Truth Works

One hour and twenty minutes.

Just back from my morning swim; chose to go early and get the hour and a half lane swimming in rather than my aerobics class and half an hour dodging people.

My mouth has been letting loose with curse word after fucking curse word. Walked in to full news on; my bro’s up and having his morning coffee. Fucking hell. First news item set me off. Then came a fucking advert; you know the kind. Give money for this, so we can save these people for another fucking day. Did anyone ask these poor citizens if they WANT to be saved? I doubt it. I doubt that some of these young girls or undernourished babies are really going to be better off if we save them. What are they growing up to? A fucking harsh fucking life, that’s what. Yes, let’s get them through their childhood all namby pamby and then we’ll toss them out to the wolves once they reach 16 or 17 or 18. Fuck you. Fuck you with your goddamn fucking charities that only line your fucking pockets. Fuck you with your goddamn fucking GUILT manipulations. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

I’m all riled up today rather than zen after my swim, and I can only chalk that up to the last 24 hours.

So. Got the counseling phone call. Talked for close to 45 minutes; it was fucking tough to open my mouth and form the words even though I’ve written them down in my blog posts for all to see. Rape, violence, abortion, mom, trust, fear, mania, depression – every topic came up in a clinical manner; a question to be asked and answered but not explored. Felt raw. I felt raw, the phone call felt raw. I wanted to lie when asked certain questions. I did my best not to, and it took a lot out of me. The upshot of everything is kind of what I expected: I must stop smoking marijuana for 30 days before beginning treatment. I have been offered assistance with that, and must see my GP later this week to get a referral letter. I’m still vacillating…I know I can kick it myself, but I feel like I should take the help offered. I may fucking well need it for my head space if nothing else. Happy to hear I didn’t have to kick it ENTIRELY; I was told I could smoke a J now and then in the evening. They just want me to stop smoking 8 J’s a day….which I can understand. I know I’m smoking too much. But fuck! Now I have to face it. Face it and keep it together; not go off the deep end and become a witch from hell. Face it and not stuff my face. Face it and not drive myself up the fucking walls because I’m so fucking bored out of my fucking brain. So even though I’m sitting here toking away, my head is contemplating NOT smoking. Goddamn. This is gonna be fucking rough.

It’s gonna happen through my birthday, too. Fuck.

Consolation prize: I’ll have more money. Which is good, ’cause I’ll probably spend it. On pool visits, on more metro rides around town, just on more STUFF to keep me occupied. Right now I can toke and be pretty well satisfied playing the computer games I’ve had for years. Take away the toking and I’ll find them all dull and boring; played everything too much. I’ll need NEW to keep me busy.

Who the fuck knows where this is gonna lead? I sure as fuck don’t. I may get all busy with doing my hair and my nails and goddess only knows what else just to waste away all the time I have. One thing I’m worried I WON’T do is write…

Yeah. I’m worried about that. Worried I won’t find the flow. Worried I’ll find a different flow than the one I’ve been using, which I really LIKE. Worried I’ll flip and become some rainbow spouting SHIT just to deal with the day to day. If I fucking do that, please pull me up by the goddamn short hairs. If I stop cussing, please swear your heads off at me. I do NOT want to become insufferable. I LIKE my edge.

Trying to live up to the example my brother has set. Trying to do my best. Fucking feel like they just cut my feet out from under me, though… I do not understand why they won’t even talk to me…Fine, don’t give me medication while I’m smoking. But how about talking? Wouldn’t that help? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Of course, this new place I’m being recommended to (I’m beginning to feel like a case no one wants to help with all this fucking referring going on) may be set up to do just that; like an AA thing. I don’t fucking know, and I won’t fucking know until I fucking get involved and by THEN it will be too fucking late!!!!!

I’m scared to give up my crutch, no matter how much I know I should.

‘Kay. I can sit here and be a bitch and angry all day. Yes, I could do that. All too easily. Or….Or I could just relax. Not change up my routine too much. Be aware of how much I’m smoking without asking myself to stop. Just asking ‘Do I REALLY want to smoke that now?’. Yeah. Raise my fucking awareness a bit. Listen to myself…I’m obviously out of sorts scared. I don’t need to fall into anger to protect myself. There’s nothing I need to protect myself from, no threat outside my door. I’m just afraid. Wait – I FEEL afraid. Better. I feel afraid like I feel hungry or tired or happy. I don’t need to fear my fear.

Yes. That’s where I wanted to land. I don’t need to fear my fear. It will end, it will pass over me and through me and I will remain (I KNOW I’m paraphrasing Dune from Frank Herbert. Sue me.) It’s truth, and truth works.