This One Time, I Wore Eye Liner..

nineteen, again and counting, again

Things are okay today, almost. Everyday has it’s enemies. Sitting, waiting for the opportunity to take everything you’ve worked for, whatever that may be. More or less, it doesn’t matter because you worked for it. The miracle of this new lifestyle is I can choose not to play in the shadows with my enemies. I’ve been testing this new theory that if you come out of your room every once in a while, you meet new people. I’ve been trying not to be so shy. I find myself feeling stupid more often than not but, I also find myself laughing more than I have in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, it’s worth the trade off. I know if nothing else I need to learn to be comfortable with who I am and what I say, how I feel and how I look. I need to learn what is appropriate to be said as well, though. Doped up anything you say or do feels like flying so much so that you don’t give shit about those below you. All of a sudden, I care what people think, how I make people feel, what’s right, and what’s wrong. The beginning of this journey, you know “to recovery”, is going to hurt like hell, if I do it right. I have to let go and trust that through the pain I’ll unleash working the steps will come true serenity. I want peace, for the first time in my life. I want to be okay with being alone while at the same time being sure that’s not the only thing I do. Having fun with people in recovery but still keeping in mind that the 13th step will always be in the rooms. It doesn’t matter how sweet he’s talking, how great of a listener he is, or how many secrets he tells you. He’s still a candidate, whether he knows it or not. And of course that doesn’t mean they’re all like that. It just means its best to keep your shirt on, at least until, well actually I don’t know. I just have to be careful, at all costs. I need to focus on me. I need to attend more meetings. I need a job! And I need to let go of the resentment I’ve gained against the directors here. Whether or not it’s right doesn’t matter because they’re only trying to help me stay clean. And clearly, I can’t do that very successfully on my own. My boyfriend, or lack there of, is becoming more and more complicated. He wants sex and hell, so do I but I am in a halfway house! I say that so many time I could type it in my sleep. It’s like he forgets and all of a sudden thinks I’m refusing to see him. There is a side of it that is my fault. It takes me a little while to warm up to him when we hang out. I’m not sure why, mostly because I’m completely sober, but also perhaps it’s because I am far from comfortable with my body. He mentioned the other night hoe much better I look than I did when I was strung out, under weight, and so fucking lifeless looking. I have a hard time accepting that I might look better then than I do now but I’m trying to work on myself physically/mentally while remaining content with who I am at the same time. Regardless, I love him so much. And I’ll let you know if that ever changes. He got me this beautiful necklace for Valentine’s Day. We’re going to be okay. That’s it, for now.

“You mean more to me than anyone else has. Love, Justin.” I’m so blessed. To make this sweet surprise even more rad, he left an orange sucker with a cricket, of sorts, frozen inside. Who does that? I think I’m in love.

Forgiveness

Church this morning was about “division.” The pastors discussed how division is brought on by our lack of forgiveness and how sometimes, we have to forgive people who aren’t sorry. When there are quarrels between me and someone who is less healthy than I am, then it’s up to me to make healthy choices and end the division. So, the opening song was “Forget You,” by Gnarls Barkley. The pastor came on stage asking if we all had someone in mind when that song played. I couldn’t think of anyone. The service progressed, and still, nothing besides the small disagreement my husband and I had the night before came to mind. Finally, it hit me. My utter disgust with the McGregors is such a part of me now, it doesn’t even stand out. I’ve lived with it for so long that I can’t see it. It’s like your nose. In reality, you can see it on your face. That’s why when you get some kind of debris on your nose, you see it. Your nose has been apart of your body for so long that your eyes are blind to it.

They showed a seen from a movie called “The Shack.” In the movie, God asks this man to forgive is daughter’s murderer. He tells God he doesn’t know how. God asks him to begin by saying it aloud. After he says it, he admits to God that he’s still angry. God consoles him by saying that’s all right. Now, if that’s how it really goes, I’m willing to give it a try.

Just because I forgive someone doesn’t mean that their actions were justified. Although I’m not sure why, God asks us to forgive just as we’ve been forgive. From experience, I know that forgiveness brings peace. I’m not sure how to explain it other than to say that it’s much easier liking someone than it is to hate them. I just can’t accept that to be the only reason he asks that of us. It doesn’t matter why, though. He asks us to forgive, so I must forgive.

Do I need to tell Him what I’m forgiving them for? What if I don’t know? I know I’m angry. I know I’ve unfollowed them all on Facebook to prevent me from letting one picture make me miserable, but why? Am I angry because they made me feel unworthy? Am I angry because they mislead me and my family? Am I angry because of how Brandon treated me and am blaming everyone that bears his last name?

Or is it deeper than that? Pastor taught about how confusion leads to division. He said we spend time being hurt over things that never happened. Grantross never told me that he disapproves of me as wife. I just assumed that because his aunt did, she taught him to do the same. It’s scary to give him a mind of his own, though. It’s easier to lump them all together. It leaves no room for mistakes.

Something worth documenting is the fact that all the things Elise, Brandon’s mother, said, she said with the understanding that I would never hear her. When she referred to where I slept as the “devil’s bed,” was that really any different than me referring to Kariston as a “dope whore?” You see, I said that in anger. I was angry with Kariston for hurting my husband. I was doing what I thought was best to console him. Was Elise not doing the same? Was she not trying to protect Brandon from falling into sin using language she thought he’d fear?

Doesn’t all of this sound silly now? Michelle, Melissa, Craig, George (etc. McGregors) have never done anything to hurt me. Here is a list of the guilty: Joann, Elise, Marie, Greg, Donovan, Chantelle, Yolunde, Emily, and Brandon. All the rest are only guilty because of their last name. I’ve turned this into much more than it’s worth. My brother is the one that actually began this healing. I was listing their offenses to him and he kept interrupting saying things like “Yes, but isn’t that your fault?” Now, his uninformed bias was wrong but what he was trying to tell me was not: none of it matters now. I will do what’s necessary to assure I soon feel the same.

“If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.”

— Zora Neale Hurston (via clash-official)

What is it like to have a best friend?

I’ve wondered that my entire life. It appears I expect too much. My best friend’s exhusband was just released from jail. She’s back hanging on his every word which means I’m lucky to get a text back. I’m used to it by now. He leaves: she’s mine. He comes back: he’s hers. My sponsor says I’m begin selfish about the entire situation. I’ve cried with her over how much of a shitbag he is for years now. I feel it’s only normal for me to grow tired of this cycle. When I analyze why I feel such a resentment towards his release, I do find that it’s rooted in jealousy. Jealous, at its core, is a selfish emotion. Great. I’m selfish. Now, what? Why do I require so much attention? Mary Ann didn’t invite me out tonight or last night. Kennie leigh didn’t tell me she was going to Chicago. Why does that make me feel like I’m not good enough? One might argue that after I learn to love myself I won’t need so many people to prove to me that they love me. Sure. I’ll buy that. But why then, after three and a half years of step work, prayer, and meetings, do I still feel as alone as I did from the start? I have a theory, one the usually proves true. I’ll start my period next week. Wild emotions always show their colors the week before my period. So much so, that I can’t remember how I felt before. Did Maryann’s absence of an invitation bother me last week? I’m honestly not sure. That’s what’s so bizzare about mental illness, if that’s what this is. I heard in a meeting Thursday that the most insidious characteristic of the disease of addiction is its ability to convince you you’re not sick. When you have cancer, your white blood cell count proves your sick. The weakness in your limbs reminds you constantly that you need medication. Addiction turns a bad day into a bad life in an instance. After an hour, you’ve convinced yourself that you were never sick to begin with, you’re just equipped with faulty machinery that will never function properly, despite the maintenance. On contraire, the truth is cancer patients need chemotherapy, and addicts need one another.

Tomorrow, or maybe next week, I’ll find humor in how hopeless I’m feeling right now, but what do I do in the mean time? Hang on, of course. Don’t use. That’s not even on the radar. Pray, always. I just want a group of people that are going to surround me for years to come, people that never make me question their love for me, people that rejoice and cry with me, people that don’t hurt me. Maybe, that’s the answer! Maybe that doesn’t exist. If I am asking for people who provide divine friendship, I’m not really asking for people, am I?

This is what I’ve missed about an online journal. Sometimes, I’m too tired or lazy to go sit under a lamp and put pencil to paper. It’s not often that I’m too lazy to stare at my phone. Here I am, laying next to husband of 20 days, in a dark bedroom, at 11pm, pouring my heart out to God, myself, and whoever else cares to listen.

How intriguing! That last sentence alone gave me enough gratitude to lift my chin from the dust. Even if it only lasts a moment, I’m reminded of how blessed I am. My bed is so comfortable. There’s a clock sitting on my dresser so I can tell the time at all hours of the night. That’s important, you see, because for a long time, it didn’t matter what the time was. As a matter of fact there were only two times in my previous life. If I was well, it was time to scheme money for when I inevitably became dope sick. If I was sick, it was time cop dope. It didn’t matter if the sun was out or not. It didn’t matter if I had money or not. It didn’t matter if I had been asleep yet. There was never enough daylight, money, or sleep to make up for the way I was living my life.

There’s my answer. It doesn’t matter what it feels like to have a best friend. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here to make this world a better place. I don’t need a best friend to do that. I need gratitude and God. As long as I have that, I’ve received more than I was promised. The promise Narcotics Anonymous gave me was that I would have freedom from active addiction. That’s it. It doesn’t matter if I get into nursing school. It doesn’t matter if I’m respected. That’s not what I’m after. All I ever dreamed for was the desire to live. Tonight, I have so much more than that.

more on unconsciousness;

I am so fucking pissed.

How could he?  How could anyone be okay with that?

I hate you.  Everything about you screams scumbag.  I wonder how many girls you’ve drugged. And every one at Heritage thinks you’re just the sweetest little male cheerleader with your poor cracked skull.  Oh, give me a break.  You probably only cracked your skull because you stole my medicine.  You are a pathetic excuse of a gentleman.  How could any girl in their right mind even use your name and that word in the same sentence.  I will figure out someway to make you regret this.  I remember the day I asked you what you did that night because I was hurting so much when I woke up next to you.  You replied, “Oh, don’t worry about it sweetheart, you’ll be fine.”

I’ve gone from rage, to hysteric tears.  I HATE YOU.

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.

fuck

The text I was in the process of posting just deleted somehow.  If this is any indication of how the rest of my day is going play out, I’m going back to bed.  Which is funny because I couldn’t if I wanted to considering every morning I work I’m stranded in Madison until the bus comes. I might as well go to work, at least when I’m there I get paid for being miserable. Heaven help me.

you're still scum

even if I did have a few facts confused.

“Don’t be afraid to let life wash over you. When you run from pain, you run from an opportunity to grow. Embrace life as being in a constant state of flux, and do not separate yourself from any part of it. You are only robbing yourself.”

—

Elliott Hulse | @themotivationjournals

via addicted2success