Now playing: Lana Del Rey “Heroin.”
Let me preface this by saying that, much like staying sober, I’ve been absolute shit at maintaining and updating this blog. I’m trying though.
Last night I was walking to my house thinking, “does Baclofen count as a drug?” because I don’t have any painkillers and my drug seeking behavior knows no bounds. According to Google it would not show up on a drug test because it’s a muscle relaxer and not a narcotic — how unfortunate. Anyway in my desperation I ended up just doing nothing and being angry about it when it dawned on me: I’ve got a drug problem.
The purpose of this journal is to document my Road to Joy, to bear witness to the trials and tribulations of my attempts at moderation, but more than that it’s the only place where I can reflect and process what my talking groups are bringing up. Realizing that I have a drug problem contradicts my mentality of “I can stop doing drugs, I just need help not starting again.” It addresses what I’ve avoided — the drug seeking behavior, psychosomatic symptoms, preoccupation with obtaining and using drugs. Calling myself a drug addict in this context is well, the first step.
I started the talking groups of my chemical dependency program on April 19th and today, May 9th, I decided to get my head out of the fucking clouds and enroll in a full time day treatment program. It’s time for me to say, “hey [shelter], I’ve worked my ass of for you, it’s time you let me breathe. And also get me disability thanks.”
Because I might not be able to imagine a life without using cocaine, but I can see one where I’m not disappointing everyone around me (AND I can wake up early enough to take the bus to work without feeling tired the entire day.) This entire fucking process has been incredibly lonely. I’m isolated despite reaching out to others around me. Part of me feels like I’m projecting, like they’re not rejecting me, I just don’t feel worthy of their friendship. And maybe that’s true.
Maybe the progress I’ve made — small as it may be — is something that I want others to acknowledge but still isn’t good enough for me. The counselor of one of my talking groups said that I’m too self critical; my coworkers have all complimented me on looking healthier, AJ said so too. Fuck, even BK said that he was proud that I didn’t do all the cocaine and that I’ve cut down. Granted I’m not entirely sure if I did cocaine because like, I was drunk, but that’s still some sort of progress. I go back and forth on what I want. Deep down I can admit there’s really no way to maintain a moderate cocaine habit, at least not now, and drinking is something that I have no control over. Maybe all I want is to have someone tell me “I’m here for you and I see that you’re better and it’s all going to be okay.”
The rest is up to me. Like, the not doing drugs or drinking drugs part. That one tiny minor nearly impossible part. Abstinence is my goal right now, but will it be forever? Like BK and I discussed on the corner of Furthermore and Turkey (I think? Around there somewhere) while dancing badly to EDM, we’d still totally pop a molly at a show. Maybe that’s what moderation means for me right: no blow, no alcohol, and a molly now and then. Of course that could also be bullshit like we discussed in my talking group today, about how sometimes we replace one problematic habit with a slightly less problematic one. Like, okay no blow but how about MDMA? Shit, why am I thinking about the future and allowing myself to do hallucinogenic, synthetic drugs when I haven’t even been clean and sober for a week?
Fuck man, I just like drugs and my brain likes them and all I can think about is how this abstinence based day treatment is going to kick my ass because even though I haven’t been using that much, having drugs is a comfort. My safety blanket. I always have blow, always ready for a party (or to avoid a comedown.) It’s who I fucking AM.
I made the decision to remove one of the biggest parts of my life, and I’ll have 30 days to do it. What if I fail? Group today all congratulated me on putting myself and my health before everyone else but my mom was the complete opposite. Sure she’s got no idea I’m like secretly in rehab and fucking up my entire life but like, shouldn’t a parent support their child when they say “hey yo I’m going on disability cuz my mental health is shit?” Asking for a friend. What if it all falls apart?
Drugs are everything and everywhere because I made them into who I am. Reading my writing, IIC*LMBF*N specifically, hurts. All of the memories are real, things that I’ve experienced and lived and felt, and those nights won’t ever go away. Time won’t reset itself and now drugs have tangled themselves into the music that I love. They’ve infiltrated and poisoned my one escape. And it’s hard to forget that the realization that I’m in stupid fucking love (or was? I’m not sure) dawned on me as Angels played, as acid made everything around me so much more intense. And bright pink.
I wish I could rewrite my story, get back the time I wasted using. But there’s no use in wishing or willing away the sick (the gay. Just kidding. That’s a good part of me.) The only way it’ll get better is if I take this day treatment seriously, and focus on myself. Maybe I’ll take up knitting when I’m not in the like 8-hour program or attending the obligatory outside meetings.
I have to start letting myself be uncomfortable and acknowledging why otherwise all of the progress and the work that I do won’t matter because I’ll still be looking for an escape. I’m worth getting better. I’m capable of recovery.
It’s not about going back to how things were, it’s about taking steps to move forward. It’s about me.