Well, the Goddess – or my doctor – decided I’d vacillated enough and took matters out of my hands. As I sat discussing my plan of action with my brother, my mobile rang. Addiction Central was calling ME. First hurdle: a torrent of unfamiliar Dutch words (on the heels of crying, for fuck’s sake, like I’m ready to tackle my hysteria AND Dutch at the same time). Almost thought they’d disconnected me but then ‘Hello?’ in English came thru the mobile less than perfect sound (Good Goddess! I remember when the selling point to phone companies was the ‘clear enough you can hear a pin drop’. Hear a pin drop? Over a mobile? I’m lucky to hear what the fuck the other person is fucking saying.). Long story short: I’m in the system, my info has been checked, and all I’m waiting for is their new system to get up and operating (beginning December 1) so they can give me a call for my first appointment. Yes. I’ll be ringing in all the crap cheer of the year while getting treatment at Addition Central. Fuck.
I smoked 4.3 Js yesterday. Just over the 4th. A bit too restless, a bit too antsy. I thought ‘what the fuck! I’ve been cutting back for a week now, and I’ve gotta wait until the first of December to even start this treatment…I’m smoking.’. I guess I’m glad my mad binge was a whole 1/3 of an extra joint. Not too out of hand. If I’d had to admit to smoking 8 Js yesterday I’d be beating myself up. 4.3 I can live with.
Facing my life sober is … well, a sobering thought. What the fuck am I gonna do all day if I’m not smoking? What, they expect my RA riddled body to get up and move MORE than what it’s been doing? I think I’m on that edge of pushing it too much already. No. My fear is that I’ll be too awake, too alert, too antsy. I have no job and my status does not allow me to get one – and FUCK! Have I wanted one just as a reason to get out of the house every damned day. I have no money to buy the toys I’d need to REALLY keep me busy, like new musical equipment or games or upgrades for my computer. Concentration? Just a game I used to play as a kid now. Don’t ask me to pour you a glass and sit down and talk with you, ’cause it ain’t gonna happen. The only reason I can sit down and write ANYTHING in the morning is my first thing joint, the darkness, and the quiet of both the apartment AND my head before I begin. Take any one of those away and the balance is thrown…
The words of that bitch sister of mine haunt me today “You’re a drug addict”. A drug addict. I guess by going to Addiction Central I’ve got to own up to part of that statement, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to because I don’t think smoking marijuana changes me so goddamn much. It makes me easier to be around, if you want the fucking truth. Nicer. More compliant. Less likely to bite your goddamn head off. You think I get angry now? Babies, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. I’ve been keeping that side down, down, down. My rage can rip the fucking world apart, or at least that’s the way it feels. Right now, I’m more concerned about what that rage does to ME than what I might do to anyone else (they want me drug free; they gotta live with the bitch that comes out). The pain in my body and mind, the long hours, days, sometimes weeks before it begins to subside. For the past 20 years I’ve managed to avoid most of that; get too upset and I smoke it down – to fuck with the long term consequences on my fucking lungs. Now I’ve got to grapple with it all over again.
My need to stuff down my feelings grew to a fevered pitch yesterday. With my grown up secondary stuffing mechanism on hold (my smoking), I returned to my primary stuffing mechanism: food. Cookies, cakes, candy, sweet sugary stuff with loads of fat….I was in major crave mode yesterday. I managed to control it, mostly because the house doesn’t have that much and what IS in the house isn’t that fatty. I sure as fuck can’t go food shopping while here; all I’d buy would be cakes and stuff right now…I’d stock the house. Glad my bro naturally does most of the shopping because he does most of the cooking.
Just glad for my bro. Again. We found time to really talk yesterday. I told him EVERYTHING about Ben; everything that happened, how I felt, my decisions about how to handle it. I told him about how I’m struggling with my cravings, my headaches, my restlessness. He nodded and told me he wants to support me, just let him know how he can help. He said it was okay for me to drop out of the language class that was driving me up the wall and just go to the Thursday class near our house. He thought it was a good idea that I find another pool to do lane swimming in on days it’s not available at the pool I usually swim in. He gave me extra money ‘in case you want to shop a little, maybe you’ll find something you like’. He reassured me that we’re doing well with finances. He told me he’s scared, too. Pretty much everything I needed/wanted to hear. His medication is really working well.
I feel my strength return as far as Ben is concerned. Everyone’s support has been VERY helpful on this – thank you all so much! Just letting me know it was okay to take care of myself, okay to not respond to him until I was ready, has been a godsend. It’s really hard for me to give permission to myself for some things, so thanks for stepping in and doing that. It’s what I needed. I am unwilling to fill my weekend with ugly messaging, so he will not get any response from me yet. But I’m getting ready to tell him what he did WASN’T okay, I’m not good with it, and goodbye. I’m also getting ready to hit the ‘block’ button on him the second he comes back at me with anything other than ‘Sorry. Goodbye.’. I have identified him as a threat, a clear and present danger. The entire situation is filtered in red in the scene in my head: red like blood. Danger Will Robinson! Danger!!
Got zero plans for the weekend. Another museum trip has been discussed, as have possible film options. I’m playing it loose; no idea what mood I’ll be in minute to minute right now. I still just want to hibernate. Sit and watch DS9 all the way through, all seven seasons of greyed out misty television 42 minute pat stories.
Maybe I will. 10 days to my birthday. You know what my bro said yesterday? He said he’d been EXPECTING my mood to go to shit, that it always does around my birthday. And he’s right. My b-day has been so shitty for so long I automatically expect the worst when it approaches. I really want to break this cycle. Doesn’t seem the year to do it, tho: so much feels like it’s working against me. Goddamn. I know my mood is the break point…If I were more confident, more manic, I’d blow this off and just keep steaming ahead. These are not huge obstacles in my life right now. I’m only MAKING them big: I am safe, I am secure, I am not in any danger at the moment whatsoever. I keep telling myself that, but some part of me wants to borrow worry. Worry about things that haven’t happened yet, that may never happen. I can’t stop it, at least not for long. Best I’ve ever been able to do is numb it out.
Thinking about drinking – another method to stuff my emotions down for a little while. I used to drink a LOT a lot; alcoholic was a label I would have earned when I was 20. Go out, drink ’til I could barely stand. Sometimes I didn’t; there’s one episode in my past (an Iced Tea drinking challenge with some sailors – there you go; the party girl in full fling) where my friend had to drive my car home – which was a manual tranny, and she didn’t know how to drive one. Interesting, disjointed memories of that night. Asking her to pull over so I could vomit out the side…I think we were on a free-way, too….I don’t drink much now. At all. Once or twice a month I’ll have a few beers or ciders. I don’t like drinking now – it makes my RA flare up. The next morning every joint will be on fire, every muscle will burn. Nonetheless, I’ve been contemplating getting some Weiss Biers to have in the evening once in a while. Beh. Just doesn’t feel like a good idea…I’m grasping at straws.
My only real goal these days is to make it to my first appointment. To hang in there as best I can. If I smoke more, I smoke more. If I have a few drinks, I have a few drinks. I’m dealing as best as possible, and promise I’ll only smoke or drink if I really feel I can’t hang on anymore. But I gotta allow myself some breathing room…I just gotta. Because I HAVE been grasping at straws. It’s just that all the straws I grasp at are the bendy kind.