said (written) that outside of a crisis state.

Take that, denial.

Kept the Flowers.

“All discomfort comes from suppressing your true identity.” — Bryant H. McGill

Currently playing: Kelly Clarkson’s Sober. 

Somehow I managed to come across the most distressing topic that I didn’t want to hear about, right in the middle of my second dependency recovery group.

As a fake ass bitch, when I say “I can quit drugs with no problem, what I want is to learn how not to start up again,” what I mean is, “get these urges away from me using magic and no introspection whatsoever.” Because at the end of the day, under all the drug induced euphoria — or paranoia if I did enough — there is a reason that I’m doing it.

Group Leader showed us a scary “your brain on drugs” video that only made me nod my head in agreement when the person undergoing opiate withdrawal was having a shit time and when it said something about the physical dependence not correlating with the severity of the addiction. Something. Whatever. The discussion was lighthearted and I sat there almost happily, laughing about how there’s no “drug of choice” when you’ve already started taking something since that’s when you’re most likely to just take anything when I heard it. That Word.

Uncomfortable.

More specifically how that moment of taking whatever you come across stems from being uncomfortable in that moment and not being able to cope with that discomfort, and using substances as the coping mechanism. Which — that’s not wrong. As someone who’s conducted actual research on substance abuse and its successful treatments (ooh fancy!), I objectively know that there is evidence that can back that shit up. But under that blanket of intellectualization lies the realization that I am extremely uncomfortable in most if not all daily situations.

That simple statement brought up at least three (3) Moments that I feel like discussing. Or do for now; we’ll see how that goes.

One, 04/21/2018. 
This is more of a passing statement than anything. I arrived at the AH to meet friends, I see PJ. He immediately offers me a bowl. “No thanks, I don’t smoke.” Fast forward, four vodka redbulls. “How do you smoke a bowl? I’ve never done that before.” Fast forward leaving… the thrift store? Restaurant? “I thought you’d be smoking. There’s been times when you’re already drunk/high when you smoke with me.” Just a quirky little anecdote about my constant discomfort!

Two, 04/14/2018.
So, EDM is a thing that I like and none of my other friends do (because they hate me.) This year at an event, I wanted to see some DJs that I’m a fan of. Fortunately for me, my best friend (AJ) allowed me to bring a friend who does like EDM and they went with me. On 04/13/2018, I rolled my ass off, had the time off my life dancing and feeling overall incredible. The following day? Not so much. It wasn’t even the comedown, though that didn’t help. Crowds roaring, bodies bumping into each other, bass bumping and the only thought running through my head was “Oh god, I need molly right now.” I could not let myself enjoy the scene, the music, because I was not in the moment. A roadblock built itself in my brain and nothing could demolish it. All I was aware of was the tension, the presence of others around me, the thought of “oh god what if they make fun of me what if I look ridiculous.” These stupid what ifs.

Three, 02/09/2018.
You can thank Walk the Moon for me remembering this date — the Night of the Nefarious Nod. It’s something that I talk about, in jest and seriously, because while it fulfilled something on my bucket list (arguably, it shouldn’t have been on there), my life went downhill immediately after it. I want to say it had been a “bad week” and it culminated in this disastrous event because of it. Really, I was just tired. Tired and stressed, and poorly handling a drug problem that was growing out of control more every day, and my best friend (BK) was there to lend me a shoulder to cry on — and drinks. Eight (8) drinks, that I can remember, from about 9:20 pm until 10:45 pm. That’s what I remember, because then it gets fuzzy. Then I’m leaning against the wall outside the bar while said best friend is buying H, yelling at me about how I’ve always wanted to try it and when else am I going to get to try it?
They weren’t wrong, because if that opportunity hadn’t presented itself, I probably wouldn’t have done it (that night at least.) But I was uncomfortable. Even now I remember feeling out of place, messy and drunk and like nothing I was doing even mattered so fuck it. I’m already fucked. But then I felt more uncomfortable, judged for not smoking properly, anger as a defense mechanism driving me to do more to silence the voices.  But the discomfort didn’t go away, just hid itself until 1:45 am, when I regained real consciousness. Then it turned into shame, dawned on me that I’d dissociated (nodded?), smoked H in the middle of the street, was with strangers — I panicked and it all got worse when I stumbled standing up, obviously still fucking high. It wasn’t even worth it.

It never is.

Jeez. I told you this was a secret recovery blog. There were bound to be messy stories. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Man, tell your kids this story. “Don’t drink Johnny, you’ll end up on the corner of Turkey Leg and Tambourine Street smoking Heroin!”

Anyway, I’m glad those pesky mental health professionals know what they’re talking about because I have no fucking clue. BK says that he thinks I want to stop but he doesn’t know if I want to stop more than I want to continue to use. He’s not wrong but he’s not right. That notion makes me uncomfortable. People asking what I want gives me goosebumps; that’s some pressure, it’s a choice I’m not in a rush to make.

My idea of a perfect, happy medium, would be if I were productive in the same way I was during Summer/Fall 2016 but having as much social interactions as I am now. Discomfort is winning. It’s keeping me tied down, it’s the reason why I’m told “you’re only fun when you drink,” or that it seems that way, or things of that nature. It’s fostering this vicious cycle: drink, hate, drink, hate.

I want to be fun. I want to feel fun.

But I’ve always been the hot mess and it hurt when AJ told me she doesn’t get drunk with me because usually I’m the one who’s trashed. It’s probably unhealthy to want your friends to be free to get fucked up with you, but it’s more of the fact that I don’t want to be the one constantly needing a baby sitter.

So maybe that means facing some of this awkward-discomfort shit. Maybe facing the discomfort means acknowledging the emotions behind it. Yesterday I wrote that I was terrified of going in to work today because I thought WL would be upset with me. Terror stemmed from a place of inadequacy and guilt — I knew I hadn’t been performing well and I felt that I was under-qualified for my position. So I went to work. I said hi. I awkwardly, but bravely, joked with my coworkers and supervisor. I expressed irritation at the slightly unfair parts of the job I had to do. I listened when WL spoke to me, respectfully, and I agreed that I would do better. And then I did it. What had taken me so long to complete was over and done with in an hour, taking with it the discomfort, the anxiety.

Today I marked “day one” clean/sober (for alcohol. Cocaine’s been 11 days. I smoked weed 2 days ago.) Today I kicked discomfort’s ass.

 

Introduction, or something.

I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here. Or probably not, because you have no idea who I am. Let’s keep it that way.

I’ll tell you, though.

This is my 2018 Road to Joy because I don’t want to be cliche and write Road to Recovery. There’s some things that I’m struggling to talk about, mainly because I feel like it’d be too much for those in my life, and partly because I don’t know how to talk about them. Switch the mainly and partly around and it’ll be more accurate.

I’ll try to be a more reliable narrator. Promise.

This idea came to me when I was rereading my unfinished Big Bang fanfiction and triggered myself. Yes — fanfiction. Who knew it had that power? I did, because I model my writing after life experiences. It’s supposed to be “cathartic.”

Yeah, not so much when you end up reading about ending up drunk off your ass, smoking weed, and trying molly on a Wednesday. Sounds fun, right? (Side note — the molly had no effect. But that’s another story.)

I don’t want to keep everything inside anymore because, as my drunk-at-four pm-on a Saturday self was telling MB, I’m working on acceptance. Keeping it all in seems counterproductive. So here I am, on a website I don’t really understand, trying to use comedy as a way to cover up the fact that I’m fucking terrified of where my life is at right now.

I’m scared to go to work tomorrow because I think I’m in trouble. I’m scared because my supervisor (we’ll refer to her as WL) knows just how fucked up I currently am, but there’s still things that I have to do, in a certain way, and I just haven’t. I’m absolutely horrified at my behavior and some of the things I’ve done to myself over the last year and a half.

Hello shame, my old friend.

Let’s get back on track. I didn’t take adderall today so sweet baby Jesus knows just how hard it is for me to concentrate — curse that combined type ADHD.

Moving on.

I had my first “harm reduction group” last Thursday. It’s technically a chemical dependency recovery program. Rehab, but not abstinence based. I wasn’t any days clean or sober. I don’t even know if I want to be clean or sober entirely. Someone brought up failure. I talked about my last experience setting myself up to fail. Others commented but those motherfuckers did not use “I” statements and like — I am not there yet. I’m not to the point that I can move on and not beat myself up, instead move forward and do better. I’m struggling not to use right now. But I haven’t used the harder substances for a while.

It’s hard to be proud of that when you’ve got it in your possession. But I try.

The facilitator brought up the fact that it’s hard to move forward and get to any level of clarity when you’re actively using. It’s not going to be enough, this harm reduction group. I can recognize that right away. But I’m not ready for anything else. That would be a bigger failure.

There’s a website, I forget which one but it’s fairly unimportant (ha! hacker’s stay away!) where one of my security questions is “what is your biggest fear?” It’s not spiders, or fire ants, or my mom finding my stash of cocaine — it’s failure. And that’s all I’ve felt since December 2016.

And one final thought, because it’s light hearted and I’m not sure that I can handle publishing this while feeling real emotions.

BK was sitting beside me at the bar, and PJ was encouraging me to finish the sangria (what would have been what, my fifth drink? I don’t remember) and I was saying no, because I wasn’t feeling well by then and other reasons. But BK said, “c’mon you’ve got two more drinks in you before you get annoying. I know you.”

I love my friends even when they say bullshit (entirely correct) things about me.