Chances Of Impulse

write first

Usually, I scroll through tumblr to look at what’s been posted since I last wrote. I do this with the intent of writing afterwards, but I never make it that far. I’m doing it backwards this time. Write first then reward myself with scrolling.

I’m here to catch up, I think. I still haven’t heard anything from APSU. I have not reason to panic for another 20 days. The application said acceptance letters would be sent out on or before June 15. I did find out that I have the necessary credits to graduate with my Associate in Science from VolState. I take my exit exams Tuesday. It will be so lovely to finally have something to show for the last 2.5 years. I can’t really achieve much with that degree but it’s imagine it still looks nice on your resume.

I picked up Layla (step daughter) after work today. We have her for the half of summer. She lied to me a few moments ago. I had to tell her to cut her TV off. The remorse in her voice is almost too much to bear. I see why Justin (husband) has a hard time disciplining her. I’m exited to have her this summer. She’s going to church camp and swimming lessons though so that will take some time from us.

Nancy and Jim are still together. They began paying for a ring. I can’t exactly tell who’s being distanct, me or her. I think it’s both but more heavily on me. I chose to stay with her through this. I need to make the effort to do that.

Justin starts a new job next week. He will be back on days. We are overjoyed. I just pray this job works out well. I hope he loves it and I hope they love him enough to take care of him if the buyout doesn’t end well.

I thought I had more to say.

“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.”

— A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

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.

“Sometimes all you can do is lie in bed and hope to fall asleep before you fall apart.”

— William C. Hannan

You don’t care, you never did. You never did. You never did. I always let myself forget. What a mockery.

I decided I’m going to try to start making more gratitude lists. I can’t decide how I’m going to do it but today started with ten things. The things I listed are things thast I am grateful everyday, and always will be as long as those things remain in my life. My hope is to perhaps name ten things periodically and never say the same thing consecutively. For example, on the first one I just posted, I mentioned my boyfriend. On my next list, I will not say my boyfriend. That way, I’m not taking the easy way out by restating the same things towards each attempt of remaining grateful. We’ll see how long it lasts, if it lasts at all. I spoke at Cumberland Heights (a rehab in the Nashville area) Wednesday. I didn’t plan on speaking. The plan was to tag along to learn about H and I (hospitals and instituations). The women originally chosen to speak couldn’t make it so I was asked to take her place. I was so nervous. I was afraid I would bring the wrong message. For all I know, that meeting could have been the first time some of them had ever even heard of NA. I wanted people to be attracted to the program. It, among other things, has saved my life, and contionues to do so on a daily basis. I was also nervous because of the public speaking part of it, of course. Standing on a stage in front of upwards of 60 people speaking is uncomfortable. I spoke entirely too fast, and not long enough. There was one girl in the crowd particularly that I hoped to reach. She ended up asking for my nunmber, so hopefully I said something that touched her in someway. Even if I only helped one person, that’s still enough. My boyfriend and I had an interesting conversation earlier. We talked about what we would do if one of us started using. It is suggested, of course, that you don’t date another addict when they are using. The point we made is, if we love one another how can you just turn your back on them? Fortunately for us, we don’t have to figure that out today. He is struggling in his recovery. It frustrates me that he doesn’t follow suggestions but I am learning to let him work his program while I work mine, seperately. It’s much easier said than done. He knows what to do and won’t do it. With that being said, I want to lose weight and haven’t done anything about it. So, I’ll just pray about it. My parents, boyfriend, and I went out to dinner tonight. IT was in honor of my late birthday and my parents’ anniversary. I was able to pay for their dinner tonight. As reluctant as they were to let me do it, I am so grateful to have the ability to do that today. That’s all I have to say for now.

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..

stay, good girl.

I hate her so much.  Yet, she’s my “best friend”.  Best friends do not do what she did to me.  Best friends don’t treat eachother like I treat her.  But then again, nothing in my life ever goes as planned.

School tomorrow, then work.  I like to keep busy.  Idle time is the devil’s candyshop.  Or something like that.

Brandon, my boyfriend, has been acting different.  Well, come to think of it, maybe I’m the only one acting different.  Having people constantly remind me that him and I don’t go together makes it hard to remain stable in the relationship.  They say he’s controlling and doesn’t respect who I am.  What do they know, right?

I cut myself shaving earlier.  It felt great.

Let’s hope I can stay in my bed tonight.