“Forgive Yourself For The Decisions You Have Made, The Ones You Still Call Mistakes When You Tuck Them

Let's give this one more try.

My last tumblr was abrubtly exposed my a friend of mine’s mother.  She’s always in their business.  So to avoid any nonsense about things I had written I deleted mine as soon as she started questioning it.  My friend and her sister stopped using it. They didn’t see any point in it with their mother checking up on it everyday.  I’ve given it a while to cool down and so far I’ve seen no sign of her or them here.  So, I signed on to a new tumblr.  Hi.  Needless to say, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

This Sunday, I share my story at church. I have 7 minutes to explain 26 years. When the pastor asked me to share, he specifically requested I replicate what I shared last year at the Recovery Community Inc fundraiser. I’ve spent some time trying to recall that was. I’m going to use this space to aid my memory:

I grew up in a good home. My parents are still married. I had everything I needed and most of what I wanted. Something wasn’t right, though. Even at 12, I remember never feeling good enough. That’s when I began cutting myself. That worked, for a while. It was than that i began signing my journals with “not alive at 25”. I’d decided I didn’t want to live longer than that. That was the deadline I put on the universe to make me want to live. Eventually, I got caught cutting. I had to find another way to ease what I thought was pain. I lost my virginity at 13. My problems had been solved. I spent he next couple years sleeping with my peers. I didn’t really want to but they made me feel important. I was making good grades. I was a great cheerleader. I was popular. I went to church. For some reason I still cried myself to sleep at night. The only things that stopped the tears were self harm or sex. Both of which had continued to get me in trouble. When I got drunk for the first time, I thought I’d found the cure to depression. I was invincible! Until my senior prom when I realized being drunk took away my motor skills so severely that I could keep unwanted hands out of my pants. Shit. What now? I knew what I was doing wasn’t working but I was also certain I wouldn’t be content without some form of relief.

When I was offered an opiate, an OxyContin pain killer to be exact, it was as if my prayers had been answered. Finally! Something to make me feel as beautiful and genius as ever without hindering my motor skills! It didn’t take long after that. I went back for more a couple times. After about two weeks, when I asked for more, the dealer only had heroin. I wasn’t afraid of anything. I googled how to shoot heroin and never looked back. The habit became expensive. I was physically dependent, dope sick without it. Over the course of the step few years I stole from my parents, from my boyfriends parents, my neighbors, until finally I thought there was nothing left to sell. I was homeless, hopeless, and seemingly helpless. I called my drug dealer. I asked if he could just front me some heroin one more time. I promised him I’d pay him soon. He told me he wasn’t giving me anymore fronts. He told me he had a better idea. He told me that if I sucked his dick, he’d give me drugs and money. I hung up the phone. I called my boyfriend and told him the preposterous proposition I’d just been given. My boyfriend reminded me that we’d both be sick the next day if I didn’t do it. I swallowed what little bit of pride I had left and called the drug dealer back. We met at toysrus is river gate. I treated it like a date, he treated it like what it was. When I was finished, I threw up. I went back to hotel I was staying in at the time. I showered and scrubbed my skin until it bled. I hated myself even more then that I ever did before. I promised myself it was just one time that tomorrow I’d be able to keep a job and that would keep my high. It didn’t just happen once. To tell you he truth, the first two weeks of it were terrible. It was awkward and disgusting. Pretty soon, though, I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Every ounce of dignity I thought I’d ever have was gone. I was a prostitute. After I while, I remember getting a call. It was time to go. This time, the client I was meeting lived pretty far out. I stood up from the hotel bed and stepped in something wet. I was wearing socks. I hate stepping in something wet while wearing socks. I looked in the mirror. My hair looked wet. It wasn’t. It had just been that long since I’d washed it. The clothes I was wearing were stolen. I was hungry. All of a sudden, I thought of my father. I thought of the pony rides he used to take me on and how he used to tell me I could be whatever I wanted to be when I grew up. I thought about who I actually became. It was a brief moment of clarity that faded when the phone rang again. It wasn’t long after that that my boyfriend decided to get clean.

I was terrified of being by myself, so I went to a mental hospital and told them I’d kill myself if they didn’t get me off the drugs. I called my mother. I told her I’d be home soon. She told me I wasn’t welcome. Thank God. My parents cutting me off is what saved my life. I went to halfway house in south Nashville. It looked exactly what you might honk a half way house to would look like. I kept using so I got kicked out. That’s when I met lyn. I came to rci and had a home. I laughed until I cried with women just trying to make it through one more day. I was taught how to mop, and not to wash towels with anything but towels. I cried with women when I had nightmares about the men that abused me while I was on the streets. I prayed with Lyn. I played volleyball with other residents. I remember a few months had passed and i unpacked my suit case. I had decided that was home. It still is. I have a house in Donelson. I’m in school to be a nurse. I have a car. I’ve received medical treatment for the hepatitis I contacted while on the streets and been cured. While those blessing are appreciated, the greatest gift recovery has given me is a desire to live. No matter what happens, I want to be alive to see it. None of this would have been possible had it not been for recovery community. I’m 26 years old and I haven’t wanted to die it quite some time. I have 3.5 years clean. You know, the only reason I started going to church was the make sure Godwhy was teaching my boyfriend at the time the right stuff. I remember when I walked in here for the first time. The shame that was on my shoulders. I never stopped believing in God. There was a lot of pain in that. I didn’t feel worthy to be in a building where I knew God was. The jokes of me because two years later, I’m still attending this church and it not to protect Justin anymore. It’s to thank God for my life and to learn how to show others his mercy. I still have nightmares about the men. Sometimes, I still feel disgusting. In those times, I looked down at my hand and see my wedding band. I’m reminded that God can turn a hoe into a housewife, and I am worthy of that gift.

So I just read that out loud at it was about six minutes. That makes me feel better. Maybe it is possible after all. Writing it though took much longer and now I’m tired.

To be continued..

“Go as far as you can see; when you get there, you’ll be able to see farther.”

— J.P. Morgan

“As far as I could see, life demanded skills I didn’t have.”

— Susanna Kaysen, Girl, Interrupted

puppet

My day has been rather monotonous.  My mother informed me that her and my father have decided that I don’t get my car until I have 90 days clean. It sounds like bullshit to me because there are so many reasons as to why having my car in the near future would help my recovery. I could go to my own meetings, get a better job, and have the immediate opportunity to leave a situation if I feel uncomfortable. I hate the way they’re going about this shit. They make me feel like I have no control like a fucking puppet. Instead of letting me get clean because I want to they are doing everything in their power to squeeze me into making the decision they think is best. Like, for example, saying if I don’t go to this certain halfway house they won’t help with rent anymore, or saying I can’t have my car until I have 90 days so that ultimately I have to stay clean if I ever want to move forward in life. Now I know that’s true and I’d stay clean regardless but I want to be in control of that. I want to make the decision for myself and not have them pulling strings until I do it the way they think I should. Now, I know they’re just doing what they think is best and only because they love me. I also know that there is not a damn thing I can do to change the way they’re running my life. That’s why it bothers me, too. One of the perks to getting clean is having  control of your life but I don’t get that. It makes me feel so hopeless without the slightest opportunity to think for myself because it doesn’t matter what they think my parents are doing their very best to make sure I only act of their thoughts. I’ve realized that even though I keep gaining sober mail friends, it’s almost always going to end the same way. They start listening to your bullshit and hear you cry but in a few weeks time after they see that they’ve gained your friendship if that’s even what they’re calling it, they’re no longer so concerned with what’s on your mind. I really enjoy talking to Wesley but he’s become rather apathetic to my little issues. It could be because most of the time I call crying it’s over something I’ve already cried to him about before.  I can say that it doesn’t matter how many times a friend calls me upset about the same thing I am still there with the same love and patience as I was for the first phone call.  However, I can’t expect everyone to feel the same way about how you should treat your friends as I do. And it’s not like he’s just ugh fuck I’ve heard this before he just doesn’t seem to be as interested in making sure I feel better once the conversation is over. My boyfriend (or lack there of) and I had a bit of a better day. I am really hard on him and I always realize that the next day you know that I had acted a fool so I apologize to him. The I wonder why he doesn’t like talking on the phone as much as he used to.  I also have to take into account that this is just as hard if not harder for him as it is to me. I’m locked up and can’t see him but he’s out in the world able to do whatever he wants except see me which is what we both want most. It’s easier for me because I know I can’t see him or anyone unless I sneak around but he doesn’t understand that so he gets in his head thinking I just don’t want to try to see him. We also keep missing each other. On the days I can make something work so we can see each other, he can’t. And vice versa, you know because his mother still hates me.  And now I find out I won’t have a vehicle for three months which means it will be hard on us for another 3 months rather than one month because that’s what my parents had told me originally I’m sure the thought crosses his mind just like it does mine, are we going to be able to make it through this? But I just remind myself that if it’s meant to be we can make it through anything which I believe we can. I just need to be patient with him. It’s like we’re in a long distance relationship.  I’ve just to relax and remember that if I make it through this we will have such a beautiful life that I’ll look back and laugh at these unfortunate events. I love him so much and I can honestly say I’ve never felt this way about any other man and I do want to spend the rest of my life with him. We’ve been together for 3 years today. I’m going back to Phases. I called and told her I’d come back if I could keep my phone rather than having it taken again for the first 30 days and she agreed that I can have it until at least 730 so I can handle that for 30 days, I think. And I pray he can too. I know he loves me I just hope it’s enough to carry us through these hard times because it will will be worth it. This post is a mess and scrambled and djeiwbdofoew. Okay, bye.

cure

There is now a cure for hepatitis c and I am going to get it! Not treatment, but the cure! It is 99% effective. I am so blessed. The scaring that has already occurred to my liver is irreversible BUT as long as a do everything I’m told, medically speaking, it won’t get any worse. If I decide I want to, I can now have children without having to worry about making them sick, etc. I can’t express my gratitude to my God for what he is doing in my life. I love you.

one rut or another

If there is one thing I know how to do without a doubt, it’s fuck up my life. And that my friends is not a skill that can be turned into an asset. I won’t give up. They say to use is to die and I’m not sure about all that but I know using wasn’t solving any of my problems at least not long term anyway. Nothing will ever come close to the warmth in your chest when you slide that needle out of your neck. It may have been a while since I’ve pulled a needle out of my neck but that doesn’t mean that everything about it is healed. I’m at an NA conference with my new halfway house. I’ve ran into two people I used to get high with. One looks really good, the other looks like he/she has been through hell so I’m happy that when shit hits the fan this where he/she ended up. I’m alone and I’m empty, but I’m clean today. I can be grateful for that if nothing else. My selfish ass can’t help but think about how I’ll ever live without my emotional numbing medication. It hides even the worst of tragedies from me if only for a moment, it seems worth it. However, I’m destroying myself and those around me. My health was/is declining, my family has to be more important than that desire. This new halfway house is in Madison which is closer to Jess and my family. It’s called RCI. Recovery Community Inc. They made me quit my job. They said I don’t need to be in the serving industry for at least 3 months. I make too much money to fast apparently and there just happens to be dope there. Often times. It’s everywhere just more accessible in restaurants sometimes. So, I don’t have a job which makes me feel all the more worthless. My mind never stops bouncing in and out of using and not picking up. What a miserable place to be, mentally. There are some people that broke me in high school and even since then. Some that I’ll never forgive and I still wouldn’t wish this on them, on my worst enemies. This life means an uncertain death. When you’re using you know your breaths are numbered due to the dope slowly suffocating you. In sobriety they seem to be just as numbered only now it’s my own mind that is suffocating me. Living seems too hard at times. But I am not a coward. I’m a junkie, I’m a slut, I’m a liar, I’m a thief, I am scared, but I am not a coward. Things with my boyfriend went from beautiful to heart breaking so quickly I almost forgot why. I love him and I know he loves me so we are working past it whether or not this is his last chance, I won’t know until that time comes but things have gotten better almost just as quickly as they had gotten worse. And I am grateful for that, as well. He’s my support. He’s my heart. I’m not willing to let that go today. That’s all I want to say on that subject. It’s not even one o’clock yet and I’ve ran out of things to do to look busy. Pretty soon I’ll have losers hitting on me and kiss asses dragging me into activities. You know your appearance has taken a nose dive by the guys that his on you. I’m not sure If that comes across the way I want it to but, what the hell. Who do I really have to impress anymore? Sobriety has taken almost just as much as addiction did. In sobriety my parents took my car, my house director took my job, I don’t have a home, and I barely have a boyfriend, I suppose the friends I had out there weren’t real friends but they were there and now there is no one there, ever. If you’re trying to get clean, don’t take any of this to heart. I’m so grateful to not be waiting for the dope man in 30 degree weather. I’m so glad to have clean clothes to wear. I’m so happy to wake up without needing a shot to get out of bed. And I am aware that everything is going to be okay. It’s just making it to that point.

“It’s not always necessary to be strong, but to feel strong.”

— Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild (via wnq-quotes)

dry

I’ve been writing in my journal lately. I find it healthy, however, I find it necessary to also keep my tumblr updated. With that said, my life is one casualty after another. Perhaps that’s an exaggeration. Allow me to explain. I have yet to move back home, just stalling really. I know that when I get moved back in nothing will have changed. I’ll be put in the middle of my parents marriage. I’ll be required to do everything around the house because apparently, my sister is too sensitive to be upset at all. The lady is still in my life. My hands are dry and I want a cigarette.

six

I’ve found that although it’s the truth that burns sliding from your tongue to your lips, it is often the only way you can really breathe again. I would rather be told the truth and work past it than be fed lies and spend years building on such a faulty foundation. Often times though, I can feel it in the way they say it that I know something isn’t right but I try not to get confrontational without any sound evidence. And even then sometimes I’m too much of a coward to bring up the lie because the truth is usually hidden for a reason. I know that it’s time that changes. I know that if nothing else the lies aren’t right. I can’t say if anything else is wrong or right in our relationship but I do know lying doesn’t really have many exceptions. I’m really sick of staying up waiting for hin to call, wondering what it is he’s still doing at 1:30 am that he can’t pull away to tell me he loves me and he’s okay. It hurts so much to admit these things to you because that means I have to admit I’ve always known something was wrong. I don’t know how he does it but when he finally does call me anything that comes out of his mouth sounds like music. His excuses suddenly make more sense than my rationality.  At least I can say I get off the phone feeling better even if it is just a false sense of emotional security. I met with my sponsor today. She’s so beautiful. She’s from north Ireland and her accent is beautiful. She’s smart too, of course. She’s an alcoholic but enjoyed cocaine in large quantities as well. I do my very best to relate to what she says but alcohol was never really my problem. It might have shown me that I can feel alive with a little help.  But sometimes I feel like alcoholics never to go to the great lengths I did to get their drug of choice. However I’ve run out of excuses to keep living so I became willing to do whatever it takes to feel better. My sister graduated tonight. She was really self conscious about it because she’s a student of 2013 but her tassle said 2014. She was grumpy all day. All the attention should have been on her but there are three of us and you can’t put too much pressure on parents for handling things the right way.  She will learn that. She will learn, a lot. Hopefully not too much, and not the way I had to learn. I pray she can learn from the mistakes of my brother and I who have done this all before. I feel confident in saying she doesn’t have the addict gene and I can only pray she stays on the right medication and continues to improve. Phases, the halfway house I relapsed in called me tonight. The house manager, Julia, said that some if the girls had been petitioning her about me coming back. She said that she thought about it and she wants me to come back. I’m not sure how I feel about it.  I was going to go to Foot Prints. You can still have your phone the first 30 days until 6 and guys can pick you up and drop you off or anything you want really. I had grown to love the women at Phases, though. It’s all a shot storm of catch 22s’.  Heaven help me.