20 Years

20 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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

I always think of her when I hear this song.  So, I think of it as our song.

Blogophilia 4.7 Remember When....

Remember when...... you thought anything was possible?

Before fate, that twisted thing, came along and had life take you down a peg or two and left a bitter taste in your mouth.....

Remember when...... you trusted authority?

Before those you looked up to broke your spirit and made you question everything you'd been taught....

Remember when..... you gave someone your heart for the first time?

Before having it stomped on and handed back to you with scorn.....

 Remember when.....you learned that life had beautiful things to offer you, too?

After fate, that twisted thing, came along and showed you that out of the ashes, hope arises?

Remember when......you learned to love again?

After you received love from others unconditionally......

Remember when......you woke up glad to be alive?

After you learned that you are capable of more than you realize?

Life is comprised of both good and bad, light and dark.  It is up to us to choose which side we dwell in.

"Happiness depends upon ourselves"--Aristotle



Posted for Blogophilia 4.7 topic:  Remember when anything was possible?
Bonus points:
(hard, 2 pts):  quote Aristotle
(easy, 1 pt):  include a "twist of fate"

Bonus picture guesses:   blending in, fading away, asymmetrical, rearview, pale beauty, faded beauty, polar opposite

Blogging Lounge #5: Turmoil

A word spoken.....a tone of voice.....a facial expression.

Smells.....sounds.....standing too close.

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.

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.

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.

No one will be raping me today.

No one will be beating me today.

No one will be telling me I deserve to die today.

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....there, I can forget.  There, I don't have to feel.  But there....I almost died.  I'm not ready to die today.

Am I?

A phone rings in the distance, people pass me by.  A voice near me, eyes looking at me now.  "Hey Steve, you OK?"

That's the $64,000 question, isn't it?

"Yeah, I'm fine," I answer back, because it's expected of me.

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.

Not today, no.  But maybe someday.




Posted for the Blogging Lounge prompt #5: Turmoil.

RIP Kyle

Beautiful boy,

you wove dreamscapes from your hands,
colors and inks and charcoal blending into
places everyone wanted to escape to.

The pain in your heart manifested
into a nightmarish existence that you embraced
all while trying to flee.

No one could dismiss the beauty of your soul,
beauty tainted by the ugliness of others
and the harshness of reality.

Beautiful boy,

You made me laugh, and cry,
and wish that I could be more like you.
I hope your spirit is free...dancing.

My heart hurts to know you're gone,
the times we shared are forever seared on my memory.
Be at peace my friend.

An update

Meanwhile, in the Middle of Nowhere......

The last time we checked in with Steve, he was going through some major life changes.  Let's see how he's faring.

Speak into the microphone please, yes that's it, thank you.  How are you doing Mr. Clark?

"Uh.....what?"

Tell us how you are feeling today.

"Like I'm going to punch the next person who asks how I'm feeling."

Oh.....right.  Well, how are those choices you recently made working out?

"Fuck you."  *walks away*

There you have it folks, an update from Mr. Clark.  Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

-----------------------------------

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? 

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.

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.
 https://twitter.com/ABC/status/439500447779676161

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.

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

Some Things To Get Off My Chest

Dear ________,

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. 

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?

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. 

Sincerely,
A Survivor

Blogging Lounge #4 "Dear Younger Self......"

When I saw the prompt this week, I said, "Duh, that's obvious:  Dear 21 year old self:  don't take that first hit of heroin!"

But is that the only thing I have to say to myself, in all of my 41 years?

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 worse 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.

It can range from the comical.......

Dear 10 year old self:  it's really not a good idea to try and jump your bike off Kevin's shed roof.  (One of my front teeth is still crooked from the faceplant I took that day.)

Dear 14 year old self:  you may want to rethink the leopard print underpants.  (don't ask)

Dear 17 year old self:  weed and hair dye don't mix.  (I may have to repost that blog write some day.)

Dear 4 hour ago self:  that spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy's you had for lunch is going to give you some wicked heartburn.  (self explanatory)

.......to the tragic......

Dear 21 year old self:  please, please don't drive home tonight. (Lissa would probably still be alive today.)

Dear 23 year old self:  please, please take this first stint in rehab seriously.  (you will save yourself years of pain and wasted opportunities)

Dear 27 year old self:  take this suicide attempt and psychiatric hospital stay as the wake up call you need to get help.  (Instead of going right back to the same lifestyle that prompted it in the first place.)

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.  (Instead of miserable and white knuckling your way through sobriety, ever on the edge of relapse.)

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.....finally 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. 

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. 

There is one "shoulda," that stands out though, that I do honestly regret not making and wish I could go back and remedy.......

Dear 8 year old self:  it's OK to tell someone about the abuse going on at home.  (Maybe the trajectory of your life would have taken an entirely different turn if you had lived elsewhere.)



Posted for The Blogging Lounge, prompt #4:  "Dear Younger Self"