I lost a couple of heavy fucking entries. Sigh. It's not often the shit I write is light reading to be sure, but I had all these mixed feelings and I don't know, probably this mega chem fest I bombarded myself with has a lot to do with it. The good thing is that I sure as fuck don't feel the dreaded apathy that's been accompanying the tamadol addiction because I got a couple of big ass older, bader boys to uproot the tramadol w/d's, since I failed with my own detox. All I can say is that for what it's worth, you sure as shit find out what you're made of when tapering off any dope, especially any particular kind that happens to be especially intense. Sometimes in the past, others have told me how strong I was (not that it was anything remotely near easy.) That was mostly during the 3 months off and one week on, doing a teenager in a week of quality meth and just cutting it off either cold turkey, or if fortunate, I'd have some painkillers to help with the come down.
The 30 pill a day Rx habit when I was 30 was extremely unpleasant as well. I suffered 2 intense wks of w/ds (being ignorant of proper tapering) and by the 3rd week, the physical was manageable, but the intense fucking cravings 24/7 were torture. God I was a mess. Anyway, like I said, I lost some entries, gone forever, maybe for the best. I had to go through my list and make sure only 3 people can actually read my blog cause I'm kinda embarassed knowing I'd written how the clean life and the Steps were it from now on, blah blah. I cannot believe some of the shit I have done in my life. Get on intense dope. Get off intense dope. Fly to Dublin to have an affair with a complete stranger completely sober back in 2001 with $40 to my name. I was damn lucky he was true to his word and supported me during my one week stay in a classy hotel, buy my food, be my tour guide, give me spending money, and hell give me $400 to fix my car.
I had been practicing my using schedule then, which was why I was able to get away from Mr. Prick for that time. At the same time, I was so damn shy, that I wished for sister Crystal in the worst way if only to make me unafraid to venture out in Dublin on my own. I was afraid because I get lost with 2 hands and a flashlight. (of course I did get lost) People's accents were so thick in places I had no idea what the fuck they were saying and had I been on speed, I wouldn't have been afraid to joke and ask until I understood what they were talking about. I wished I had a friend that knew the place the entire time I was there, but Brendan and I were actually only together 3 days and nights. The rest of the time I was on my own and I was depressed, afraid of people, so I hid out in my room, all except for one day, when I got my ass good and lost in a very shitty area, of course leave it to me and my fucked up non existent sense of direction.
That has been one pain in the ass fucked up handicap I hate the most about myself. Anyway, he was a CEO, a mega suit that was the exact opposite of the kind of person I was, blue collar working class with a white collar education and a double life that he never would understand in a million years, like most normies. Still, to be admired, attended to sweetly in some classy joint, romanced, wined, and dined felt as if a starving lady got some exquisite chow of attentive affection and romantic physical closeness I've rarely enjoyed in my entire life. The double life of dope certainly had a great deal to do with it, but that wasn't the only reason. The men that wanted me I didn't want and the ones I wanted didn't want me, at least most of the time, and when there was mutual attraction, there was no romance, no wining, and dining, except for Don, the very first man I was engaged to and in love with me, Mexican and older as well. I felt smothered eventually by his extreme jealousy and possessiveness, and aside from him there was Brendan. Men older than I am from latin or european cultures tend to be the way American men at one time were in this country.
Mom would tell me all about the good old days of the late fifties and early sixties and how a lady got treated like a lady without expecting sex in return. In my drug haze, I had Erik, I felt so blessed because junkies give sweet, platonic, love. I had long ago surrendered and asked Mr. Prick to relieve me of my sex drive, which he certainly did willingly. Even after I got clean for a couple years, the drive was mercifully gone. Mr. Prick is the only man I've made love with or had sex with (in a chemical way) in a long time. Erik warned me I'd be a bit sad, and fuck he's right I'm feeling it. I took a very little amount of the smack given to me, but careful as hell to respect that bad ass. Only .15cc which was minimal, but I don't want to make the mistake of erring by giving myself too much. That would be awful. I scratched and threw up intensely the first time Erik had to leave and go work in New Mexico. The weird thing was neither one of us felt any ill effects until an hour later.
Now here I am. I'm sad. I'm sorry I never learned the proper amount of self love, and life skills, even after studying very intentely. I don't know what the purpose of my life here is and I'm sometimes as sad and lost as I was the days of my massive pill addiction and a homeless guy asked me for money. I burst into tears and told him I lost my job and what a horrible failure I was. I'll never forget his compassion. I let myself be rocked by his sweet, unwashed, homeless self and listened as he told me how sorry he was, he knows how hard it is to find work (I felt understood) and then proceeded to offer me money. I refused his $2, that he kept trying to give me, but that day I felt accepted by a member of a caste system, an outcast. It felt comforting to not feel alone for a change.
The 30 pill a day Rx habit when I was 30 was extremely unpleasant as well. I suffered 2 intense wks of w/ds (being ignorant of proper tapering) and by the 3rd week, the physical was manageable, but the intense fucking cravings 24/7 were torture. God I was a mess. Anyway, like I said, I lost some entries, gone forever, maybe for the best. I had to go through my list and make sure only 3 people can actually read my blog cause I'm kinda embarassed knowing I'd written how the clean life and the Steps were it from now on, blah blah. I cannot believe some of the shit I have done in my life. Get on intense dope. Get off intense dope. Fly to Dublin to have an affair with a complete stranger completely sober back in 2001 with $40 to my name. I was damn lucky he was true to his word and supported me during my one week stay in a classy hotel, buy my food, be my tour guide, give me spending money, and hell give me $400 to fix my car.
I had been practicing my using schedule then, which was why I was able to get away from Mr. Prick for that time. At the same time, I was so damn shy, that I wished for sister Crystal in the worst way if only to make me unafraid to venture out in Dublin on my own. I was afraid because I get lost with 2 hands and a flashlight. (of course I did get lost) People's accents were so thick in places I had no idea what the fuck they were saying and had I been on speed, I wouldn't have been afraid to joke and ask until I understood what they were talking about. I wished I had a friend that knew the place the entire time I was there, but Brendan and I were actually only together 3 days and nights. The rest of the time I was on my own and I was depressed, afraid of people, so I hid out in my room, all except for one day, when I got my ass good and lost in a very shitty area, of course leave it to me and my fucked up non existent sense of direction.
That has been one pain in the ass fucked up handicap I hate the most about myself. Anyway, he was a CEO, a mega suit that was the exact opposite of the kind of person I was, blue collar working class with a white collar education and a double life that he never would understand in a million years, like most normies. Still, to be admired, attended to sweetly in some classy joint, romanced, wined, and dined felt as if a starving lady got some exquisite chow of attentive affection and romantic physical closeness I've rarely enjoyed in my entire life. The double life of dope certainly had a great deal to do with it, but that wasn't the only reason. The men that wanted me I didn't want and the ones I wanted didn't want me, at least most of the time, and when there was mutual attraction, there was no romance, no wining, and dining, except for Don, the very first man I was engaged to and in love with me, Mexican and older as well. I felt smothered eventually by his extreme jealousy and possessiveness, and aside from him there was Brendan. Men older than I am from latin or european cultures tend to be the way American men at one time were in this country.
Mom would tell me all about the good old days of the late fifties and early sixties and how a lady got treated like a lady without expecting sex in return. In my drug haze, I had Erik, I felt so blessed because junkies give sweet, platonic, love. I had long ago surrendered and asked Mr. Prick to relieve me of my sex drive, which he certainly did willingly. Even after I got clean for a couple years, the drive was mercifully gone. Mr. Prick is the only man I've made love with or had sex with (in a chemical way) in a long time. Erik warned me I'd be a bit sad, and fuck he's right I'm feeling it. I took a very little amount of the smack given to me, but careful as hell to respect that bad ass. Only .15cc which was minimal, but I don't want to make the mistake of erring by giving myself too much. That would be awful. I scratched and threw up intensely the first time Erik had to leave and go work in New Mexico. The weird thing was neither one of us felt any ill effects until an hour later.
Now here I am. I'm sad. I'm sorry I never learned the proper amount of self love, and life skills, even after studying very intentely. I don't know what the purpose of my life here is and I'm sometimes as sad and lost as I was the days of my massive pill addiction and a homeless guy asked me for money. I burst into tears and told him I lost my job and what a horrible failure I was. I'll never forget his compassion. I let myself be rocked by his sweet, unwashed, homeless self and listened as he told me how sorry he was, he knows how hard it is to find work (I felt understood) and then proceeded to offer me money. I refused his $2, that he kept trying to give me, but that day I felt accepted by a member of a caste system, an outcast. It felt comforting to not feel alone for a change.
