Now playing: The Weeknd’s “The Hills.”
I’ve got a lot to say today, so buckle up kids.
Let me start off by saying that this morning, I woke up at 7:38 am, showered and got ready, and caught the 8:26 bus to my talking circle group. It must be months since I’ve been able to do this; that’s a victory in and of itself. To start my day without stress, frantic free — I’d forgotten it was possible. Perhaps it’s because my body feels better, looks better, and isn’t hungover every morning. Maybe.
So talking circle today was really heavy. It was very goals focused and since my meeting with my counselor yesterday, I’m not sure what my goal is. Honestly, before February 2018 I thought that I was somehow engaging in moderation. Like, if I don’t do a gram of coke in two days, then it’s not a problem. Yeah right.
Limits is what that was. I’ve tried to set limits for myself i.e. with alcohol. I’ve said hard “no’s” to continuing to use certain stimulants — I’m even reducing my caffeine intake! But that’s not a goal, or that’s what I’ve concluded. My sober brain finds it easy to say that I’ll only drink 2x a week and it’ll stop at 3 drinks. But when moderation is discussed, you have to acknowledge that after 3 drinks, you have a choice to make and you are not in a place to make that choice. In a perfect world, I’d pace myself, consume the drinks over a period of 3 hours with water in between. What reality tells me is I’d probably down them all in an hour, drink no water, not have eaten properly earlier during the day, keep drinking, and end up laying down in the bathroom of your favorite bar texting BK about how sad you are and how you can’t go home.
I talk a lot about alcohol and not about using other substances and I think that with the exception of cocaine, I moderate them very well. Opiates were being abused, majorly, for a while. Maybe a year and a half. I’d go so far as to mix them with alcohol because apparently, I don’t fear death. There was even the time that I was on like, Tramadol and had drunk one of those $15 bottles of Grey Goose (I think it’s 20 mL?) and even learned that you have to take them before Gabapentin so they work, because they won’t after Gabapentin (if I remember correctly.) But that night wasn’t good, I felt like I was going to die. I even texted BK that but I knew he couldn’t do anything — he doesn’t have my address despite having been to my house multiple times and there’s no way I could have asked a family member to take me to the hospital.
I continued to use them and only stopped in February; oh God, the fucking pain. I’m a total wimp but I don’t think that was it. My whole body ached, I was sick, just — don’t do it kids. Just don’t.
The point of that is that besides alcohol and opiates which I’ve now kicked (almost three months clean!) everything else was fine. Sure, I had to budget about $180 per pay period (biweekly) for blowcaine itself, not counting the alcohol, the occasional molly or shrooms. Or like, whatever the fuck else I wanted. Many of my friends I’ve discovered are drug dealers so like, they’re fine with hooking me up and letting me pay later, or I’d use my credit cards (they take Venmo now!) or like, I’ll admit it: I’ve done shit I don’t like for drugs. In retrospect, something tells me that’s not moderation.
I’m pretty good at moderating things like hallucinogens. Research (Reddit) tells me that it’s not good me to take MDMA more than quarterly due to my mood disorder; I need a higher dosage and it takes longer to take effect which is awful for me. I have a substance abuse problem, I want that instant gratification. Oftentimes that leads to me using more and that’s never good. The opposite of that happened at the last music festival! I took half to see how it’d affect me and I felt comfortable taking the second half on the first day. The second day I only took half. To me, that’s moderation. LSD is moderated in that it might be a yearly thing for me. I still have only done it once but I’d like to try it again. Shrooms I do use more regularly so I’d have to investigate what moderation would mean. Quarterly seems attainable.
Moderating cocaine is like moderating…. something that’s difficult to control, I don’t know, you make up the example. Like controlling the amount of times a baby cries. I cannot and will not even try to do it. Somehow, my self aware highly intelligent self still has the end goal of moderation. My bank account is going to hate me forever. I used to tell BK that I could never imagine my life without blow and I still can’t. It’s not even fun anymore, it’s mostly just there and something I’m comfortable with. Something to do when I’m bored*.
Coke is an expensive, habit forming, brain and nostril destroying habit. So moderation is up in the air but abstinence seems so far away. And maybe it’s because limits are my internal motivations trying to control this thing called addiction without anything external to maintain it. How am I supposed to motivate myself when I started this program without a reason? Nothing’s pushing me forward, not really. Today in a moment of anger at my current work situation I messaged BK “what’s the point?” I left it at that because the full thought was “what’s the point of sobriety if my life falls apart anyway?” Maybe investing in myself isn’t enough either.
Moderation is full of choices: do I order that next drink? Do I pop a molly at this concert? Is it a good idea for me to even go to this event? Abstinence makes the choice for you: Don’t fucking do it.
Something has to mean something, anything, to keep me going. Some people said it was their health, their families, hell even being court or work mandated. Me, I’m just floating. Treatment feels like it’s part of the dream right now even though it’s going well and I’ve met some great new people. Maybe right now my life’s at a point where my goal is to have a goal (PLEASE watch this clip of what I’m referring to.) To have motivation and meaning. Huh. Time to pick up The Stranger again.
Part 2 coming soon* I’ll be touching on boredom and substance misuse. Hell yeah.
P.S. title chosen because no, Abel, I am not the real me when I’m fucked up. Or I’m trying not to be.
The Sun Came Up 