I remember the first time I saw her: the most beautiful woman on the planet.
She walked in the room, sure and confident of herself, smiling at those gathered. Her thick brown hair bounced as she walked in a mesmerising rhythm that hypnotised me. Her brown eyes gleamed and had crinkles at the corners, sure signs of a person who laughs often and loves life.
I couldn't take my eyes off her. If I looked away, I would surely cease to exist; I stared and stared as if my life depended on it. But would she notice me? Ego told me of course she would, how couldn't she? But then my ego deflated as she turned her attention to someone else. Who the hell was I to think I would stand a chance? I sighed and slunk off, tail between legs, to the corner. I gulped my drink, trying to drown my sorrows.
Glaring around the room, the thought went through my mind that it was probably for the best. After all, one shouldn't set goals that are impossible to attain, and that goes for meeting women as well. Still, I couldn't help but sulk a little and feel sorry for myself. Ah, love. We are made its bitch all too often in life.
But what was this? She was walking towards me. She was walking towards me! I quickly stood up, and knocked my chair over in the process. Great, I thought to myself. Just the way to make a good first impression. Now she'll laugh and wonder why she wasted her time....
"Oopsy-daisy, let me just help you with that." She picked up my chair. I was mortified. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I wanted to die. Right there, right then, just needed to wait for a big hole to open up and swallow me. Any time now. Hey hole, I'm waiting, hurry up.
She was saying something. I was so busy waiting for the hole to appear that I missed her words. I forced myself to look at her and she repeated herself.
"I'm Miss Cooper, your new 3rd year teacher. What's your name dear?"
"Uh....uh....S-s-steven," I stammered like an idiot.
"Very pleased to meet you Steven. Are you finished with that, love?" She indicated to the empty chocolate milk carton clutched in my sweaty hand. "Let's just throw that away now, alright?"
Had you going, I hope?
I was seven. I had a crush on Miss Cooper that was so intense that I stammered whenever she asked me a question. I still consider her my first love. Years later as an adult I saw her again at a pub, but talked myself out of going over to speak to her. If I had, though, I'd be willing to bet money that I would have stammered.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Dopamine
smiles lighting up their faces as
the roller coaster inches its way
up towards the drop o'doom;
we plunge down into the void
that spins us up and down,
loop-de-loop, over and under,
until easing into a smooth stop.
We pour out of the car,
a smile lighting up her face
as she turns to me for validation:
did I have fun too?
I plaster a smile on my face
because it's what is expected of me,
and watch the children around me
clamour to "go just one more time!"
The rush is over, but their euphoria
will last a few hours yet.
I muse how this is considered
normal.
I wonder why this isn't enough,
why I prefer my high to this.
The slow inching of the amber liquid
into the chamber swirling with blood;
the plunge down into the void, the
rush that spins me up and down,
loop-de-loop, over and under
until easing into a smooth peace.
My euphoria, too, will last
a few hours yet....until
my body clamours to do it
again, "just one more time!"
She's looking at me,
waiting for an answer.
I say "of course!" and kiss her cheek.
I don't say I'd rather have my kind of high.
copyright Steven Clark, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Control?
Wow, so GBE is back up and running again. Ok, it has for a few weeks now but I been slow on the uptake these days. Haven't been doing much writing recently so it's taken me this long to decide I want to be part of it again. For those of you who were part of the original GBE on Myspace, I blogged as Clarkster there.
So.....control. What can I really say about control? Control is what every addict thinks they have, even as they are spiraling out of control. Kind of a funky paradox. We could be homeless, living in a cardboard box under a bridge, weigh 90 pounds and have open oozing sores from infected track marks on our arms, and when asked if we want help, we say, "Nope! I'm good, but thanks for asking. I got everything under control."
Rather fucked up, huh.
Control is a multi-layered thing in addiction-land. No one, upon trying drugs or alcohol for the first time, ever intends on ending up an addict. That's loss of control #1: genes. Whether an "addiction gene" exists or not, one cannot argue that these things have a tendency to run in families. Why is it that one person who uses drugs or drinks socially can take it or leave it, and another can't? "Disease" or not, I do believe that some people are born wired with addictive tendencies. It might not manifest itself as drug abuse, but might as an addiction to food, shopping, sex, gambling, or what-have-you.
Usually, though, part of the appeal of using drugs - apart from it being fun and cool at first - is to escape reality. Even if not realized at first, most addicts are trying to escape from something harsh in their lives.
Loss of control #2: the ability to face reality. The more a person runs from their problems, the less able they are to deal with it later on down the road. It's a cumulative affect. The drug use itself is usually just a symptom of the underlying problem(s) that was never dealt with in the first place. Treating the underlying problem(s) is just as important as treating the drug abuse.
Left to just run amok, drug abuse will usually end up turning into a real bonafide addiction. Meaning, your body and brain depends on the chemicals just like it does on water or air just to be able to function normally. Loss of control #3: bodily functions. Once users are that deep into their addiction the only control they have over their bodies is to keep feeding it their drug of choice, or face the consequences. Withdrawal is not a pretty sight: shaking, sweating, puking, diarrhea, cramps, aching, insomnia....and in some severe cases, even death.
But are we really that helpless? Some addicts are able to take back control of their lives by admitting that they have no control. Step #1 in AA and NA is admitting we are powerless over [drug of choice] and our lives have become unmanageable. Of course getting to that point where we can admit loss of control - ironically - takes quite a bit of control.
Part of recovery - and taking control of one's life - as an addict is also accepting responsibility for one's actions. In doing so, we have to accept loss of control #4: we cannot control other peoples' reactions. Over the course of our "career" we have hurt friends, family, and even innocent bystanders. Recovery doesn't mean we get a free pass and all is forgiven and dandy. We may never gain back the friendship and trust of those we hurt.
So, what does a recovering addict have control over, anything? Yes. Whether or not we pick up. No one forces us to use. No one ties us to a chair and points a gun to our head and says "shoot up or I'll kill you." We make that choice, willingly. Even if it seems like lifes' circumstances "force" us to pick up, that responsibility lies solely with us.
GBE 2
So.....control. What can I really say about control? Control is what every addict thinks they have, even as they are spiraling out of control. Kind of a funky paradox. We could be homeless, living in a cardboard box under a bridge, weigh 90 pounds and have open oozing sores from infected track marks on our arms, and when asked if we want help, we say, "Nope! I'm good, but thanks for asking. I got everything under control."
Rather fucked up, huh.
Control is a multi-layered thing in addiction-land. No one, upon trying drugs or alcohol for the first time, ever intends on ending up an addict. That's loss of control #1: genes. Whether an "addiction gene" exists or not, one cannot argue that these things have a tendency to run in families. Why is it that one person who uses drugs or drinks socially can take it or leave it, and another can't? "Disease" or not, I do believe that some people are born wired with addictive tendencies. It might not manifest itself as drug abuse, but might as an addiction to food, shopping, sex, gambling, or what-have-you.
Usually, though, part of the appeal of using drugs - apart from it being fun and cool at first - is to escape reality. Even if not realized at first, most addicts are trying to escape from something harsh in their lives.
Loss of control #2: the ability to face reality. The more a person runs from their problems, the less able they are to deal with it later on down the road. It's a cumulative affect. The drug use itself is usually just a symptom of the underlying problem(s) that was never dealt with in the first place. Treating the underlying problem(s) is just as important as treating the drug abuse.
Left to just run amok, drug abuse will usually end up turning into a real bonafide addiction. Meaning, your body and brain depends on the chemicals just like it does on water or air just to be able to function normally. Loss of control #3: bodily functions. Once users are that deep into their addiction the only control they have over their bodies is to keep feeding it their drug of choice, or face the consequences. Withdrawal is not a pretty sight: shaking, sweating, puking, diarrhea, cramps, aching, insomnia....and in some severe cases, even death.
But are we really that helpless? Some addicts are able to take back control of their lives by admitting that they have no control. Step #1 in AA and NA is admitting we are powerless over [drug of choice] and our lives have become unmanageable. Of course getting to that point where we can admit loss of control - ironically - takes quite a bit of control.
Part of recovery - and taking control of one's life - as an addict is also accepting responsibility for one's actions. In doing so, we have to accept loss of control #4: we cannot control other peoples' reactions. Over the course of our "career" we have hurt friends, family, and even innocent bystanders. Recovery doesn't mean we get a free pass and all is forgiven and dandy. We may never gain back the friendship and trust of those we hurt.
So, what does a recovering addict have control over, anything? Yes. Whether or not we pick up. No one forces us to use. No one ties us to a chair and points a gun to our head and says "shoot up or I'll kill you." We make that choice, willingly. Even if it seems like lifes' circumstances "force" us to pick up, that responsibility lies solely with us.
GBE 2
Monday, June 13, 2011
MIA
So it's been awhile since I've posted anything. I have no excuses, just lazy.
I tend to do this every so often. For a while I'll be really active in writing - and reading others' blogs - and then I'll just disappear from cyberspace with no warning. Why? Fuck, I dunno. Ok, that's a lie. I do know. When I'm actively using and strung out, I don't like to be in contact with my online friends. I guess I don't want people to see just how fucked up I am. So I stop writing, stop commenting on blogs, stop posting on facebook. Call it shame, or whatever.
So yeah, I've been MIA the last few months while I've been bingeing. I fess up. Now go throw stones at me and tell me to get my shit together, you lazy good for nothing junkie. I know you want to say it. And I would deserve it.
I asked myself for the millionth time why I keep putting myself through this. I'm no closer to an answer, just thought I'd come clean to you all - if anyone sees this - that I'm not clean and sober and haven't been for a few months. Maybe throwing this out there will encourage me to try the wagon again.
Guess that's all there is to say for now.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
This is what it feels like
This links to someone's suicide note where he disclosed that he had been sexually molested as a child and how it fucked up his life. I'm sharing it so that others who have not experienced this can understand how hard it is to get through life for those of us who have. Many aspects of this letter I could have written myself. Maybe I use it as an excuse too often, but it's also the reason I struggle so much to stay clean and sober. I do try, but then I have that other issue to deal with and it seems impossible to be alone with my thoughts without being numbed out. Please don't mistake this as a sign that I'm contemplating the same thing as this guy did.....I'm not. I just thought it important to circulate this so that others who don't understand why we "just can't get over it" know a little what it's like.
http://gizmodo.com/5726667/the-agonizing-last-words-of-bill-zeller?skyline=true&s=i
http://gizmodo.com/5726667/the-agonizing-last-words-of-bill-zeller?skyline=true&s=i
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Hitting Bottom
I was thinking this morning of how everyone's "bottom" is different in addiction/alcoholism. Each person has their own threshold of no return where enough is enough and change is actively sought.
When the phrase "hitting bottom" is applied to an addict, stereotypical images of a bum sleeping on the street in rags comes to mind. Does a person have to lose everything and beg on street corners for change before they officially reach "bottom" status? No.
It might be a white-collar professional who becomes alarmed at how much brandy is drunk every night and feels the overwhelming need to change. It might be a single mom on welfare realizing her meth use is going to get her kids taken away from her. It might be the boss whose wife is threatening divorce unless he stops drinking, and even then he may not stop, and won't until he risks losing the house.
Everyone has their own wake-up call moment for when they acknowledge - and accept - the fact that they have to stop participating in the self-destruction. Yes, some people won't stop until they literally have lost everything, and some people don't/won't stop until they're dead. For some it can be a much lighter, but no less effective, message. Hell, I heard one story in AA long ago of a woman who upon taking her first ever drink of alcohol got so scared at how much she loved it that she swore to never take another drink again and started going to meetings. I don't know if that story is true, but how much misery could we all save ourselves and the world if were all in as much tune with reality as she was?
But we aren't in tune with reality because we're so busy trying to escape it. Even when our lives are crumbling around us and we've fucked things up good and proper we still try to escape reality through our vices, because going through the misery that addiction brings is still preferable to dealing with reality. How fucked up is that?
For me, it's the belief that I don't deserve a better life, or will just fuck it all up so why bother trying, that keeps me continually climbing the walls of the pit. I crawl out for a bit and hover towards the edge, sometimes leaving one foot dangling in, but never have I been able to completely pull myself out and away from the damn thing.
If you read my old blog on Myspace you know I've written extensively about my struggles with addiction. There was a point that I did reach a point of being that homeless bum on the street and even then I didn't see any point to changing. Fast foward through the years to now, after countless attempts to get clean and countless relapses, countless second and third chances given by friends and family, countless jobs lost, close shaves with the law and with death.....and still I hover near the edge wanting to dive right back in.
I haven't shared much about my most recent nosedive last summer, except that it was the arrest of my dealer (the only one in the area that deals with heroin) and the thought of being cut off from my supply that prompted getting clean again, not because of any *real* desire to do so. In September I OD'd; fortunately was with someone at the time who was alert enough to recognize the signs, and upon waking up in the ER did I have some life-changing affirmative moment where I vowed never to use again? Fuck no. I used again as soon as I could. Almost dying wasn't a big deal. How messed up is it that almost dying didn't make me want to stop, but rather it was a "forced" clean up due to lack of supplies!
Of course once the dreaded withdrawals are over and I'm thinking slightly more rationally again, I do see the insanity of it all and know if I can't get my shit together I'm going to end up dying from this. Some days that doesn't seem like such a bad thing. Some days it scares me enough to stay on the straight and narrow for one more day. Most often I turn to alcohol to deal with things.
I don't know what it's going to take to make me genuinely want to stay clean, instead of doing it for reasons outside myself or for others because it's what they want. There have been times where I thought I wanted it, was sure of it. I was sure I had hit *my* bottom and was ready to live a better life. Those times turned out to be me trying to convince myself of it because I was getting clean for someone else, not because I wanted it.
I've tried AA and NA, have done half-assed attempts at working the steps with a sponsor, but in hindsight it was all for show. I fully state and acknowledge that I am an addict. The thing is, I don't care. I've never felt that deep-down desire to stop, or felt that some mythical higher power could create that desire in me.
Until I believe that I deserve better and want this for myself, I will continue to struggle. How, then, do I get myself to that point? That's the million dollar question. I know the more I delve into my inner self and analyze, the more I face and process my other issues, and the more support I seek from others, it helps, but it's not always enough. Most days just the thought of all the work and effort this takes shuts me down and makes me want to throw in the towel.
Sorry for the whine, I just needed to get this off my chest.
When the phrase "hitting bottom" is applied to an addict, stereotypical images of a bum sleeping on the street in rags comes to mind. Does a person have to lose everything and beg on street corners for change before they officially reach "bottom" status? No.
It might be a white-collar professional who becomes alarmed at how much brandy is drunk every night and feels the overwhelming need to change. It might be a single mom on welfare realizing her meth use is going to get her kids taken away from her. It might be the boss whose wife is threatening divorce unless he stops drinking, and even then he may not stop, and won't until he risks losing the house.
Everyone has their own wake-up call moment for when they acknowledge - and accept - the fact that they have to stop participating in the self-destruction. Yes, some people won't stop until they literally have lost everything, and some people don't/won't stop until they're dead. For some it can be a much lighter, but no less effective, message. Hell, I heard one story in AA long ago of a woman who upon taking her first ever drink of alcohol got so scared at how much she loved it that she swore to never take another drink again and started going to meetings. I don't know if that story is true, but how much misery could we all save ourselves and the world if were all in as much tune with reality as she was?
But we aren't in tune with reality because we're so busy trying to escape it. Even when our lives are crumbling around us and we've fucked things up good and proper we still try to escape reality through our vices, because going through the misery that addiction brings is still preferable to dealing with reality. How fucked up is that?
For me, it's the belief that I don't deserve a better life, or will just fuck it all up so why bother trying, that keeps me continually climbing the walls of the pit. I crawl out for a bit and hover towards the edge, sometimes leaving one foot dangling in, but never have I been able to completely pull myself out and away from the damn thing.
If you read my old blog on Myspace you know I've written extensively about my struggles with addiction. There was a point that I did reach a point of being that homeless bum on the street and even then I didn't see any point to changing. Fast foward through the years to now, after countless attempts to get clean and countless relapses, countless second and third chances given by friends and family, countless jobs lost, close shaves with the law and with death.....and still I hover near the edge wanting to dive right back in.
I haven't shared much about my most recent nosedive last summer, except that it was the arrest of my dealer (the only one in the area that deals with heroin) and the thought of being cut off from my supply that prompted getting clean again, not because of any *real* desire to do so. In September I OD'd; fortunately was with someone at the time who was alert enough to recognize the signs, and upon waking up in the ER did I have some life-changing affirmative moment where I vowed never to use again? Fuck no. I used again as soon as I could. Almost dying wasn't a big deal. How messed up is it that almost dying didn't make me want to stop, but rather it was a "forced" clean up due to lack of supplies!
Of course once the dreaded withdrawals are over and I'm thinking slightly more rationally again, I do see the insanity of it all and know if I can't get my shit together I'm going to end up dying from this. Some days that doesn't seem like such a bad thing. Some days it scares me enough to stay on the straight and narrow for one more day. Most often I turn to alcohol to deal with things.
I don't know what it's going to take to make me genuinely want to stay clean, instead of doing it for reasons outside myself or for others because it's what they want. There have been times where I thought I wanted it, was sure of it. I was sure I had hit *my* bottom and was ready to live a better life. Those times turned out to be me trying to convince myself of it because I was getting clean for someone else, not because I wanted it.
I've tried AA and NA, have done half-assed attempts at working the steps with a sponsor, but in hindsight it was all for show. I fully state and acknowledge that I am an addict. The thing is, I don't care. I've never felt that deep-down desire to stop, or felt that some mythical higher power could create that desire in me.
Until I believe that I deserve better and want this for myself, I will continue to struggle. How, then, do I get myself to that point? That's the million dollar question. I know the more I delve into my inner self and analyze, the more I face and process my other issues, and the more support I seek from others, it helps, but it's not always enough. Most days just the thought of all the work and effort this takes shuts me down and makes me want to throw in the towel.
Sorry for the whine, I just needed to get this off my chest.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Faces
was thinking tonight about how we all have multiple faces, or masks, that come out when its appropriate. Everyone does to some extent, no matter who we are. We have our public face, the face and personality we show to the world when we're at work, shopping, at social gatherings, or merely pumping gas into our cars.
Then we have our friend face and personality, that we put on for friends that are more intimate than mere acquaintances. We let them into our lives a tiny bit deeper, and might share some personal things with them. But never the full story.
Then we have our real face, the one that we see in the mirror each day and have to live with day in, day out. This personality we can't escape, for it's the real deal. Yet we still try and hide from it. We try and live our public and friend personalities 24/7 so we don't have to deal with what's real. What's hidden. What we don't like to see.
Not to mention what we don't want anyone else to see. We go to great lengths to hide our real faces to the world, because what would everyone think if they knew the truth? No matter what your truth is, it's usually something you don't want floating out there for all to see. We all have something to hide.
Is this OK? Is this normal? I have a hard time knowing what "normal" is because of this huge secret I have, this thing that I go to great lengths to hide. So when I'm at work or out in public and something triggers me, I have to lie and make up shit to excuse my behavior. When I'm with friends and something triggers me, I do the same.
But what about when it's a trigger so severe that it's hard to cover up? What then? Explaining the truth of the matter is not an option when you're in the thick of it. Neither is trying to act cool and nonchalant until you can leave. Then, the only option - for me anyway - is to get out of dodge immediately and worry about what you'll tell everyone at a later time.
Then the questions come....
"What's wrong?" "What's going on?" What the hell is wrong with you?" "Why can't you just get over it?"
Do you answer truthfully, or continue to lie?
To answer truthfully risks condemnation and exposure. To lie is to keep burying it, therefore allowing it to keep eating away at your soul. A lose-lose situation.
After awhile the incident fades away into memory.....for everyone except you. Now, everytime you lie to hide yourself, you feel it doubly and wonder if everyone else can, too. Every word said to you, every look, holds a second meaning. Do they know? you ask yourself. What do I do if they do know?
Of course, we all get to be a bit egocentric with our troubles. We all think that the world revolves around us and if someone finds out our secret, than it's literally the end of the world. And when it doesn't prove to be the end of the world, we pout and rage and scream because how dare the world go on oblivious to our hurt?
I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not unique. I'm not the first person to be abused. I'm not the first person to abuse others. I'm not the first person to abuse drugs and alcohol. I'm not the first person to live through this. I am just one of millions who are trying to overcome huge obstacles.
And so I will go on with my various faces, my work face, my friend face, and my real one......and try to merge them all to where there isn't such a huge divide between them all. I can't pretend I'm someone I'm not, but I can't hide who I am any longer.
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