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 Content Rating Notice: XGC -- May Contain Extreme Graphic ContentOnly For: 18 and Older, Not Offended  |
| >> Book >> Drama >> ID #1019598 |   |
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 Can I do the things I wanna do That I don't do because of you? And I'll take a left and I'll second guess Into total mess And you're leaving me, yeah you're leaving me You're leaving me with a hated identity But I keep on a-coming here and standing in this state And I’m never really sure if you’ll take what I’m saying the right way But I'm not appalled or afraid; verbal pocket play Is as discreet as I can muster up to be Because the Cadillac that's sitting in the back It isn't me Oh, no, no, no it isn't me… I’m more at home in my Galaxy ~~Galaxy, Blind Melon ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** P.S. If you simply must blog, then you must read
And please visit http://fragileporcelainmice.com/ to pay homage to my good friends back in The Lou. |
| 175. from sugar | ID #556996 |
| Posted: 12-24-2007 @ 11:53 pm EST | |
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I just got home from a visit with april and this is what she wants me to tell you. I hope I get the typing right. |
| 174. Viewer Discretion Advised | ID #554607 |
| Posted: 12-11-2007 @ 11:00 am EST Edited: 12-11-2007 @ 2:11 pm EST | |
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Cowboys ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold And they'd rather give you a song then diamonds or gold Lone star belt buckles and old faded Levi's each night begins a new day And if you don't understand him and he don't die young He'll probably just ride away ~~Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys, Willie Nelson Noah used to call me Cowboy. I thought that I understood why, until today. It was the only time I’d used my gun to intimidate anybody. I always thought that I carried it for the same reason that I had Noah’s six and a half foot tall, two hundred sixty-five pound self with me. I was a hundred pound woman working in a man’s world and I needed protection, right? Then this one day we were trying to collect a huge sum of money from this one guy. He got all smart ass and Noah beat the ever-loving shit out of him. I was seriously pissed and couldn’t control myself. As they dude laid on the floor bleeding and moaning, I put my foot on his back and pulled my gun out, pointing directly at the back of his head. I’ll never forget the words that I hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ll be back for my money tomorrow, mother fucker, and then it’ll be me you have to deal with and I don’t play nice like Noah does.” I spit on him before walking away and getting into the car, letting Noah drive. It wasn’t until I was out in the bright light of day that I had realized what I did and the rage that had just poured out of me. I almost always shared everything with Noah. He was my protector. He was at my side day and night, never judging a damn thing I did, even when I was clearly wrong. In another life, Noah and I might have been lovers we were so close. Most people thought we were lovers. After years of trusting Noah with my every fear, it felt wrong to not let him in on how upset I was at my violent behavior. There was a thick, uncomfortable atmosphere in the car as Noah drove down the road and I blotted his bleeding knuckles with tissue from the glove box. I wasn’t crying, but I was clearly upset. “What’s wrong?” Noah asked me. “Nothing,” I told him flatly. Every few minutes we’d repeat the same exchange until we got home. When we walked in the door, Dave noticed that I was upset, though it took him a few more seconds than it took Noah. “What’s wrong with you?” Dave asked me. I stormed off, heading to my bedroom, refusing to answer Dave. As I did, I could hear Noah laugh as he said, “There’s nothing wrong with Cowboy there.” The name stuck, but only for Noah. It was his pet nickname for me. I always assumed it was because of the gun, but what happened last night makes me think twice. Drummer and I had our first real fight. He wants me to stop “shutting him out of my pain” and I don’t feel like dragging him down with me. At least that’s what I told him. This pain just can’t be shared with somebody who doesn’t understand it. Drummer will never understand this insane desire to just shove a needle in your arm. However, G. does. I’ve been spending a lot of time at the beach alone. Yesterday, I was on the verge of just saying fuck it all and going to look for some dope. Instead, I called G. She came out to the beach and we sat there for a while, watching the sun go down and then listening to the surf in the dark. We didn’t talk much, but it was just what I needed, some strange kind of understanding. I didn’t get high yesterday. It was late when I finally got home and Drummer was pissed. Why couldn’t he be the one to sit on the beach with me? Why do I keep pushing him away? I had left him alone all afternoon and all night and didn’t even answer my phone when he called it. I started off to my bedroom without a word to avoid the fight. Then he said it. “Just run off then, Cowboy!” Suddenly I flashed back to that day Noah started calling me Cowboy. All that anger and shame flooded right back into me and, true to form, I reacted by arguing. We didn’t argue long before Drummer decided to spend the night a Dave’s. For some reason, I didn’t care. |
| 173. merry fucking christmas | ID #553918 |
| Posted: 12-7-2007 @ 5:52 pm EST | |
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Why am I such a misfit? I am not just a nitwit! You can’t fire me, I quit! Why don’t I fit in? ~~Herbie the Elf in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer It’s official…I’m depressed. Oh, Drummer and Dave are doing their best to get me into the Christmas spirit, to little avail. The only headway they had made was to keep me from dropping out of the Christmas parade tomorrow. I had arranged for a float for the New Hope Center a few weeks back to be in the parade and I, as the founder of the center, was to ride on it. Dave and Drummer convinced me to not let my former employees down. Until today. I called to talk to my old boss to get specific times and finalize everything. You know, see if I needed to bring anything or if they needed any last minute help. Not only was I told they didn’t want me to bring or do anything, I wasn’t even invited to be on the float anymore. Fuck it all! What, do I have no place in this town anymore? It’s not enough that there are all kinds of rumors about me floating around, no. I have to be kicked out of the picture completely! The worst things going around about me right now have to do with a supposed relapse. I mean what goes better with sex and rock ‘n roll than drugs? Since I’m dating a drummer, I must be on drugs, right? Truth be told, I’m barely hanging on to sobriety today. I have no direction, no desire. While I am supposed to be starting a volunteer job at a local food bank next week, I know that it will only be something to occupy me, not a calling. When I confided in Drummer that I am having serious urges to use again, he bought me a treadmill. “That first year I was sober, every time I had an urge to take a drink I just got on my treadmill and cranked it up and kept on running until the urge went away.” I’ve spent so much damned time on that treadmill the past week that I lost three pounds, but it isn’t making things better. I told Drummer that it’s working so that he didn’t have hurt feelings. I feel so lost… 260 Days Sober |
| 172. paradise...or prison??? | ID #552436 |
| Posted: 11-30-2007 @ 1:19 am EST Edited: 11-30-2007 @ 3:26 am EST | |
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TWO POSTS IN ONE! Toll the bell Watch the days go by All's well 20th century dies… All's well But I have not been to paradise… The vacation was wonderful. I had never been so happy in my life. On the last night there, Drummer had a private ferry take us to the private island so that a steel drum band could play a song for us on the beach. It was a song he wrote for me. It was titled “Bitter Sugar.” After the band was quiet, we still danced in the almost-full moonlight on the beach, the private ferry still waiting for our queue. (Amazing what money can bring you…) It was there, on Sandals Cay, in the privacy of a deserted beach on a nearly-deserted island, that I was overcome… You know that thing in your head that keeps you from saying everything you think? Yeah, well, I don’t have it. Before I even realized I thought it, there it was out loud, right in front of me. “I love you, Drummer.” “Really?” I thought for a split second, but still, I knew I meant it. “Yeah, really. I love you.” “I’m so glad you said that! I’ve been waiting to tell you…” and then he stopped, choking back tears. “I didn’t want you to tell me to go to hell or anything…” “I know,” I told him. “but I won’t now.” “I love you Sugar.” It took a few seconds…then I ruined it. As soon as we were finished kissing, that same gate that I am missing that let the L word slip out was still open and the worst thing that was possible came out. As he held me in his arms on that perfect beach, all I could mutter was... “Mother Fucker!” Until I said it out loud, I didn’t quite realize how vulnerable I was making myself. If I’ve learned nothing from my years as a dealer, at least I’ve learned that vulnerability is also a liability. Still, maybe it was the Caribbean waves washing my faux pas away or the beaming of Drummer’s smile that melted my heart, but it was nothing, my misgivings. I soon found my footing, in his arms, and in a way, lost my virginity that night… I’ve already blogged about my confusion over the love vs. sex thing. For the sake of a private moment I can’t elaborate too much, but now I know what making love is as opposed to sex…and it has nothing to do with orgasm! (though that was not lacking!) … The daylight was harsh the next morning when we were to board our seven a.m. flight. It was long after midnight when we took the ferry back to the main island and even longer still til we went to sleep. In the rush and hurry of the flight home, the romance of the previous evening was almost lost… The steel drum band that had played for us the night before also played as we ate our breakfast, though they did not play “Bitter Sugar.” There was so much flurry as we moved to make our flight that my head was spinning as we boarded the plane. Landing in Atlanta, it only made sense that we were to part there, since that is where Drummer lives. (For now, but that is a whole other entry…) I will never forget the moment…we were standing in front of a sandwich stand (and I couldn’t even get real mayonnaise there!) when Drummer popped (not THE but a) question. “I’m going to my mom’s for the holidays…you wanna come and meet her?” This is your shadow on my wall This is my flesh and blood This is what I could've been A mix of lyrics from… ~~“I Have Not Been to Oxford Town, David Bowie/I have not been to paradise, Zoe Poledouris There were some counter offers, what with my Dad coming to visit me for Thanksgiving, and negotiations, until we settled on him coming to my house for Thanksgiving to meet my Dad and me going to Van Nuys to meet his mom for Christmas. I refused to bring my kids out there. He was offended, since they’d be here (along with Dave) when he met my Dad, but in the end it went my way. I had a houseful for that holiday...and I was so happy…so many generations under one roof…must be the Italian in me coming out… Even Dave spent the night, sharing a room with my Dad and son. Sure, my house was packed to the rims, since my Dad brought his sister (my aunt) with him and her two sons (my cousins), but for once, I was in true charge. Every man in the house bowed to my wishes! And the women in the house…the women… My stepmother and my Aunt, well they just adored the way I made all the men do what I wanted. They worshiped me! A first for me…since usually women hate me… (The first place I was EVER accepted by women was here at WDC…) Next entry… The path that I'm walking I must go alone I must take the baby steps 'til I'm full grown, full grown Fairytales don't always have a happy ending, do they? And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay The reason I haven’t posted in so long…the reason I haven’t answered my phone or answered emails… My damn job, well it’s turning out to be nothing more than a damn job. It seems in my community, "mating" with a musician (or a rock’n’roll artist, as they call Drummer) is synonymous with mating with the devil. I haven’t hidden my relationship with him, and that seems to be to my detriment in this Bible-belt neighborhood… I busted my ass when I got home. I went to work on Tuesday morning and didn’t even stop for a phone call with Drummer until early in Thursday morning when he called to make sure I would pick him up at the airport. For a fledgling love affair like ours, that is a long time. I even kept up with the 20 hour days until today, just to prove that I was with the program. Everything I have and everything I am is wrapped up in the success of this center and I was going to show them all. This morning I was fired. Not so much fired as threatened. I was told that if I continued to see Drummer in any manner all donations would cease and the center would have to close. So I resigned... I wanted to fight this so bad! It’s not right and I know it! So many others would join in this fight…but at what cost??? I would lose Drummer and my job... In the end, this center and it’s clients are what matter to me. I know that I’ve changed so many lives here…this center, it’s up and running and can save so many. I could fight this, but the center would close. My life’s work…what I was put here on Earth to do, was this center. I know it. Anything else is just gravy. But mabye it's just the begining for my private life... Yes you can hold my hand if you want to 'Cause I want to hold yours too We'll be playmates and lovers and share our secret worlds But it's time for me to go home It's getting late, dark outside I need to be with myself and Center, Clarity Peace, Serenity My employees…they took it hard…especially since V has decided that she won’t be back when she is done with after-care. She decided that it was this business that made her relapse. (I thank God that it never got that far with me!) What am I, leaving them to the wolves? They want to know… I’ve signed on as a client with the center now…tomorrow’s my last day. I’ll miss it, but at the same time, I know that I need this…still, it's important to me that every last one of them knows that I am still with them in the trenches, fighting to good fight. If I see an addict in need, I will be there... Dave and V got this chance…hell, a good friend of mine had a friend that had years to recover from this shit…it’s my turn now! Drummer has offered to pay my bills…that is the MINIMUM that I need to get by (not my membership here, or my cable or things like that)…and I’ve got to take it How many chances will I get like this? Nobody’s gonna pay my rehab or help me til I get on my feet. I’ve done that for so many other’s by now. But what next? A McJob? I’m not exactly a Harvard graduate. I’ve already papered the town (hence my absence) with resumes, but what hath a drug addict to offer? Still, I’m gonna fight to find my place in society. BeautyFromAshes   has a job that suits her and Nada  has a job that fits her and Scarlett  has even found her place in the world (she knows what it is, even if she claims not to, she knows it in her heart…) and dammit! I’m gonna find mine!Even if it means letting go, tentatively, of the folks I’ve met at the center. You know, the one I’ve created… Maybe it’s all in His plan. Perhaps we were all only to meet. Then later we get back together and solve the worlds drug problem. Go figure…His way…not mine…that’s my motto at this point. After all, He is the one that brought me to Drummer… I think this is the REAL THING…what I felt that calling for…not just for the addicted, but for the left out and spat upon. This is when it all gets real, and real hard, I think... Why else would The Lord have given me all my words…all my opportunities…I have to trust in Him… I hope that my employees/friends can forgive me for chosing Drummer over the center... I hope you know, I hope you know That this has nothing to do with you It's personal, myself and I We've got some straightening out to do And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket But I've got to get a move on with my life It's time to be a big girl now And big girls don’t cry ~~Big Girls Don’t Cry, Fergie If you've never heard these songs, it makes all the differesnce. I have the mp3. files and I'll send them to you (besides, I believe Bowie would want it that way...) and you can always find the lyrics on azlyrics.com... that's where I get mine. Or, you can ty these: Bowies' here: http://youtube.com/watch?v=b1sTP_10iXs Zoe Poledouris did a remake of this song for a movie called "Starship Troopers" (excelent flick, BTW) but I haven't found a way to link to it yet. Check back later. Fergie's here: http://youtube.com/watch?v=O5AyHbrCYb0 ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| 171. Happy candy day! | ID #545741 |
| Posted: 10-31-2007 @ 2:12 pm EDT Edited: 10-31-2007 @ 2:17 pm EDT | |
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It's a dead man's party Who could ask for more Everybody's comin', leave your body at the door Leave your body and soul at the door . . . ~~Dead Man's Party, Oingo Boingo So the kids threw a fit about not getting to meet Drummer last weekend. I argued back. I'm still not sure he's going to be around long enough to meet my kids. "Mom, you've been sneaking around behind our backs for weeks now! You don't think we've seen you hiding with the phone?" Okay, so they're a lil smarter than I give them credit for, but there's still a few things I worry about. Like, Drummer is quite a bit younger than I. Will they notice? If they do, they will surely make fun. What if they like him more than me? What if they hate him? So for a buffer, I decided to make it tonight. If things start going badly, it's okay cause the kids have their friends to go out with tonight anyway. (I guess they plan on trading those rolls of t.p. for candy?) Anyway, I only went in to the office for a few hours this morning. I'm the boss, I can do that! Today's volunteer that answers the phones came in and told me I had a special call. She wanted to make sure I had my door shut before I picked up line one. Drummer? Nope, it was V! I was so happy to hear her voice, I almost cried. We were smack in the middle of updating, laughing loudly and joyously, when my door opened and a slight figure appeared. It was G. I had given her my card the other day and told her if she ever needed any kind of help to just give me a call. I explained how the Center is there to provide a sort of one-stop-shop for addicts in need of everything from treatment to help with utilities to legal advice. I never expected to see her like this. Her pasty complexion was hidden by stringy hair and what appeared to be vomit stained her shirt and jeans. I recognized it immediately...withdrawals. She said she hadn't used since we talked on Monday and she wasn't feeling well. I offered to get her into a detox center, but she didn't want to be around strangers. I was torn, but only a little. This woman and I have more in common than a drug and a man. We were friends and one point and could likely be friends again, and here she was asking for my help. "Please help me?" she asked in the most pitiful squeaky voice. Well, shite! What am I supposed to do for her? Sure, I did the detox on my own, too, but I don't recommend it to anybody! After much negotiation, I told her she could come home with me until the kids got home from trick or treating (or t.p.-ing or whatever teenagers do these days) and then I would go with her to a detox center about an hour away and stay until she was thoroughly sedated. When I got to my house with her just before lunch, Drummer was already here and a little shocked to see G with me. I explained the situation and he agreed to stay with the kids til I got home at what will likely be long after midnight. Well, sounds like there's a couple of dead men around here...Drummer has to pass muster with my kids...G is barely holding on to life...and as for me...well, maybe I'm coming to life for the first time... P.S. Here's my treat for ya'll:
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| 170. Faith | ID #545273 |
| Posted: 10-29-2007 @ 12:59 pm EDT | |
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All my life I've been searching for something Something never comes, never leads to nothing Nothing satisfies, but I'm getting close Closer to the prize at the end of the rope ~~All My Life, Foo Fighters I spent the better part of 2006 on the beach. In between relapses, I headed right to the sore, like it was my church or something. It became just that. All those endless days (and sometimes nights) brought me my faith back and reintroduced me to what I understand to be God. I never could really explain what happened to me there; the closest that I’ve gotten is to say that I read the waves. Dave laughed at me. It’s been a year since I od’d; in that year, I’ve begun to think that it wasn’t accidental. Maybe, I meant to die. Only parts of what went on out at the beach are clear in my mind, but one part that I remember clearly was suddenly knowing that Dave and I weren’t happy. It’s so clear because of the deep, physical pain that came over me that day. I immediately got so high that my heart failed. Why I didn’t want to face that truth, I just don’t know anymore. It was that truth that has led me to where I am now. I was drowning in what I had decided “should be” and blind to what actually was, if that makes any sense. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I met Drummer on a beach. Maybe not my beach, but the bar was on a beach, the dance floor was even made of sand. It certainly isn’t a coincidence that our first real date and our first kiss were on the beach and I don’t even think it was coincidence that he played on Pensacola beach the night of our first…time, I guess is what I should call it. Drummer called me last night when he got home. I was already missing him. “Do you know what today is?” he asked me. “What?” “The 28th of October.” “Okay…what does that mean?” “Well, we met on the 28th of September, so it’s our one month anniversary!” I was thinking, Anniversary my ass! What the hell kind of anniversary is that? But I didn’t say it. Drummer sounded so excited and I didn’t want to spoil it for him. I hope it won’t be long until I share his enthusiasm. If it’s meant to be, I will. I can feel it pulling, that force that I felt at the beach last summer. It feels like life. Not only is it pulling me to Drummer, but it pulled me to the three new volunteers that are filling in for V. The only reason I can afford to replace her at all is because they are working for free. Sure, they can’t take her place, but all the little clerical duties that V always did for me are now taken care of. It pulled me to T, our new partner. He is a lawyer that I’ve been working on for months now to provide a pro bono clinic through our center. So many addicts have legal issues and no money to afford them. I can tell you from personal experience that if you are facing jail, there is no better reason to get high. It pulled me back to Dave, who says that nobody other than me could have helped him. And now Dave has asked a huge, I mean HUGE, favor of me. He has asked me to talk to G for him. Once, she was my friend and dealer. Then she was Dave’s girlfriend. Now, she appears to have moved on. There’s not a new man in her life, but she won’t talk to Dave until he forgets about his treatment. “Please, Sug! If anybody can do it, you can, I just know you can.” “Why is this so important to you?” “I think I’m in love with her…” Oh, shit. It seems weird, doesn’t it? I’m going to go and try to convince my husband’s girlfriend to stop using dope and take him back. Part of me, a very tiny part, is telling me not to go back into the snakes lair. But the biggest part of me says that Dave is my closest confidant and I love him and want whatever he wants for himself. G isn’t evil, she is ill. I know that I have to do this. So I’ve made arrangements for dinner for the kids. I’m going to spend the sunset on the beach in my private church. I’m going to need to refill my arsenal before I go to see G. 220 Days Sober |
| 169. Tag! | ID #542076 |
| Posted: 10-16-2007 @ 2:30 pm EDT | |
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It's the Tagging Game! |
| 168. Flashback | ID #535264 |
| Posted: 9-15-2007 @ 2:52 am EDT Edited: 9-15-2007 @ 2:59 am EDT | |
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Author's Note: It's like I'm paranoid lookin' over my back It's like a whirlwind inside of my head It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin ~~Papercut, Linkin Park I don’t know where to go next with my life. I’m so fucking scattered that I can’t even think to the next sentence. I’m gonna lose this house, that’s for sure. I haven’t spoken to my mother in months and since she cosigned for it she’s gonna sell it. My sister told me that today. She’s tired of helping me. It’s that goddamn boyfriend of hers. He thinks I’m nothing more than white trash just cause I live in a trailer. Maybe he’s right… The law is closing in. I’ve been followed every time I left the house for the last month. I won’t use a phone anymore, I even had the land line shut off, cause I know they are tapped. Mikey’s indictment came down the other day. It’s only natural to assume that I’m next. I’m worried about Dave. All those fumes…he seems to be loosing his mind. I can talk to him for hours and he doesn’t even say a word. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was dope-fucked, but he must not be. He’s still turning out top-quality shit. I’m even charging 65 for a half and people are paying it cause it’s just that damn good. Noah is scaring me. (This was my closest friend. He worked for me. I wrote about his death in this poem: "Invalid Item"  ) He hasn’t been brought to the grand jury yet and he’s freaking out. I’m afraid of what he’s going to do to himself. I keep telling him to just go and check into some stupid rehab for six months and they won’t come near him, but he won’t listen.Michelle is fucking knocked up again and it’s making me nuts. She asked me to not sell or give her a damn thing again but, shit, I know when I need it I need need it. So who am I to deny her? I’m afraid I’ll go to hell for what happens to her baby… And the kids…I know they know what’s up now. They told me the cops came to their school and asked them about me and their dad and all of our friends. They knew better than to tell them anything, but dammit, I don’t want this for them! I need to save them from my fate…from their dad’s fate…from all of our friends’ fate… This is all coming apart and I’m the one who’s held it all together for so long. I’m watching the people I love more than anything fall apart right in front of me. For all I know, I’m falling apart and that is why they are falling apart. I don’t even know what is real anymore. I can’t stop thinking about how different things would have been if I never had started this shit. What would I be like? Would I be a soccer mom, shuffling kids to practice? Or would I be dead already from another drug? Do I even care anymore? Yes, yes I do. There is something inside me that makes me know that my destiny is not to crumble in this position. It’s the same voice that I’ve heard all along that told me I could be great at this. Hell, I have been great, for a long time. Maybe this is a small corner of the world, but damn if people don’t know who I am. Unfortunately, the cops are people, too. Sometimes, I think they can hear my thoughts. They know when I am just about to leave and they are here when I get home. Maybe NASA has come up with some sort of technology to read minds or something, like the way Dave had all his teeth removed cause he thought his fillings were tracking him. Maybe they can even hear what I think as I type it. I’m ready to break out. It’s time to go. I remember this place…I read about it in college. It’s a little town in Louisiana, smaller than this one, but it seemed perfect. I want to go there to be reborn. I don’t want this life anymore. It was beautiful at first, but so was I. I look in the mirror and see my stringy hair, unkempt of course, and the bags I could pack all my clothes in under my eyes and know that this is not me. It’s like, as the dope courses through my veins, it gets ready to punch through the thin veil of my skin and come forth, like an alien living inside me. It has control over me, over Dave, over everybody in my life. I think it’s time for me to take control back… 167 Days Sober |
| 167. REVOLUTION...or, Confessions, Pt. III | ID #532901 |
| Posted: 9-5-2007 @ 12:03 am EDT Edited: 9-5-2007 @ 12:29 am EDT | |
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Fumbling his confidence And wondering why the world has passed him by Hoping that he's bid for more than arguments And failed attempts to fly For so many years now, I have carried a shameful secret. I’ve carried it out of fear. Fear of being despised, fear of being hated, fear of going to jail. My fear for my emotions being lessened by experienced and my fears for my freedom being lessened by the statute of limitations running out in recent months, I shared my FULL story with a local sheriff’s deputy recently. I was more than a dealer; I was a manufacturer. Dave and I ran a meth lab. It was a shameful existence and only recently have I admitted it to anybody at all, the deputy, T., being the first person that I admitted it to in Florida. See, I saw that as just another failure of mine. I failed to make a business out of it without getting hooked on meth. (Truth be told, I was hooked long before we began producing, but that is a different blog entry…) What had began as an attempt to support my family had fallen to a pile of rubble and burned to nothing but ashes. I was sure, so sure, that I was doing what I was meant to do with my life. I was supposed to be a revolutionary, stick it to the man and fight to make drug use, possession, sale and manufacture legal in this country. At this, I was certain that I could succeed where others had failed before me and become a figures who’s name would live through the ages. Then I lost it all. The drug became so important, more important than anything else. I had to break from it all. Suffering through cold-turkey withdrawals, I was sure that what was happening to me was the worst of it all. I awoke to find the ruins of my life scattered amongst suitcases and plastic containers. Is this really all there is to it I asked myself… Dreaming about Providence And whether mice or men have second tries Maybe we've been livin with our eyes half open Maybe we're bent and broken I struggled to make it. I even had my ass handed to me on a platter more than once. I tried to be normal, but I wasn’t. I tried to be an artist, but I wasn’t good enough. I even tried to be a victim, but I just didn’t have it in me. All along I was trying to find a place to fit into society. It never dawned on me that society needed to make a place for me. But what kind of place can society make for a drug addict? I wanted, no needed, to be great. All that society offers recovering drug addicts who refuse anonymity is jail and/or minimum wage, dead-end jobs. Drug addicts are the low man on the totem pole. Then I found this job, or rather, it found me, and I could see what it had to offer me. Never in my wildest dream did I imagine what it had to offer my brothers and sisters in addiction… We are the refuse of the nation, people to be cast aside. You want to discredit somebody? Call them a drug addict. Need to blame somebody for crime or poverty or what have you? Blame a drug addict. Cause pain to that person, did you? Don’t worry…they’re a drug addict. They don’t know…they don’t think…they don’t feel…do they? We want more than this world's got to offer We want more than the wars of our fathers And everything inside screams for second life Drug addicts, UNITE!!! Today I was informed that the sheriff of this single county has learned of the crimes of my past life. Instead of getting a warrant to arrest me, he asked me to assemble a panel of other drug addicts to advise a new task force meant to stop the growing meth lab problem by identifying the reason they are built. Granted, I didn’t make it legal to manufacture meth (nor do I want to any longer) but I have made a major stride in getting law enforcement to recognize meth addiction as something more than a crime. We are not our parents, selling dime bags from our Chevy vans in front of the local high school. We are not thugs, killing out of lust for money. We are not lost…we are worthy of saving! Drug addiction in general, but meth in particular, makes victims out of people who don’t want to be victimized. Give these people the tools, the chance and the motivation and you give them a second chance, a second life! Perhaps, non-addicts could even learn a lesson or two from addicts. Are you trying to quit smoking? Perhaps you need a recovering heroin addict to help you through. Do you focus on work and neglect your family? Perhaps you need a meth addict to show you how over-focusing is a disease in and of itself. My point, and I do have one, is that we all have something to offer society, even addicts. Addicts just have a harder time convincing people to listen… We were meant to live for so much more Have we lost ourselves? Somewhere we live inside ~~Meant to Live, Switchfoot 158 Days Sober |
| 166. But for the grace of God... | ID #515764 |
| Posted: 6-17-2007 @ 8:22 pm EDT Edited: 6-17-2007 @ 11:15 pm EDT | |
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I'm not the one who's so far away When I feel the snake bite enter my veins Never did I wanna be here again And I don't remember why I came ~~Voodoo, Godsmack I am not normally in my little strip mall office on Sundays, but today I was. I am leaving on Wednesday for a two week trip back to St. Louis and plan to spend the next few days preparing for my trip so I went in to get a few things in order for the lady that I hired to be my assistant. (She is a fellow Habitat for Humanity volunteer who let her story slip over lunch a few weeks back. She became a meth addict back in the days when only biker gangs in Southern California sold it. She is also a Physician’s Assistant so naturally I thought of hiring her when I began my search for staff.) The office isn’t fully operational as of yet so we don’t have any clients. I was totally shocked when the front door opened and a shell of a man entered my presence. He was soaked with sweat, causing a dark “V” to form under his neck and arms. His hair was disheveled and unevenly cut and several days’ growth of beard shadowed his face. His hands dangled as if dethatched from arms that bore the deep purple bruises that I once inflicted on myself. He uttered one single word as he stood almost menacingly blocking the sunlight that would have shone on me... Help... I have been out drumming up local support for my outreach program for meth addicts and the word of what would soon be in that tiny office had reached him. He wanted out but didn’t know how to get out. There was little I could do for him at this point except direct him to a detox center in Alabama. I took some of the grocery money out of my purse and paid for his cab ride. Then I sat down and began sobbing, but they weren’t tears of despair or sorrow; they were tears of relief. Not long ago, I walked in his shoes. I remember that sense that my sobriety made no difference and my reasoning when I relapsed. There was no purpose in sobriety. My only responsibility was to my family and I had mastered caring for them when I was high. I had even come to believe that I couldn’t care for them sober. In recent months, I have felt a strong lack of purpose. My children are becoming so independent that often days go by before they need me. I have felt that void pushing me to relapse over and over and the fear that I would fall again weighed heavy on my shoulders. Now I know, before my doors are even open, there are many out there who do need me, and I intend to be sober for them. I can’t promise that it won’t happen (I am only a human addict) but I know that even if I do, I will find a way to learn something from it, some way to make my own personal failure benefit my brothers and sisters. Even if all I have to offer is cab fare... |
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