Breaking Up

My 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.

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.  That choice I want to be over and done with.  But not really.  But really.

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.

Many addicts refer to their drug as a lover.  It's kinda cheesy, but there it is.  Bear with me here.

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.  

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.  

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).  

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.

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 finally 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.

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.

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.  

The last time I used was Saturday.  

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 know all that.  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. 

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.  

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.  

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.  

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.  

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 was 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 "functioning."  

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.  

A New Direction

I 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.

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."  

And damned if I don't feel like there's actually hope for me yet.  

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.  

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).  

This is me at age 5.  This is the only childhood photo I have of me smiling.

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.  

Keeping It Real

I'm filled with rage over the most simple, petty things.  I recognize it, but have trouble controlling it.

Someone slights me, I want to smash things.

Someone ignores me, I want to do something that makes them take notice.  Even if it hurts me in the end.

I seek privacy, while at the same time call out for attention.

I reach out to others, and immediately feel ashamed and regret it when they respond.

I take proof of one good day, and use it to sabotage myself into thinking it's never going to happen again.

Hell, I sabotage myself into thinking anything, as long as it leads me back into using.

I question why I even bother trying.  Everyday.

I question why I bother writing this out, it's just another shameful ploy for attention, right?

I read back on what I write and realize that I have the emotional equivalency of a toddler.  Holy shit.

Posting anyway.  Fuck it.

Blogophilia 50.6 - The Colors Fade Away

The Colors Fade Away for Blogophilia 50.6

This bleak frozen landscape;

my life stretched out before me

neverending in its wanting...

the colors fade away, laughing as

they recede into the night.

What am I supposed to do now.....without you?

Beyond the veil I hear you whisper,

"come join me"

but I turn away from that temptation;

despite my heart breaking...

the wall is back in place.

When it hurts, you know it's the right thing.

I'm waiting for the colors

to fade back into my life,

for you, to fade back into my life.

The wall begs to be tumbled down

and breached.

But all that's left is a blind reflection.

copyright Steven Clark 2014

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.

My guilty pleasure.....I think you all know what that is.

Topic:  The Colors Fade Away

bonus (2 pts):  include a virtual reality effect  

bonus (1 pt):  mention a guilty pleasure  

Identity

As 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.

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.

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.

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?

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."

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.

Deep Roots Blogging Lounge #2

The 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.

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.

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."

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."

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.

copyright Steven Clark 2014

Photo Prompt for week #2

Posted for The Blogging Lounge

Have 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.

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.

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.  Look, come away from dat window, help me sort this shit."

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.

"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.

Tad Falcon was staying in the same hotel as Rita and Rose, but on the top floor, the penthouse 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".

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.

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.

"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.

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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

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?


******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?

Blogophilia Week 48.6 Topic: Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

Bonus Points:

(Hard, 2 points) Use the name of two magazines - "Look", an old publication , and "Penthouse"

(Easy, 1 point) Incorporate rosemary and thyme