Maggieruthless-blog - Maggie Ruth

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.

envy

I’m so selfish, I know. I don’t ask for much, really. Just time, your time. All I do is work and anticipate your arrival. It’s not your fault that I require so much. I wish you could see what I see. I am grateful, of course, for the joy I’ve found in being in a relationship with you. Physically, and emotionally. I see you so occupied. I long for some type of fulfilment, other than your touch. I am old enough now to know that giving someone all of myself leaves me with not much to work with. I get so frustrated because I really know no other way. It’s all or nothing. Love or hate. Yours or mine. I’ve never been very good at sharing my attention, not that I have anyone I need/want to share it with. I know I’m just sitting here alone, feeling sorry for myself but damn. I need something else in my life. I can’t rely so much on him. I can’t rely on a substance for entertainment. I can only write for so long about so much. Sometimes I want to get away from myself. Escape. To where? I don’t know. What do I need to escape from, though? I have a happy relationship, nine months clean, loving parents, a job, a home. What more could I ask for? What am I even looking for? I know I need to attend more meetings. I have told myself that anything I have to say is too intimate for the public that is Narcotics Anonymous. So, I go and sit in silence. Although competent and content, it just isn’t enough. I will feel better in the morning. I always do. I could sit here and sulk all night. I am blessed with the money I’m making this week. I am blessed with the upcoming opportunity to start a new medication with 90% success rate. While nervous and almost reluctant, it is a blessing. I just pray my insurance will cover it. There is no way I’ll be able to afford it otherwise. It’s something that keeps me up at night. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I want to touch and be touched, without having to think twice. I haven’t said much the past few months. I tried to make myself write on paper. I am better. I just suddenly became so frustrated I didn’t want to get off the couch. I want to feel like I am saying this all to someone other than myself. That’s just it. I want someone to say this to. Someone who wants to hear about my day. I want to hear about their day. My boyfriend does all this for me but it seems I need another outlet. He had so many people looking up to him. So many people that want to hear what he has to say. He shares his attention with me and the many others in his life. So, when he is spending time thinking of others I lay inches away from him patiently waiting to be at the top of the list for a few more minutes. He is everything I need and more. I don’t deserve him or what he does for me. I just feel, I don’t know, alone. And that is fucked up. I live with the most remarkable human being I’ve ever met and I still find myself making “accidental” movements just so he will look my way. Maybe that’s love, maybe it’s obsession, either way it’s there and I must find my own way of making the most of what he is to me. In the end, I think I’m just envious of him and his time. He is so praised in our community, he loves and is loved. I, by choice, am as far back in the shadows as one can exist, all things considered. I don’t know how to interact normal. Fearless and delighted. Furthermore, who doesn’t want attention from their significant other? Sociopaths. I’m beginning to ramble so let me just tell you what has been going on. I moved out of the halfway house and got an apartment with my seemingly heaven sent boyfriend. I am a few days short of nine months clean. I am being promoted at work. I have began to seek treatment for the damage I did to myself while using. I was asked to speak at a fundraiser which may not sound like a big deal but it has been a milestone in my life for the maturity I am having to take on. Running out of excused for misbehaving. My family is a wreck but they love and accept me, as I do them. My eyes are beginning to burn.

sponsor

So, I got a new sponsor. Her instructions were clear. She wants me to call her everyday for thirty days. She also wants me to write her a letter stating what I expect to get out of sponsorship. I’ve thought about it and all I can seem to come up with is what I’ve heard in the rooms. I hope to have someone who has more sense/wisdom than me to come to with issues in my life. I hope to become more aware of myself and who I am. I hope to become more comfortable with myself. I hope to learn to help others the way I’ve been helped. I hope to stay clean. I hope to grow. That all sounds good, right? What else? I don’t know.

“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

We went cliff diving today, or in my case cliff flipping (because I can’t dive for shit). Then we met up with a friend and went tubing! I’m bruised and scratched but I haven’t had that much fun in years, it seems.

wash it all away

I put my Galaxy S4 in the washing machine about a week ago. Clearly, it was an accident. I was ten kinds of fucked up over it. My parents got me this expensive phone for Christmas because they trusted me, they knew I wouldn’t pawn it like I have everything else in my life. It was the only thing I have that held any value. My mother and I took it to two different cell phone repair stores. Last night we had to give up and accept that the Galaxy was gone for good. It was time to let the grieving process begin but then low and behold my mother bought me another phone right there on the spot for my birthday! I love it. I love her, I love my family. I’m so blessed. Now, there’s more. I think. As the days go by I get more and more comfortable with who and where I am. That’s beautiful. My intensive out patient classes are getting to be more bearable. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’m just not going to be allowed to work in a restaurant so I best get out there and do something because I can’t continue to let my parents pay for it all. Jess is Jess. I love him, he loves me. We’re trying to work it out where we can see one another more often. He obviously doesn’t handle life very well without me. Oh, wait. You don’t know. I’m too proud to even write it out for you. Why is it that I always get along with the guys better? I went out with a few the other night. One was weary because we’re not really supposed to hang out with other people in our program but by the end he said I was like one of the guys and okay to be brought out like that. Why, thank you, that’s really what I was looking for, your approval ha. No. It still felt nice I guess. Is it wrong to enjoy attention? There is this guy that pretended to be all brotherly at the convention and I found yesterday he’s been telling everyone that he just wanted to fuck me. Now that, I don’t appreciate. I was seeing red last night after being told about it. There was more said of course to make me so angry. I did the right thing, though. I was given that information in confidence so it was not my place to take care of it. I just know that I’m going to do everything I can to make sure he knows that I’m not going for that shit. Even talking about it fuck with me. I can’t count how many times that message has been delivered to me. That’s what’s sick about it. What do I do to attract that nasty and attention. You know, the wrong kind of attention. To be honest, I think it’s because men see and talk to me then automatically think I can be easily manipulated or taken advantage of. And I’ll give them that, that’s usually the case. However, I’m so oblivious to it when they’re doing it that they don’t really get the chance to take that vantage. Then I find out like this, typically from another guy trying to sneak his way into my pants. It’s sad really. Don’t pay me a compliment because I’ll never take you serious. Believing guys like that has helped get me to the torn to shit emotional state that I live in now. Thank you baby, thank you so much. I sound like I’m all negative. I’m not. I just need to make these things clear to myself, you know? When it’s written down it’s always easier to understand, to see what I’m doing wrong or right in their eyes, apparently. We’re going to play volleyball tonight. He will be there and so will he and so will he. Confusing, I know. We’ll see how it goes. It cant be that bad. Right?

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)

pharaphernalia

Mint chocolate chip to the right, chapstick to the left, looking good.  Except, I need a towel and my towels are in the washer right now.  I’ll probably just roll around on my bed.  What am I saying?  Maybe I should go.

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.