tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44532156182360499522024-03-14T04:11:59.375-05:00Steven's RantsLife, liberty and the pursuit of sobriety.Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-59274977425110792892015-05-15T11:32:00.000-05:002015-05-15T11:32:06.880-05:00Patience.....NOT<br />
I've been feeling down for a while now, and I know some of it is stemming from my injury. My life was starting to be slightly content after so much upheaval last year, and then bam! Invalid.<br />
<br />
(for anyone that doesn't know, I broke my left shoulder in March.)<br />
<br />
I had started to rely on exercise to help keep me sane (and sober), and for the last two months I'd been unable to even take walks, because any sustained repetitive movement jostled my left arm too much and left me in pain. Plus, feeling completely helpless in many daily routine tasks does nothing for the ego.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, yesterday my physical therapist cleared me to start walking again. So, there's that. But I still have many weeks, if not months, left of physical therapy before I'll have full use of my left arm again. <br />
<br />
I find lately that old destructive thought patterns have begun seeping back into my brain and it scares me. Back in March when I first injured my shoulder, the doctor wanted to prescribe me pain meds. Of course my addict brain squealed in delight but I turned it down (how's that for growth?) knowing it would only end up with me spiraling out of control again. I've relied on nothing but Advil and ice/heat to get me through this. <br />
<br />
Going forward with physical therapy, it's going to get a lot more painful because the soft tissue around the bone and joint have become frozen and we're going to have to manipulate my arm quite forcefully to loosen things up. So my brain has been trying to convince me that I NEED painkillers now. Real painkillers. Narcotic painkillers. The kind of painkillers that I used to buy illegally and snort or inject. <br />
<br />
This, of course, must not happen. I know I'm not strong enough in my recovery yet to be able to take pills as prescribed. Doesn't stop my brain from working in overdrive, though. And the depression is intensifying those thoughts, looking for relief. <br />
<br />
I don't think I'm in any real danger of relapse.....which means that I'm probably in trouble because it's always the times when I'm most complacent that I slip up. So I'm reaching out to my sponsor and my support system to keep me in check (this includes you, dear readers). I have no intention of diving back into that pit of hell, as appealing as it might be some days. <br />
<br />
So that's what I'm dealing with at the moment. Taking it day by day and doing everything I can to get this damn arm healed, which unfortunately involves a lot of waiting and patience! (not things I'm good at, lol) I want to get back into writing even if it's just word vomit. I miss blogging.<br />
<br />
Catch you on the flip side, as my lovely friend Tai says.<br />
<br />
<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-9827699492025081292015-02-10T00:20:00.000-06:002015-02-10T00:20:54.575-06:00Blogophilia 51.7 Lessons From The First YearAs of today, I have been clean and sober for one year. <div>
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<a href="http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j193/Fripfrap/Congrats%20Specific/f432fe3b-7a52-4b90-b6c8-127c63d7647d_zps9deeceb6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j193/Fripfrap/Congrats%20Specific/f432fe3b-7a52-4b90-b6c8-127c63d7647d_zps9deeceb6.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's been a helluva year. If you're a friend or have been reading me for awhile, you can understand the significance of this victory. </div>
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What does the first year of sobriety look like from the inside? <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. <b> Expect to cry.</b> A lot. If you're a man and think crying is for wimps and women, take note: crying is a human thing, not a gender or a strength thing. Man up, and just let those <b><i>sweet emotions</i></b> fly.</div>
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2. <b>The world, and your life, does not get better or easier if you're sober. </b> What changes is your ability to navigate the shit and make it through to the other side without completely derailing. A lot of addicts think that if they get sober, life will automatically be rainbows and unicorns.....and when rainbows and unicorns fail to materialize, they give up and pick back up. What they don't realize is that the rainbows and unicorns take the shape of staying employed. Not having to take constant piss tests. Waking up not hungover or shaking in need of a fix. Not having to wonder how you're going to rob Peter to pay Paul in order to buy drugs that day. Seeing that you actually have $20 or $30 leftover from your paycheck after all your bills are paid, and you can use that extra to put away, or pay for something nice for yourself, instead of heading straight to your dealer. </div>
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3. <b>This isn't just some <i>quadragesimal</i> vacation, this is for life</b>. Yeah, we say "one day at a time" and "just for today" because the thought of never taking another hit of your drug of choice for the rest of your life is way too much of a mind fuck to contemplate when newly sober.......but deep down, we know it has to be for life. There is no such thing as a "<b><i>time out</i></b>" for your addiction. I tried to play that game for 20 years. I went back and forth, back and forth, endlessly trying to pretend that I could control it, jumping from sobriety to using, sobriety to using. Where did it get me? Twenty years older, in ill health, bad finances, and suicidal. After hundreds of attempts at staying sober, I finally committed to the change that needed to come from inside.</div>
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4. <b>Your friends aren't really your friends.</b> Addicts don't like to be alone, they congregate towards each other like a moth to the flame. They become your new family. You laugh together, cry together, and weather the storm together......but try and leave the fold, and they'll turn on you like a pack of rabid dogs. They don't want you to get well, they want you to stay there in the pit, with them, because they aren't ready to make that change themselves and they're too selfish to want to see you succeed without them. Especially if you're romantically involved with an addict that doesn't want to get clean with you. Expect much drama, tears, sleepless nights, broken car windows, and being on the edge of giving in and going back. Sobriety can be a very lonely road, until you make new friends.</div>
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5. <b>You aren't immortal</b>. When you get sober, you'll have to face the sad fact that you have abused your physical body to the Nth degree, and maybe possibly, to the point of no return. If you're lucky, you will have done nothing more than simple time, abstinence, and a healthy lifestyle can't fix. If you're not so lucky, then you need to live with the consequences...and still make the commitment to staying sober. This can sometimes be the "deal or no deal" moment for a lot of addicts.....I'm going to die anyway, so why not use? Thankfully I'm not at that point, but it was very, very close.</div>
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I don't have any Eureka! moments of staying sober this first year. Mostly, if I'm honest, it's been a tedious, emotional, tiring slog. I've been to five funerals of friends this year, and lost my cat Max in September. I'm tired of death and despair. But I am at a point that I am grateful to not have to slog through the kind of life I lived as an active addict. Because I wasn't throwing all my money up my nose or up my veins, I was able to save up and buy a new computer. I moved out of the slummy trailer park I had lived in for years and am sharing a house with a (sober) roommate. I'm gainfully employed. And I'm slowly beginning to see glimmers of real hope and happiness. </div>
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I have a lot of shit to wade through and sort out from my life, but it is becoming a tiny bit easier for me to see the forest for the trees. Even after one year, it is still one day at a time, sometimes still one hour at a time. But I'm still here, alive and kicking, and walking forward.</div>
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<div>
Submitted for: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/868025573218661/" target="_blank">Blogophilia </a>51.7 topic: Time Out</div>
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bonus (hard, 2 pts): use the word quadragesimal</div>
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bonus (easy, 1 pt): incorporate a line from an Aerosmith song (Sweet Emotion)</div>
Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-53806612084925167532015-01-12T21:52:00.001-06:002015-01-12T21:52:19.598-06:00Blogophilia 47.7 Across The Universe<b>Blogophilia 47.7</b> <i>Across The Universe</i><br />
<b>Bonus:</b> <br />
<i>(hard, 2 pts) Incorporate a Taylor Swift lyric (Shake It Off)</i><br />
<i>(easy, 1 pt) Use the word "saunter" in your blog</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
"Tap, tap, tap......this thing on? (echos) Hello? Yo! Oh there we are."<br />
<br />
*clears throat*<br />
<br />
"Hello, my name is Steven, and I am a former Blogophiliac."<br />
<br />
(Hi Steven!)<br />
<br />
"Uh, hi. It's been.....eight months since my last submission to Blogophilia. *hangs head in shame* But I want to change, I really do. I just sorta got lost along the way. Life hasn't been easy the last few months. Instead of writing, I've been......watching tons of TV." <br />
<br />
(collective gasp)<br />
<br />
"I know, I know, but I just got sucked in and well, addicted to several shows that I just can't quit. Instead of facing my own creativity, I took the easy way out. I....even stopped reading my friends' blogs."<br />
<br />
(horrific cries)<br />
<br />
*chokes up* "I have no excuse! I'm sorry!" *runs back to seat*<br />
<br />
*Marvin Martian <b><i>saunters</i></b> up to the front*<br />
<br />
"Now listen here Clarkster, I didn't come from halfway <b><i>across the universe</i></b> to hear some half baked excuse as to why you haven't been writing! TV my Martian foot. You get your Earthling ass back up here and tell me what you plan to do about it!"<br />
<br />
*Steven slowly stands up and makes his way back to the front*<br />
<br />
"What do you want me to say, sir?"<br />
<br />
"I want you to <b><i>shake it off</i></b> man, and get back to writing! Remember the steps? Step 1: when you feel powerless, pick up the pen. Step 2: come to believe that there is a group of people who want to read you (and want you to read them). Step 3: Make the decision to turn your will over to writing a little each week, even if you don't want to. Step 4......"<br />
<br />
"Ok Ok, I'll.......think about it."<br />
<br />
"Don't think. Just do. And if you balk at writing, just remember WWSSD?"<br />
<br />
"WWSSD? Um.....huh?"<br />
<br />
"What Would SassySue Do!" You remember, your good friend in Blogophilia who was always badgering you to write no matter what?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, you have a point, sir."<br />
<br />
"Good. My work here is done. I expect to see you bright and early next Sunday when the next topic is revealed."<br />
<br />
"Yes, sir, thank you sir."<br />
<br />
*Marvin whistles to Commander K and hops aboard their spaceship*<br />
<br />
--------------------------------<br />
<br />
Steven woke up, finding he had dozed off on the couch while watching TV. He had a nagging feeling that there was something he needed to do, but the thought eluded him in the vestiges of sleep. Something about W and S and K, oh and writing......yes, that was it, writing. He looked at his new computer, all fast and sleek and waiting for him to put it to the test. A gigantic yawn put to rest any thoughts of starting anything tonight. Tomorrow.....I'll do it tomorrow, he thought, and went to bed, a faint storyline starting to emerge from the deep.<br />
<br />
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<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-45351214260618445832014-06-19T15:30:00.000-05:002014-06-19T15:38:15.374-05:00Blogophilia 17.7 Please Say It Isn't So<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><u>[Please] Say It Isn't So</u></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><b>Say it isn't so</b></i>, that</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I can no longer see the <i><b>lust</b></i> in your eyes.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My heart yearns for the time</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
when my merest touch was enough</div>
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to set your body alight; </div>
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the merest whisper from my lips enough</div>
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to fill your soul with <i><b>greed </b></i>for more.<br />
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Say it isn't so, that</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I can no longer see the love in your face</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
as you witness my transformation;</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
the swallowing of my <i><b>pride</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
to become the man you wanted,</div>
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free from the <i><b>gluttony</b></i> of the needle,</div>
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free from the <i><b>wrath</b></i> of my past.<br />
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</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Say it isn't so, that</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
our paths cannot continue,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
you must go your way, and </div>
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I must go mine. I <i><b>envy</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
the person you have chosen in my place</div>
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even as I wish you happiness.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Bitterness threatens to engulf me.<br />
<br /></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Say it isn't so, that</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
you never loved me in the first place;</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
that your choosing me was a result</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
of spiritual <i><b>sloth</b></i> that made it OK</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
to settle, until better came along.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Those words, meant to sting,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
did their job.<br />
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Copyright Steven Clark 2014 </i><br />
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</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><b>"And I, the last, go forth companionless,</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><b>And the days darken round me....."</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
~~Tennyson's Morte d'Arthur</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Written for:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/751227174898502/" target="_blank">Blogophilia 17.7</a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Topic: Please Say It Isn't So</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
bonus points:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
(hard, 2 pts: use a line from Tennyson's Morte d'Arthur)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
(easy, 1 pt: mention one of the 7 deadly sins)<br />
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</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Bonus picture guesses:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
windswept, runaway, gone with the wind, pretty as a picture, waiting, leaving, loss, traveling, moving on<br />
<br />
Topic submission guess: Tyler<br />
Picture submission guess: Violeta</div>
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Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-42748472887380721742014-06-02T23:44:00.000-05:002014-06-02T23:44:06.085-05:00Blogophilia 15.7 Fire And Ice<b>Fire</b> - Sassysue King. Flaming red hair, spicy personality, short but never, ever underestimated. A sure spitfire. <br />
<br />
<b>Ice</b> - me. Dead inside. Seeking numbness from emotion. Given up on life, always looking at the negative.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to do a write for Blogophilia this week. Even after I promised Sue and Marvin that I would try harder. The news of Sue's death has devastated me. But I feel I owe it to Sue, to honor her, by putting this out this week.<br />
<br />
I met Sue as most of you did, through Blogophilia back in the Myspace days. From the start she was always encouraging me to write, even if not for an audience, but to write for myself.<br />
<br />
Most of you Blogophiliacs know of my struggles over the years with drug addiction and my journey to live a sober life. For those of you that are new - well, there you go.<br />
<br />
Some of you may not know that at the time we met, Sue did volunteer work with a needle exchange where she lived in London, Ontario. She worked with addicts and the police force, and I guess because she read my writings of my struggles with drug abuse, it caught her eye and we became fast friends. We communicated by email and instant message, never met in person or spoke over the phone, but that didn't diminish the depth of our late night conversations or our friendship. <br />
<br />
She told me of her nephew who also struggled with drug addiction and coming to terms with his own <b>dark demons</b>. She told me his story and I told her mine, and she would give me advice about, oh, everything. Most recently I was asking her advice about therapy. And always, always she kept at me to write out my feelings, whether by blog or by personal journal. <br />
<br />
She was always there to hold me up through the dark times, with an encouraging word or a funny tidbit to make me laugh. Lots of times over the years I've been unbalanced - no <b>equanimity</b> there - but even when I went silent for months at a time in the depths of my addiction, every week she would message me encouraging me to do that week's Blogophilia prompt. Or to just write, "just fucking write it out for god's sake! No matter the subject, Just Write." And if I did write, she would always message me with an ,"oooooh, you wrote, good for you!!!!! :) " Often, she would be the only one to comment on my blog. She was recently encouraging me to branch out with my writing, to try some of her flash writing groups.<br />
<br />
The last time we communicated was Thursday, May 29. I knew she'd been fighting a cold/flu for weeks but she said she was hopeful to find relief at her accupuncturist's, who at the next appointment was also going to give her some natural remedies to try. <br />
<br />
I'm still stunned that it happend so quickly.<br />
<br />
I hope that she knows how much she meant to me. I didn't tell her nearly enough.<br />
<br />
So Sue, in answer to your unspoken question, yes, "I did Blogo" this week. For you. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/745234688831084/" target="_blank">Blogophilia Topic 15.7: Fire and Ice</a></b><br />
<b>(Hard, 2 pts: incorporate the opposite meaning of "equaniminty")</b><br />
<b>(Easy, 1 pt: include dark demons)</b><br />
<br />
Topic guess - Sandy Glenn<br />
<br />
bonus pic phrase guesses:<br />
red hot<br />
too hot to handle<br />
on fire<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-46351997463014181652014-05-21T16:46:00.003-05:002014-05-21T16:46:50.513-05:00Superman<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I came across a great analogy recently, from a support site for male survivors of childhood sexual abuse:</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: white;"><i>"It
occurred to me that Superman is a great allegory for what we are, who
we are forced to become. We are forced to become Supermen, or die.</i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: white;"><i>Our home planets were destroyed by disaster (our childhoods were ripped apart from us).<br />
<br />
We
had no identity (we are aliens), and we're forced to hide (Clark Kent)
behind a self imposed veneer of ridicule and shame and embarrassment. We
stumbled around mankind attempting to awkwardly fit in by mimicking
others. Interestingly, we're seekers of the truth (news reporters @ the
Daily Planet).<br />
<br />
But we discover, sooner or later, that we have
super powers. We have incredible insight. Incredible empathy. Incredible
understanding of the depths of the human soul. We'll see things about
humanity that most people will never see (X-ray vision).<br />
<br />
Unfortunately,
we must battle all these evil creatures, and endure through them. We
must fight, we must be Supermen. It is our destiny.<br />
<br />
I proudly claim this as my own heritage. I AM SUPERMAN!<br />
<br />
I
Survived Hell. My little one made choices the resulted in my SURVIVING.
I'm alive, and now I'm waking up to who I really am. The incredible
strength, the incredible passion, the incredible insight. <br />
<br />
I
spent most of my life thinking I wasn't human. I was sub-human. Now I'm
starting to see it -- because of my abuse, I am destined to become a
Superhero.<br />
<br />
I forged through the depths of hell alone, and came
out ALIVE! I'm HERE! I somehow navigated through the psychological
labyrinth of mayhem and confusion and can see the light at the end of
the tunnel. I CAN CHANGE! I HAVE POWER!<br />
<br />
I AM SUPERMAN! (YOU ARE TOO!)"</i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I've been working through my "issues" for several years now. Well, sort of. Mostly I've been giving myself permission to acknowledge to myself, and a few others, what happened to me......and then either trying to forget it via drugs/alcohol, or allowing myself to wallow in negative emotions over it all. Or both. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I've struggled greatly with seeing myself as a survivor, rather than as a victim. Survivors move forward, not backward. Survivors don't try to kill themselves rather than face the truth. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">My perspective has been changing lately though. Maybe I had to go through all of that to get here now. I did what I had to, to get to this moment.....even though I almost killed myself in the process. <i>I survived the only way I knew how.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Knowing that I have the power to choose how I move forward from here on out is humbling.....and scary. I've done a lot of bad things in the course of my "survival". I've hurt people, irreparably. I've stolen from people I loved. I've committed crimes. I've debased myself and let others treat me like shit they've stepped on. I've treated others like they were shit I stepped on. I blamed all of my problems on everyone else....and to some extent, I had every right to blame my parents for screwing me up so badly. But for so many of the choices I made, I only have myself to blame. So, </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I don't really trust my judgement too well.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">When I think about that now, I get very angry at myself for allowing it all to have so much power over me, for so long. I know there's no point in staying mad at myself because (see above) <i>I was doing what I had to survive, the only way I knew how.</i> Does that justify what I did? Yes and no?</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Not really sure where I'm going with this, if only to say that I'm still trying to figure all of this out. One step at a time, I'm getting to know myself, and the man I'm trying to become. Superman? Not really, but I'll settle for just a better man. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><i><span style="color: black; font-size: x-small;"> </span></i></span><br />
Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-72142574165140780212014-05-16T16:34:00.000-05:002014-05-16T16:34:14.561-05:00Peek-A-Boo*interviewer cautiously taps mic, warily looking at Steven for any signs of snapping*<br />
<br />
"Uh yes, hello there listeners, we are here once again with Mr. Clark, who, the last time we checked in, wasn't too thrilled at us doing so." *clears throat* "And so, tell us how you've been doing Mr. Clark. What have you been up to these last few weeks?"<br />
<br />
"Well Bob, I've been contemplating the meaning of life and my existential role in it. Who am I? What does all this mean? Where do I go from here? I've also been eating a lot of Cheeze-Its. And yogurt."<br />
<br />
"Cheeze-Its and yogurt.....yes, I see."<br />
<br />
"Not at the same time, you understand. Separately. When the feeling hits."<br />
<br />
*looks uncomfortable* "Go on. Does this help you think about your purpose in life?"<br />
<br />
"No. I just like them."<br />
<br />
"Ah."<br />
<br />
"I feel as if there must be something more out there for me, I just don't know what it is yet."<br />
<br />
"Granola bars are nice."<br />
<br />
*stares at Bob* "No, something more meaningful in life."<br />
<br />
"Oh yes of course. What about going to school?"<br />
<br />
"I don't even have time these days to blog, when would I do homework?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, that would be a problem. How about traveling?"<br />
<br />
"No money. I just want to find something I can really sink my teeth into."<br />
<br />
"Volunteering?"<br />
<br />
"Hamburger."<br />
<br />
*crickets chirp*<br />
<br />
"Mr. Clark, do you want to do something with your life, or do you just want to eat? I can't keep up with you."<br />
<br />
"Can't I do both?"<br />
<br />
"I've got it.....go to cooking school!"<br />
<br />
*crickets chirp again*<br />
<br />
"You are out of your bloody mind. I'm done here." *walks off*<br />
<br />
"And there you have it folks, an update with Mr. Clark. Have a fantastic weekend."<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-45183314529925964962014-04-06T13:10:00.001-05:002014-04-06T13:10:40.736-05:00Blogophilia 7.7 Slightly Past TipsyHe sat at the corner cafe, at a table by the curb, slowly sipping a cup of steaming hot tea. People chattered like birds all around him, sharing details of their lives and not caring who overheard. In five minutes time, he knew that Pam was seeing Gary and that Jeff had broken his hand from punching a <b>snack machine</b>. Oh and did you know that if you drink green tea it helps your liver detoxify? He inwardly chuckled at that remark; his liver was probably beyond any help that green tea could give it; he would stick with his black tea, thank you very much.<br />
<br />
The voices receeded into the background as he watched the people walking along the street, busy with their own problems and thoughts. Did they feel as asleep as he did? Did they go about their day looking at the world around them in wonder, confused about how they had gotten there? He had been <b>slightly past tipsy</b> for the past 20 years it seemed, and now that he had been persuaded to put down the bottle....and everything else....he felt like a tourist in a foreign country. Everything was familiar, yet different. Time had passed him by, and he no longer recognized his life. Or himself.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>“A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably
have his choice made for him by circumstance.”</i></b>
That was for sure. He had hidden
from the harsh realities of life and in the meantime, life had gone
on....uncaring that he was stuck in time.
He couldn't reconcile the fact that getting sober wasn't going to let
him live the last 20 years over again; he was going to have to move forward
from this point in time. Or stay put,
and forever feel lost. It was his
choice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He brooded as he stared at his tea; the clouds above were
reflected on the surface. What a fitting
metaphor, he thought.....light fluffy clouds dancing on top of the depths of
darkness. Put a happy, sane face on for
the world, while inside, the darkness threatened to consume him. When he looked at himself in the mirror
lately, he wondered who it was that stared back....he surely didn't recognize
this middle aged person. "But I'm
going to have to get to know him," he whispered to himself. "It's the only way."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He downed the rest of the tea and stood up. He felt as if stepping out onto that sidewalk
was a symbolic gesture of moving forward with this new, strange life. Then he laughed at himself....he took life
way too seriously. Just go with it, he
thought. Remember,<b><i> “Yesterday's
weirdness is tomorrow's reason why.” </i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Smiling, he stepped forward.</div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>Copyright Steven Clark 2014</i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
Posted for Blogophilia 7.7 topic: slightly past tipsy<br />
bonus point (2 pts, hard): quote Hunter Thompson<br />
bonus point (1 pt, easy): incorporate a snack machine<br />
<br />
Bonus picture guesses:<br />
<img src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-f-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/t1.0-9/1379331_643491525722555_2081373019_n.jpg" /><br />
get down, play that funky music white boy, crazy, twist and shout<br />
<br />
topic guess: Colleen Breuning<br />
photo guess: Sassysue KingStevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-36902286535282654612014-04-03T16:44:00.000-05:002014-04-03T16:44:01.896-05:00HazeForcing myself out of the haze that has settled over my mind is like forcing myself out of bed from a sound sleep after the alarm goes off. I don't want to be awake. I don't want to feel. I don't want to move. I just want to burrow back down into the comfort of the blankets and drift back to sleep.<br />
<br />
Which is basically what I did every time I did drugs.....hide from the world in my cocoon of warmth and oblivion. <br />
<br />
I haven't used; "haze" is not a metaphor for anything here except the haze of depression. It weighs on me and makes me immobile in thought and action....breaking through the cloud seems too much effort to be worth it. I read something today that says depression can actually lower your IQ. That makes total sense, it's hard to gather my thoughts to even string a sentence together. But everyone keeps telling me to get my thoughts out and stop isolating, so here I am.<br />
<br />
I'm tired of trying to stay positive and hopeful all the time, and then feeling like a failure when I can't be. So I tell myself to just "sit with the negativity" until it passes.....only it doesn't pass. Then trying to control myself to not act impulsively on my urges wears me out. I'm tired of the litany of thoughts that go round and round in a rut. I'm tired of the platitudes well meaning friends tell me. I'm tired of the god talk at meetings. I don't know how much longer my sponsor is going to be willing to put up with me. I'm tired of people telling me "it only works if you work it" like I'm not trying hard enough. This can't be the only way.<br />
<br />
It's so easy to let myself fall into complacency and let my guard down, let old thoughts creep back in, old behaviors manifest. Which is what has been happening the past several days. It's exhausting keeping that guard up, and frankly I'm just fucking tired of doing it. But that's me giving in. I try to distract myself, but nothing I used to enjoy is enjoyable anymore. I don't want to read, I don't want to write, I don't even want to watch TV. The weather has been shitty so I can't get outside to walk, my car is unreliable so I can't go on the long drives I used to take. I feel like I"m drowning in a pit of negativity and my first instinct is to pull away and remove myself from everyone and everything because who wants to be around that? And if I'm honest, I don't really want to be around others telling me to "do this, try that." I just fucking want to be left alone. But, that's the disease and the depression talking. I'm fully aware of this even as I stew. And it just makes me even more down and determined to self destruct. How fucking mature. I just want it all to end.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-27958049576208432732014-03-20T21:55:00.000-05:002014-03-20T21:55:00.310-05:0020 Years20 years ago tonight was a turning point in my life. 20 years ago tonight, I was in a car accident and my girlfriend, Larissa, died. <br />
<br />
It was a turning point for me because I could have gone another way.....I could have dealt with the trauma and grief in a healthy way and went on to lead a productive life as an adult. <br />
<br />
I didn't do that. I chose the easy way out by seeking solace in numbing drugs. It started in the hospital with the morphine I was on, and contiued with painkillers after I was released and still recovering from my injuries. I had learned from an early age how to escape from my [other] pain using chemicals, and I relied on that knowledge then to help me cope. I eventually made my acquaintence with heroin, and the rest, as they say, is history.<br />
<br />
20 years later, I've learned to let go of that guilt a little. I know now that her fate was not in my hands that night, according to the police report. It was the other driver's fault. But because I was drunk, I still thought it was my fault. If I'd taken another road, she'd still be alive. If I'd let her drive, she'd still be alive. If I wasn't drunk, she'd still be alive. If only, if only, if only, to infinity. It's a lesson of acceptance that has taken me 20 years to learn. <br />
<br />
I often look at the world as it is today and wonder what she would think of it if she were here. I think about how my life, our life, would be, if she were still alive. Would I have still gone down the path I did? Was that my fate no matter what? Would she be happily married to someone else with kids all around her? <br />
<br />
I can't change the past, and like I said in my last post, it's up to me to choose how I live.....in the light, or the darkness. I've lived most of the last 20 years in darkness. It's time I try the light. If not for me, then for my Lissa.<br />
<br />
I always think of her when I hear this song. So, I think of it as our song.<br />
<br />
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<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-52569175890364914662014-03-20T16:40:00.000-05:002014-03-20T16:40:15.046-05:00Blogophilia 4.7 Remember When....Remember when...... you thought anything was possible?<br />
<br />
<i>Before<b> fate</b>, that <b>twisted </b>thing, came along and had life take you down a peg or two and left a bitter taste in your mouth.....</i><br />
<br />
Remember when...... you trusted authority?<br />
<br />
<i>Before those you looked up to broke your spirit and made you question everything you'd been taught....</i><br />
<br />
Remember when..... you gave someone your heart for the first time?<br />
<br />
<i>Before having it stomped on and handed back to you with scorn.....</i><br />
<br />
Remember when.....you learned that life had beautiful things to offer you, too?<br />
<br />
<i>After <b>fate</b>, that <b>twisted</b> thing, came along and showed you that out of the ashes, hope arises?</i><br />
<br />
Remember when......you learned to love again?<br />
<br />
<i>After you received love from others unconditionally......</i><br />
<br />
Remember when......you woke up glad to be alive?<br />
<br />
<i>After you learned that you are capable of more than you realize?</i><br />
<br />
Life is comprised of both good and bad, light and dark. It is up to us to choose which side we dwell in.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<b>"Happiness depends upon ourselves"--Aristotle</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Posted for <a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/marvin-martian/blogophilia-week-47-remember-when-you-thought-anything-was-possible-/707833739237846" target="_blank">Blogophilia</a> 4.7 topic: Remember when anything was possible?<br />
Bonus points:<br />
(hard, 2 pts): quote Aristotle<br />
(easy, 1 pt): include a "twist of fate"<br />
<br />
Bonus picture guesses: blending in, fading away, asymmetrical, rearview, pale beauty, faded beauty, polar opposite<br />
<img alt="" class="photo_img img" height="400" src="https://scontent-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/t1.0-9/1948125_633003066771401_1413636132_n.jpg" title="" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-85997855716346030022014-03-18T21:50:00.000-05:002014-03-18T21:50:40.835-05:00Blogging Lounge #5: TurmoilA word spoken.....a tone of voice.....a facial expression.<br />
<br />
Smells.....sounds.....standing too close.<br />
<br />
Triggers that flip the switch in the brain into panic mode and all of a sudden I'm 12 years old again, knowing what is coming for me from the other side of the door.<br />
<br />
My heart pounds and a sheen of sweat that stinks of fear covers my skin. My mouth is dry and I can't swallow. My eyes nervously dart back and forth, checking that nobody is looking at me to witness my distress. I feel like anyone that looks my way must know, know ALL of my secrets, it's so obvious, just look at me, look at that hideous freak! But no, no one is watching and even if they were, probably wouldn't guess the inner turmoil my panic attack is creating.<br />
<br />
I stand still and close my eyes, try to control my breathing. I wipe my hands on my jeans - dammit they're shaking - and try to remember where I'm at. I'm at work, and I'm an adult. That bedroom is long gone, I'm not 12 years old anymore, and HE is dead. Stay in the present. Stay in the now. I am safe here. <br />
<br />
No one will be raping me today.<br />
<br />
No one will be beating me today.<br />
<br />
No one will be telling me I deserve to die today.<br />
<br />
I open my eyes and look around; a handful of minutes gone by feels like an eternity. The urge to disappear into chemical oblivion overwhelms me....<i>there</i>, I can forget. <i>There</i>, I don't have to feel. But <i>there....</i>I almost died. I'm not ready to die today.<br />
<br />
Am I?<br />
<br />
A phone rings in the distance, people pass me by. A voice near me, eyes looking at me now. "Hey Steve, you OK?"<br />
<br />
That's the $64,000 question, isn't it?<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I'm fine," I answer back, because it's expected of me. <br />
<br />
I take a deep breath and walk away, back to my job, back to my adult life. I wonder if I'll ever really be OK.<br />
<br />
Not today, no. But maybe someday.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Posted for the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1377737912484876/" target="_blank">Blogging Lounge</a> prompt #5: Turmoil.<br />
<br />
<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-41259285076375069122014-03-07T16:35:00.000-06:002014-03-07T16:42:57.691-06:00RIP KyleBeautiful boy,<br />
<br />
you wove dreamscapes from your hands,<br />
colors and inks and charcoal blending into<br />
places everyone wanted to escape to.<br />
<br />
The pain in your heart manifested<br />
into a nightmarish existence that you embraced<br />
all while trying to flee.<br />
<br />
No one could dismiss the beauty of your soul,<br />
beauty tainted by the ugliness of others<br />
and the harshness of reality.<br />
<br />
Beautiful boy,<br />
<br />
You made me laugh, and cry,<br />
and wish that I could be more like you.<br />
I hope your spirit is free...dancing.<br />
<br />
My heart hurts to know you're gone,<br />
the times we shared are forever seared on my memory.<br />
Be at peace my friend.Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-49250432690310468632014-02-28T16:30:00.000-06:002014-02-28T16:30:14.469-06:00An updateMeanwhile, in the Middle of Nowhere......<br />
<br />
The last time we checked in with Steve, he was going through some major life changes. Let's see how he's faring.<br />
<br />
<i>Speak into the microphone please, yes that's it, thank you. How are you doing Mr. Clark?</i><br />
<br />
"Uh.....what?"<br />
<br />
<i>Tell us how you are feeling today.</i><br />
<br />
"Like I'm going to punch the next person who asks how I'm feeling."<br />
<br />
<i>Oh.....right. Well, how are those choices you recently made working out?</i><br />
<br />
"Fuck you." *walks away*<br />
<br />
<i>There you have it folks, an update from Mr. Clark. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.</i><br />
<br />
-----------------------------------<br />
<br />
Ok, so lame attempt at humor. I've been in a foul mood all day and am trying to get myself out of it. It's when I'm in cranky foul moods like this that I have to try and remember why I'm doing what I'm doing. It's so easy to say fuck it and just impulsively give in. But, that's what I've always done. And I'm not doing that anymore, right? <br />
<br />
Actually what I want to do is kick and scream and punch things like a kid having a temper tantrum melt down in the middle of Walmart. The kind where the kid is red faced and screaming 1,000 decibels and deadweighting on his mother who is dragging his limp body along the floor, her own face red with mortification. Yeah I know, real mature Steve. Just being honest.<br />
<br />
And across the webz just now comes the news that the drug combination that killed Phillip Seymour Hoffman a few weeks ago was heroin, cocaine, benzodiazepines and amphetamines.<br />
<a href="https://twitter.com/ABC/status/439500447779676161">https://twitter.com/ABC/status/439500447779676161</a><br />
<br />
That should be enough to scare some sense into me right? Knowing that I was playing with fire with a few of those combinations myself, I could have miscalculated the dose at any time like he apparently did. Not even veteran drug users are immune to overdose. By sheer dumb luck I'm still alive to have another chance at life. I should feel relieved, grateful even. Instead I'm whining like a child that can't have a cookie. God I am so sick of myself. I want these feelings to pass, I want the cravings and the sickness and the restlessness and the hopelessness to pass. I know they will if I stick it out long enough, this ain't my first time at the dance. It's sticking it out that has always been the hard part for me. But I will do this, this time. I have no other option.<br />
<br />
It has helped that I've cut ties with my connections in town, it lessens the temptation to give in. Actually they're all very pissed at me right now and a couple of nights I wondered if I was going to get the shit beat out of me coming home but that hasn't happened yet. I have had C ("Dear _____" from my last post) banging on my door late at night a couple of times this week, that's always fun. I'm tired of dealing with it and just want it all to go away.<br />
<br />
I might have a lead on a new place to live, on the other side of town. It'd still be a trailer court, but not as sleazy as the one I'm in now. The problem with finding new places is finding one that is willing to let me bring my cats with me. Thank God for my cats, they keep me somewhat sane. I take better care of them than I do myself, pampered little fuckers. <br />
<br />
I'm amazed that I haven't missed any work in the last few weeks, considering what I've been going through. They're used to me always looking like shit though, ha. <br />
<br />
I've been spending my free time walking when the weather allows it, reading when my mind is quiet enough to concentrate, watching DVDs, playing on facebook and the internet, and journaling when I have to get stuff out that isn't appropriate to put here. And going to meetings. I'm still not sold on the whole 12 step stuff but it's helping just to be around other sober people. Gone out to lunch with some of them a couple times. Mostly I'm just desperate to distract myself from my thoughts. I'm not at a place where I can think too far ahead into the future as far as making any plans for myself, I'm still in just trying to make it through each day mode. To those of you who have messaged me suggestions, thank you, it is appreciated and I hope I'll be able to seriously consider them in the future.<br />
<br />
And that about sums it up at Casa Clarkster's. I know I sound like a broken record saying this but thank you for all of your support. You have seriously helped me stick this out for 19 days now. To infinity and beyond....or something like that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-32390942852575786342014-02-26T16:52:00.000-06:002014-02-26T16:52:03.256-06:00Some Things To Get Off My Chest<br />
<br />
Dear ________,<br />
<br />
I thought you loved me. I thought you cared about me. Once again I have been played, allowed myself to fall for the old lie. All this time you have just been using me. I admit, and regret, that sometimes it felt like I was using you too, to feed my own addictions....but I did really care for you. I still do. I wish we could still spend time together, I miss our jokes and our hugs and the things only the two of us understand. <br />
<br />
When we first met and you started paying attention to me, I was so lonely and starved for affection that I took your attentions as genuine feelings. I held your secrets and you held mine and even though we didn't always make the most healthy of choices, I felt safe with you. You said some things to me last night that shattered that illusion. At least I know now that I made the right choice in breaking ties with you, even though it killed me to do it. Was it all a lie from the very beginning? Did you ever care, at all?<br />
<br />
I could tell you that taking advantage of my vulnerability like that has left me bitter and so fucking depressed that I want to give up and get wasted right now, but that's exactly what you want isn't it? Because that's what I always do, run right back to you and what you have to offer, and fall for the lies of love and affection. It's so classic-me it's fucking pathetic. I said that day that I was ending the cycle, and I didn't just mean the drugs. If there was any nugget of hope in my mind that I could still see you, it's gone now. I need to stay far, far away from you or the pattern of abuse is just going to continue. Because that's what it is - me, broken, seeking love in the wrong places from the wrong people and letting people control me and use me. And thanking them for it, and asking for more. You know exactly which carrots to dangle in front of me to suck me in, just the right words to say to set me off. No more. Fuck you all. I'm not gonna be your floor mat or your fucking rent boy any longer. <br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
A Survivor<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-38165152156321074262014-02-24T16:57:00.000-06:002014-02-24T16:57:38.201-06:00Blogging Lounge #4 "Dear Younger Self......"When I saw the prompt this week, I said, "<i>Duh</i>, that's obvious: <i>Dear 21 year old self: don't take that first hit of heroin!"</i><br />
<br />
But is that the only thing I have to say to myself, in all of my 41 years?<br />
<br />
It's easy to play the woulda, shoulda, coulda game. But if we really could go back in time and change things, or prevent ourselves from making mistakes, where would that leave us today? Wiser? Better off? Maybe possibly <i>worse</i> off? There's no answer to that, and no end to the mistakes made over a lifetime that ended up being strong lessons learned. Would we have learned those lessons some other way? It's a circular question that has no end and no answer.<br />
<br />
<b>It can range from the comical....... </b><br />
<br />
<i>Dear 10 year old self: it's really not a good idea to try and jump your bike off Kevin's shed roof.</i> (One of my front teeth is still crooked from the faceplant I took that day.)<br />
<br />
<i>Dear 14 year old self: you may want to rethink the leopard print underpants.</i> (don't ask)<br />
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<i>Dear 17 year old self: weed and hair dye don't mix. </i>(I may have to repost that blog write some day.)<br />
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<i>Dear 4 hour ago self: that spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy's you had for lunch is going to give you some wicked heartburn.</i> (self explanatory)<br />
<br />
<b>.......to the tragic......</b><br />
<br />
<i>Dear 21 year old self: please, please don't drive home tonight.</i> (Lissa would probably still be alive today.)<br />
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<i>Dear 23 year old self: please, please take this first stint in rehab seriously.</i> (you will save yourself years of pain and wasted opportunities)<br />
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<i>Dear 27 year old self: take this suicide attempt and psychiatric hospital stay as the wake up call you need to get help.</i> (Instead of going right back to the same lifestyle that prompted it in the first place.)<br />
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<i>Dear 33 year old self: you're doing a great job of staying clean and sober, but if you just believed you deserved to be happy, you'd be.......happy.</i> (Instead of miserable and white knuckling your way through sobriety, ever on the edge of relapse.)<br />
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I could go on and on in the tragic vein for a long time. I've lived a lifetime in regret mode, wishing "If only I had done this.....if only I hadn't done that." But somehow it was never enough to really make me change my ways. Maybe that's what I needed to go through, repeatedly, to get where I'm at today.....<i>finally</i> willing to end my love affair with drugs and destructive behaviors. If I had the opportunity to actually talk to my younger self about these things, it would have fallen on deaf ears. I wasn't ready to learn the lesson. Even at my darkest, most desperate moments, I wasn't ready to learn that goddamn lesson. <br />
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Do I like that I've wasted the last 20 years of my life buried in a pit of my own making? No. I'm fighting against the waves of panic that tell me it's too late, there's no point, why start now, etc. But I also realize that there must be a reason why I'm still here, against the odds. And to keep moving forward, I can't play the "woulda, shoulda, coulda" game. I've been through and seen a lot of things in my life that have shaped who I am today. Some for the worse, but some for the better, too. <br />
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There is one "shoulda," that stands out though, that I do honestly regret not making and wish I could go back and remedy.......<br />
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<i>Dear 8 year old self: it's OK to tell someone about the abuse going on at home.</i> (Maybe the trajectory of your life would have taken an entirely different turn if you had lived elsewhere.)<br />
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Posted for <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1377737912484876/" target="_blank">The Blogging Lounge</a>, prompt #4: "Dear Younger Self"Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-37401353834338397332014-02-19T11:58:00.000-06:002014-02-19T11:58:23.564-06:00What Is It LikeWoke up this morning with this in my head. <br />
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<br />
What is it like<br />
to wake up<br />
and not dread the coming day<br />
<br />
to be glad the sun is shining<br />
<br />
to not wonder how to get through the day without chemical cocktails<br />
<br />
what is it like<br />
to wake up<br />
and not flinch at your lover's touch<br />
<br />
to relish in the warmth of another's embrace<br />
<br />
to feel that you can love and be loved unconditionally<br />
<br />
what is it like<br />
to wake up<br />
and be happy you're alive<br />
<br />
to welcome the challenges the day brings<br />
<br />
to look forward to the love and laughter of others<br />
<br />
What is it like<br />
to wake up<br />
and feel comfortable in your own skin<br />
<br />
to want to grow and change and feel and live<br />
<br />
to be content just to be<br />
<br />
What is it like....<br />
<br />
<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-63838287909590025842014-02-18T22:14:00.000-06:002014-02-19T22:01:07.689-06:00Blogophilia 52.6 Follow Your Bliss<b>"Bliss" by Tori Amos</b><br />
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Father, I killed my monkey<o:p></o:p></div>
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I let it out to<o:p></o:p></div>
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Taste the sweet of spring<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wonder if I will wander out<o:p></o:p></div>
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Test my tether to <o:p></o:p></div>
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See if I'm still free<o:p></o:p></div>
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From you<o:p></o:p></div>
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Steady as it comes<o:p></o:p></div>
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Right down<o:p></o:p></div>
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To you<o:p></o:p></div>
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I've said it all<o:p></o:p></div>
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So maybe we're a Bliss<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of another kind<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lately, I’m in to circuitry<o:p></o:p></div>
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What it means to be<o:p></o:p></div>
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Made of you but not enough for you<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I wonder if<o:p></o:p></div>
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You can bilocate is that<o:p></o:p></div>
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What I taste<o:p></o:p></div>
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Your supernova juice<o:p></o:p></div>
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You know it's true I’m part of you<o:p></o:p></div>
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Steady as it comes<o:p></o:p></div>
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Right down<o:p></o:p></div>
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To you<o:p></o:p></div>
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I've said it all<o:p></o:p></div>
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So maybe we're a Bliss<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of another kind<o:p></o:p></div>
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Steady as it comes<o:p></o:p></div>
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Right down to you<o:p></o:p></div>
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I've said it all<o:p></o:p></div>
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So maybe you've a four horse engine<o:p></o:p></div>
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With a power drive<o:p></o:p></div>
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A hot kachina who wants into mine<o:p></o:p></div>
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Take it with your terracide<o:p></o:p></div>
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Steady as it comes<o:p></o:p></div>
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Right down<o:p></o:p></div>
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To you<o:p></o:p></div>
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I've said it all<o:p></o:p></div>
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I said a Bliss<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of another kind</div>
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<i>'The harder the conflict, the greater the triumph."</i> ~ Thomas Paine</div>
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Most of you know what is going on in my life at the moment so I'll spare you the details, suffice it to say that it's only by the support of awesome people that I'm hanging on. I had to <b><i>get out now</i></b> from a lifestyle that was killing me......and now I'm learning how to <i><b>follow a bliss</b></i> of another kind.</div>
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Submitted for: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/marvin-martian/blogophilia-week-52-6-follow-your-bliss/693111747376712" target="_blank">Blogphilia 52.6</a></div>
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topic: Follow your bliss</div>
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(hard, 2 points): Incorporate a quote from Thomas Paine</div>
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(easy, 1 point): use the phrase "get out now"</div>
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Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-32622563891492732932014-02-11T16:37:00.000-06:002014-02-11T16:37:23.428-06:00Breaking UpMy mind has been on a rollercoaster the last couple of days and I must get my thoughts out, or my brain will explode. Excuse the mind-dump. It may be long.<div>
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Positivity is waning. No wait, it's increasing. No wait, there it goes again. Hold on, it's back! Nope, no it's not. Ad nauseum. It's that back and forth that is maddening, and makes me want to scream and do anything to make it stop, to get on an even keel. I know to expect this, been through it a thousand times. I either hold on, or give in at this point. I am holding on, and riding it out. I don't have a choice. Well I do have a choice......but not really. <i>That</i> choice I want to be over and done with. But not really. But really.</div>
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See what I mean? It makes no sense to be so attracted to something that makes my life miserable and is going to end up killing me.</div>
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Many addicts refer to their drug as a lover. It's kinda cheesy, but there it is. Bear with me here.</div>
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If the drug is the lover, the addiction cycle is like a bad abusive relationship that is hard to leave. You love your lover, and love the relationship. Your lover makes you feel happy and alive. There are periods of calm when everything runs smoothly, then out of nowhere, they turn on you and smack you around. You think it's your fault, and hide in shame and guilt. You love them, but also fear them at that point.....maybe even hate. You decide to leave, the only way to save yourself is to pack up and leave. </div>
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But where do you go? You have no place to stay, no money, and no job. You lose your resolve to leave. Then the person you love/fear/hate comes crawling back to you, remorseful about what happened, and promises it won't happen again. They love you again, and you gratefully fall into your lover's arms, back to where it's familiar, and safe for the moment. You forget about the bad times, and when your lover tells you it will never be bad again, you believe them. </div>
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Things are calm and steady again, but then..... bam. The punches come. Blindsided again, you make up your mind to leave. This time nothing will stop you! But.....the same difficulties face you. Where do you go? What do you do afterwards? You decide to stay, just to see if things will change. Again. You don't want to give up on the person you love so easily, so you give them chance after chance (after chance, after chance) to makes things different. You go more warily now, tip toe through the rough patches, but stay you do. It is, after all, the only thing you know. Familiar. And don't they say, better the devil you know, than the devil you don't? You carry on with life, and hide from others this painful secret you have. You lie that everything is fine, make excuses for this bruise or that. You can't tell anyone the truth (but fear that they know already....this just makes up your resolve to try and hide it better). </div>
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You have this gnawing feeling at the back of your mind that you really would be better off without this person, but fear of the unknown holds you back. Your lover no longer makes you feel happy and alive. Maybe you have other reasons for staying, even though you're miserable. Maybe you stay for years, jumping from one calm period to the next....until the calm periods get fewer and farther between. One day you realize that the calm periods have stopped altogether....or maybe never existed in the first place. You feel like you're drowning, but still cannot fathom actually leaving. Until one day you discover a tiny spark of hope. The thought of leaving is still scary, after all, you and your lover have a long history. You've shared a life together for many years and you're so entwined, you feel like your right arm would be cut off if you no longer weren't. But you know things will never get better if you stay. You see that now, after years of denial. The seed has been planted.</div>
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You start to make preparations to leave. You feel out the waters, weigh your options. You change your mind a million times, tell yourself it's not so bad. Maybe it takes a few more years and a few more bruises to <i>finally</i> get the resolve to break up with your lover once and for all. There are painful decisions to be made, leaving scares you to death, but for the first time in your life, you're trying to put your health and sanity first. It feels weird. Alien, almost. Your lover has a strange hold on you and the call to come back breaks your heart. "Can I really stay away?" you ask yourself. You know you've made the right decision, but regret it at the same time.</div>
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Wow, I really jumped the shark with that analogy, didn't I? But I can't think of any better way, cheesy as it is, to describe addiction to anyone who has never lived through it. Maybe I'm also using it as a way to explain why I haven't been able to leave for good. Some people can break up and get the hell out of dodge without a look back. Others find it more difficult.</div>
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I've made the decision to break up with my lover, for good. My lover has gone by many different names.....heroin, oxycontin, hydrocodone, dilaudid, cocaine, ecstasy, valium, crystal meth, and others in between. </div>
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The last time I used was Saturday. </div>
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I'm on the fence about alcohol. I don't have nearly the problems with alcohol as the others....perhaps I'll leave room for the occasional one night stand with that one. I don't know. But the others.....no more. I know I know, one day at a time, don't think of it as forever, just don't use today.....<i>I know all that.</i> But you and I both know that's just a smokescreen for reality. It's what we have to tell ourselves because the stress of thinking about NEVER USING AGAIN FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES is too crippling. </div>
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I have been here so many times it's embarrassing and disgusting. My timeline is thus: I started using heroin and other hard drugs in 1994 following the car accident. I got clean for the first time in 1996. Stayed clean for two years, relapsed in 1998. Got clean again in 2001. Had some small slips, but for the most part stayed clean 2001-2002. Stayed clean AND sober from 2003 - 2007. Relapsed big time the latter part of 2007. Made another attempt at staying clean in 2008. </div>
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Then from 2008 until now 2014 (!) it's been just one big blur of jumping from binge to binge. Periods of sobriety lasting anywhere from a couple of days to months at a time. Binges lasting anywhere from a couple of days to months at a time. Binging. Stopping. Binging. Stopping. </div>
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I haven't been clean these six years and relapsed hundreds of times, I've been in relapse all these years and just stopped occasionally. I saw it from that perspective for the first time this morning. And it is, pardon the pun, a very sobering thought. It actually took my breath away, once I'd realized that. And once again I am humbled, mortified, and ashamed that I have allowed this to go on as long as it has. </div>
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I've written some pretty brave words here over the years about stopping, and analyzing parts of myself and why I do this. I've talked up a storm about it. Lied that everything was fine and made excuses. Said that I was clean but really wasn't. I've lied to myself that I was fine, because I was still "functioning." Hey look at me, I have a job -two even- and a roof over my head and cats and I write and participate in blogging groups and joke around on facebook and read books and buy groceries and go bowling with friends and ok I might pick up once in a while but I'm fine and I appreciate everyone's advice but really I'm normal. </div>
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Let me tell you, from my personal experience, that "functioning" is the biggest lie, and the hardest to come back from. I have been so down and low at times that I <i>was</i> the stereotypical junkie living on the streets selling myself for drugs. I've talked about "the dope whore years" elsewhere but yes, that happened. Is selling myself for a fix worse than white knuckling it between pay periods and driving 150 miles on my day off to the big city because I can't get the drugs I want in my small town? The addiction is the same, either way. I think it's easier to delude yourself about it, and thereby harder to admit that it needs to stop, when you're "<i>functioning</i>." </div>
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I've exhausted myself writing this and I know no one reading this has any reason to believe that I'm sincere this time around. I said on facebook the other day that I felt like I'd just taken a flying leap off a cliff by making this decision......and hitting the publish button on this feels like another leap. I've disclosed things here that I'm nervous for people to see. I just know I can't go on the way I've been going. The cycle needs to end. </div>
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Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-16755014584249379212014-02-09T23:48:00.000-06:002014-02-09T23:48:32.072-06:00A New DirectionI thought it time to spruce up the old blog here, the blackness was wearing on me and if I'm trying to make more positive changes in my life, it should be reflected here, yes? Ok so the dark blue I chose is still dark, but it's not black-dark. I'm starting to come out of the fog a little.<div>
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I messed up last night. Big time. But instead of wallowing in self-loathing over it today (and justifying continuing the mess up), I said "No, I'm not playing that game this time. It happened, it's over, and I'm moving forward again." </div>
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And damned if I don't feel like there's actually hope for me yet. </div>
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I'm fairly sick of myself, the constant back and forth between sobriety and binges. I can't do it anymore, physically or mentally. I'm tired of feeling unworthy and less than human. Something seemed to wake up in me today that I haven't felt in a very long time....the urge to thrive. The desire to actually BE happy instead of putting on an empty smile. </div>
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I know that I'll backslide emotionally at times but today, at least, I'm feeling more confident in my ability to not use the backslides as an excuse to use drugs. I need to start nurturing myself and that little boy inside that desperately needs to heal. I need to stop letting the motherfuckers win. (Thanks for that reminder, Ileene). </div>
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This is me at age 5. This is the only childhood photo I have of me smiling.</div>
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Now if you know me, you know that I despise posting photos of myself online. I'm stepping way outside my comfort zone here and will probably regret this later, but I'm doing this as a pledge to myself to start making some serious changes in my life. No laughing at chipmunk cheeks, please. </div>
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Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-86485580570149488442014-02-06T23:32:00.000-06:002014-02-06T23:32:06.499-06:00Keeping It RealI'm filled with rage over the most simple, petty things. I recognize it, but have trouble controlling it.<br />
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Someone slights me, I want to smash things.<br />
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Someone ignores me, I want to do something that makes them take notice. Even if it hurts me in the end.<br />
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I seek privacy, while at the same time call out for attention.<br />
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I reach out to others, and immediately feel ashamed and regret it when they respond.<br />
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I take proof of one good day, and use it to sabotage myself into thinking it's never going to happen again.<br />
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Hell, I sabotage myself into thinking anything, as long as it leads me back into using.<br />
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I question why I even bother trying. Everyday.<br />
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I question why I bother writing this out, it's just another shameful ploy for attention, right?<br />
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I read back on what I write and realize that I have the emotional equivalency of a toddler. Holy shit.<br />
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Posting anyway. Fuck it.<br />
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<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-57961443426821843112014-02-03T14:27:00.000-06:002014-02-03T14:27:59.740-06:00Blogophilia 50.6 - The Colors Fade Away<div>
The Colors Fade Away for <a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/marvin-martian/blogophilia-week-506-the-colors-fade-away/687320457955841" target="_blank">Blogophilia</a> 50.6</div>
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This bleak frozen landscape;<div>
my life stretched out before me</div>
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neverending in its wanting...</div>
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<b><i>the colors fade away</i></b>, laughing as</div>
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they recede into the night.</div>
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What am I supposed to do now.....without you?</div>
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Beyond the veil I hear you whisper,</div>
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"come join me"</div>
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but I turn away from that temptation;</div>
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despite my heart breaking...</div>
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the wall is back in place.</div>
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When it hurts, you know it's the right thing.</div>
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I'm waiting for the colors</div>
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to fade back into my life,</div>
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for you, to fade back into my life.</div>
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The wall begs to be tumbled down</div>
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and breached.</div>
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But all that's left is a blind reflection.</div>
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copyright Steven Clark 2014</div>
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For my virtual reality effect (the ability to share digital files effortlessly via the internet), here is a youtube video of the song that inspired this, "Michigan" by The Milk Carton Kids.</div>
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My guilty pleasure.....I think you all know what that is.</div>
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Topic: The Colors Fade Away</div>
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bonus (2 pts): include a virtual reality effect </div>
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bonus (1 pt): mention a guilty pleasure </div>
Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-1054394102676525022014-01-31T16:02:00.001-06:002014-02-10T09:55:24.011-06:00IdentityAs if I needed another reason to stay clean and sober.....I have some health issues that I've ignored for a long time, that I have to stop ignoring. And actually address. Unless I want to die young, or have a miserable disease-ridden rest of my life.<br />
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I've spent most of my adult life not really caring whether I lived or died, and sure did my damnedest to self-destruct. Turns out that ingesting large amounts of illegal chemicals and alcohol do quite the number on the internal organs. Who knew? Ha. I mean when you're young and indestructible (another ha) the warnings of "you're going to kill your liver" fall on deaf ears. <br />
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Now that I've (miraculously) made it to the age of 41, relatively intact, topics of health that used to not concern me are now occupying my thoughts. Cholesterol? Triglycerides? Heart disease? Liver damage? I actually have to think about this stuff now? And do something about it? Fuck.<br />
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Part of something I've struggled with in sobriety is a loss of identity. It's warped, but my whole identity, for so long, has been wrapped up in the fact that I'm a drug addict. Without the drugs, who the fuck am I? What is the point of me? Why should I care? <br />
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I guess where I'm going with this, is that I have to start caring about myself enough to want to take care of myself better. And there's a part of me that is really fighting that. It's stupid, but it's almost like the straw that broke the camel's back......"I quit using drugs, and NOW you want me to eat healthier and exercise? That's going too far man, too far."<br />
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Even though I know I'll feel better if I do it....maybe that's part of the resistance. Part of me doesn't want to feel better, because if I feel better, then I have to admit that it's possible to feel good without drugs. Fucking brain.Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-29450117904247484892014-01-27T22:04:00.000-06:002014-02-03T20:53:25.631-06:00Deep Roots Blogging Lounge #2The old man pushed the wheelbarrow up the hill towards his destination. The hill was not steep, but even a slight incline will seem like an effort when you're 80, he thought to himself, as he puffed slowly along. The sun was shining, and the whole world seemed young and green and vibrant. A perfect day to plant deep roots and feel the dirt between your fingers.<br />
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He reached the top of the hill and stood quiet for a moment, looking out at the view. Behind him lay a grove of trees, bending and swaying in the spring breeze. The effect was mesmerising, and the old man stood lost in his memories for several minutes before coming to. With a deep sigh....not a sad sigh, per say, but a resigned sigh.....he took the shovel out of the wheelbarrow and started digging a small hole.<br />
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He slowly bent down to his knees, hearing them make popping sounds. He took the hosta he had wheeled up, removed the plastic pot, and set it into the hole, breaking the root ball up a little as he did so. He settled it firmly, and patted the soil he'd dug back in around the stem, softly and lovingly. He then took a bottle of water he'd carried up and poured it all around until the soil was nice and moist. "There you go, little fella," he whispered, "you'll do nice here, I think. You'll both be good for each other."<br />
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He took more time standing back up again, the same joints moaning, and then dusted the dirt off his pants and hands. He stood back to check his handywork. "Could be just a little more to the left, but you don't mind, do you?" he said. He reached his arms up towards the sky, stretching as far as his 80 year old body would let him, making more joints pop. He stood for a few more moments, let out another deep sigh, and made ready to go. "I hope you enjoy it, Ella," he whispered, and patted his late wife's tombstone with his gnarled hand. "I dug it up out of your garden, it's one of them you planted just last year." <br />
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He wanted to say more, but he knew that his Ella understood. He put the shovel and water bottle back in the wheelbarrow, and slowly walked back down the hill of the cemetery, remembering years gone past.... and Ella young and green and vibrant in her sundress, working in her garden.<br />
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copyright Steven Clark 2014<br />
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Photo Prompt for week #2</div>
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Posted for <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1377737912484876/" target="_blank">The Blogging Lounge</a></div>
<br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4453215618236049952.post-44562182604060910002014-01-20T00:54:00.003-06:002014-01-20T00:54:37.778-06:00Have You Ever Seen The Rain, Blogophilia 48.6"Have you ever seen the rain? I mean.....ever seen it rain this hard, before?" said Rita, looking out the window of her hotel room. <br />
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She could see the room behind her in reflection, two double beds, astrewn with clothes, suitcases, and other travelers' refuse. What their suitcases contained was different than the average woman's, though. Most respectable young women didn't travel with thigh-high boots, nipple pasties, and dildos.<br />
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Rita's friend Rose looked up from what she was doing, and huffed a reply. "Eh, so what? It just rain. You afraid of getting wet, honey?" Rose laughed, a course sound that grated against Rita's ears. "You should be used to gettin' wet, it's yo job. You gettin' wet, making the men wet. You make evy-body wet, evy-one is happy. The happier evy-one is, the mo' money you make. That's why we here. <b>Look</b>, come away from dat window, help me sort this shit."<br />
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Rita moved away from the window and sat on the bed. She knew this was a great opportunity, to be seen by Tad Falcon, the most infamous adult movie producer of the day. She was under no illusions that "Tad Falcon" was his real name.....nobody in this business used their real names. She also was under no illusion that she was a shoo-in.....she knew that if she were to get this job, she'd have to got to lengths she'd never gone to before. And that scared her.<br />
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"Tad's a hard guy to please, ain't he?" asked Rita, trying to feel Rose out. Rose had worked for Tad in the past, but she never talked about it. She didn't talk about it now. One eyebrow flicked up at Rita's question, but that was the only response Rita was going to get. All Rose would say was, "You jus' need to remember, you'll be alrigh' in the end. You do what he say, you be fine." Rita didn't ask anymore questions, but went off to the bathroom to sort out what makeup she would wear the next day.<br />
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Tad Falcon was staying in the same hotel as Rita and Rose, but on the top floor, the <b>penthouse</b> suite. His mind was occupied by business letters and questions about taxes....the very unglamorous side of running an adult media empire. He needed a distraction, and was welcoming the audition of Rita leFay....or as fans and the industry marketing regime nicknamed her, "Rita leLay". <br />
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Rose escorted Rita up the elevator to the penthouse floor. But after Rita stepped out, she said "God be with you, little one, you remember what Rose said. You do what he say, you be fine," and the elevator doors closed, leaving Rita all alone in the hallway. She stood there for a few minutes, gathering her breath, and caught a look at herself in a hallway mirror. "I can do this," she whispered to herself. She didn't know why she was so scared; she had been in the industry for a couple of years now and knew how to conduct herself in front of new producers. Still, Tad Falcon had a reputation....girls, and guys, would do anything to become a part of his production family. <br />
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Rita walked up to the door, knocked, and waited breathlessly for it to open. When it did, a squinting man ushered her into the foyer. "Imagine having a hotel room so large, you have your own foyer!" thought Rita. <br />
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"Wait here," the squinting man said. He shuffled off through another door, and Rita was left alone. She could smell something like chicken soup wafting through the corridor, with hints of rosemary and thyme. Her own stomach rumbled; she hadn't eaten any breakfast.....she thought whatever she had to face, she could face it better on an empty stomach. <br />
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Soon, she heard a door open and Tad Falcon himself was walking across the foyer towards her. Rita felt a little weak-kneed and breathless; still, she kept her professional cool and spoke to him as she thought an industry pro ought to. <br />
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"Rita! So nice to see you dear, please tell me they are treating you OK!" beamed Tad, his face nothing but polite concern as he kissed her cheek.<br />
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"Yes, it's been lovely here, thank you. And....I'm so glad to be able to meet you," Rita said, coyly looking at him from under her lashes, her hand slowly caressing her breast.<br />
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"The pleasure is all mine," he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it. He gently massaged her fingers for a few seconds, before placing her hand on his crotch. Rita's eyes stayed locked on his, and after a moment, cooly unbuckled his belt and trousers, ever aware that the squint-eyed manservant was still present, watching them. <br />
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"Ah yes, let's just go inside here, shall we?" Tad said, gently pulling her up by the arm and guiding her into the suite living room. With a sanctimonious glance at the manservant, Rita swept into the room.<br />
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No sooner had she stepped into the room did Tad have her on her knees, her face hovering in front of his crotch. "You have quite the reputation for satisfaction, Rita.....prove it to me," Tad said. His voice still sounded menacingly gentle, as if he were inquiring after a favorite poem or opera. Rita wasn't scared, not yet. This wasn't anything she hadn't already experienced. Still, she was a bit pissed off that she had to prove herself this way, hadn't she brought in a million dollars for other producers and even won an AVN award?<br />
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******here, dear readers, is where I have to stop. This went in a much darker direction than I had originally intended, and these days I'm trying to stay out of the darkness. So, instead of deleting it and starting over, I will leave it up to you to finish the story in the comments. Tell me your take on things......does Tad rape Rita and hire her for his movie, or discard her like trash? Does Rose rush in and save Rita from making a dreadful mistake? And just what is Tad's and Rose's history?<br />
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<strong>Blogophilia Week 48.6 Topic: Have You Ever Seen the Rain?</strong></div>
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<strong>Bonus Points:</strong></div>
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<strong>(Hard, 2 points) Use the name of two magazines - "Look", an old publication , and "Penthouse"</strong></div>
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<strong>(Easy, 1 point) Incorporate rosemary and thyme</strong></div>
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Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13346506272189195497noreply@blogger.com22