So I've been off all opiates now for... get this... 7 days. One week. It's been the longest week of my life. I'm having a monetary dry spell. Only 9 more days till I can get a script for 5/325 Percocets. Not the best fucking thing on the planet but I will fucking take it like whoa. I'm feeling so isolated because I don't have a fucking phone at the moment. I couldn't afford to pay the bill because I spent all my money on oxycodone. Although... do I really want to start down this path again?
I know exactly what happens. I'll have the pills for a week or 10 days, if I'm lucky. Feel good and normal and get shit done. Walk my dogs, clean my house, wash my hair. Then I'll get some money and buy as many 30mg Roxi IRs as I can "afford" (which usually ends up being way more than I can afford). I'll snort them, stay up all night writing, watch television like it was going out of style, be able to cook for my family and just nod on the couch (which needs replacing, but who can afford that?) "with" them but not really being there.
But most importantly, I will be "happy" again.
Then, somehow, all my money will be gone. It'll be 2 weeks into March and then I'll have to while away the sickness. I'll feel better after about 3 days, almost normal after a week. Then I'll be stuck in this fantastic depression/anxiety/boredom fest that won't go away no matter what. We'll struggle to pay for food and electricity and cable and internet and phones and credit cards and student loans.
I'll spend way too much time online and smoke way too much pot and eat way too much food. I'll write pages and pages of nonsense anywhere I can. I'll apply for jobs but not get any call backs. If I do get a call back, I'll get all my hopes up and bomb the interview. I'll contemplate getting a Certificate in some sort of field I'm somewhat interested in, either Pharmacy Tech or Vet Tech or some sort of fucking peripherally "medical" Tech.
My girlfriend will be happy that I'm sober and trying to get my shit together but also angry that I'm not willing to do anything involving leaving the house unless I absolutely have to. Our intimacy is really lacking at the moment and it's all my fault. It's like I can't have sex without being at least drunk. Nowadays alcohol doesn't really agree with my stomach unless I am on opioids. Pot just makes me lazy and I'm developing, believe or not, a pretty fucking decent tolerance. Oh, and of course there is the Klonopin. It's the best and worst thing that's happened to me and I am too afraid to get off of it.
I love my girlfriend. It's not her. She thinks it's because I'm not attracted to her. But it's been the same with everyone I've been with. I'm fairly asexual when sober. I don't have the drive. Drugs, yes. Sex, not so much. I think the lack of sex and being broke all the time is taking its toll on us. To be completely frank.
I know she'll stick by me. She's never given me an ultimatum or anything. She was actually born addicted to heroin. Her mom was a prostitute and her dad died in jail. She has a half-brother somewhere but the adoption records are sealed. Her mom died when she was 16, 3 years before my mom died. She's had an alcohol problem but so did I, when we were in high school. We were drinking buddies way before we got into a relationship. Apparently she had a thing for me since we met, but I was playing the straight thing at the time. She was one of the few people who I stayed in touch with after graduating. By the time we got together, she was the first woman I'd ever been with. It was weird but it felt right. Now, 5 years later, it still feels right. I'd marry her in a heartbeat now that it's legal here if I was in a better spot in my life. I'd have children with her, somehow. Probably adoption. There are plenty of children who need a home and caring parents, why bring another soul into this world?
That's one thing I contemplate a lot. Although parents bring life into the world, they also damn the child to death, essentially. Because everything that lives has to die. I feel like if I ever had a biological child, I'd be sentencing it to pain, misery and eventually death. Not while it was a baby, of course, but through those shitty awkward years. And with my genes, it's likely the child would have some sort of disposition for addiction or mental illness. I'd be one of those neurotic moms that never lets their child go anywhere alone. I'd dress my child in knee pads, elbow pads and a helmet and kevlar just to walk to school. I'd never let them out of the house without me. It would just not be good. I know I say that now, without any experience with children and I'll hopefully change my mind before I get too old to have children. But I have to get myself together first. And God knows how long that will take. I will stick with babies of the canine variety for the foreseeable future.
Then, I'll see my psychiatrist and lament how the pills aren't working anymore (I'm supposed to be on Wellbutrin and Cymbalta in addition to the Klonopin but we know how that goes) and he'll just tell me to keep trying in therapy. I'll see my therapist and either open up and cry like a baby or sit there staring at the clock while making small-talk about whatever. Maybe I'm making progress? It's not like they tell you. They just kick you out and schedule the next appointment.
I've got a tissue stuck up my nose because there seems to be a leak. My brother got sick, then I got sick, then my girlfriend got sick. So we're a happy family, indeed.
I know exactly what happens. I'll have the pills for a week or 10 days, if I'm lucky. Feel good and normal and get shit done. Walk my dogs, clean my house, wash my hair. Then I'll get some money and buy as many 30mg Roxi IRs as I can "afford" (which usually ends up being way more than I can afford). I'll snort them, stay up all night writing, watch television like it was going out of style, be able to cook for my family and just nod on the couch (which needs replacing, but who can afford that?) "with" them but not really being there.
But most importantly, I will be "happy" again.
Then, somehow, all my money will be gone. It'll be 2 weeks into March and then I'll have to while away the sickness. I'll feel better after about 3 days, almost normal after a week. Then I'll be stuck in this fantastic depression/anxiety/boredom fest that won't go away no matter what. We'll struggle to pay for food and electricity and cable and internet and phones and credit cards and student loans.
I'll spend way too much time online and smoke way too much pot and eat way too much food. I'll write pages and pages of nonsense anywhere I can. I'll apply for jobs but not get any call backs. If I do get a call back, I'll get all my hopes up and bomb the interview. I'll contemplate getting a Certificate in some sort of field I'm somewhat interested in, either Pharmacy Tech or Vet Tech or some sort of fucking peripherally "medical" Tech.
My girlfriend will be happy that I'm sober and trying to get my shit together but also angry that I'm not willing to do anything involving leaving the house unless I absolutely have to. Our intimacy is really lacking at the moment and it's all my fault. It's like I can't have sex without being at least drunk. Nowadays alcohol doesn't really agree with my stomach unless I am on opioids. Pot just makes me lazy and I'm developing, believe or not, a pretty fucking decent tolerance. Oh, and of course there is the Klonopin. It's the best and worst thing that's happened to me and I am too afraid to get off of it.
I love my girlfriend. It's not her. She thinks it's because I'm not attracted to her. But it's been the same with everyone I've been with. I'm fairly asexual when sober. I don't have the drive. Drugs, yes. Sex, not so much. I think the lack of sex and being broke all the time is taking its toll on us. To be completely frank.
I know she'll stick by me. She's never given me an ultimatum or anything. She was actually born addicted to heroin. Her mom was a prostitute and her dad died in jail. She has a half-brother somewhere but the adoption records are sealed. Her mom died when she was 16, 3 years before my mom died. She's had an alcohol problem but so did I, when we were in high school. We were drinking buddies way before we got into a relationship. Apparently she had a thing for me since we met, but I was playing the straight thing at the time. She was one of the few people who I stayed in touch with after graduating. By the time we got together, she was the first woman I'd ever been with. It was weird but it felt right. Now, 5 years later, it still feels right. I'd marry her in a heartbeat now that it's legal here if I was in a better spot in my life. I'd have children with her, somehow. Probably adoption. There are plenty of children who need a home and caring parents, why bring another soul into this world?
That's one thing I contemplate a lot. Although parents bring life into the world, they also damn the child to death, essentially. Because everything that lives has to die. I feel like if I ever had a biological child, I'd be sentencing it to pain, misery and eventually death. Not while it was a baby, of course, but through those shitty awkward years. And with my genes, it's likely the child would have some sort of disposition for addiction or mental illness. I'd be one of those neurotic moms that never lets their child go anywhere alone. I'd dress my child in knee pads, elbow pads and a helmet and kevlar just to walk to school. I'd never let them out of the house without me. It would just not be good. I know I say that now, without any experience with children and I'll hopefully change my mind before I get too old to have children. But I have to get myself together first. And God knows how long that will take. I will stick with babies of the canine variety for the foreseeable future.
Then, I'll see my psychiatrist and lament how the pills aren't working anymore (I'm supposed to be on Wellbutrin and Cymbalta in addition to the Klonopin but we know how that goes) and he'll just tell me to keep trying in therapy. I'll see my therapist and either open up and cry like a baby or sit there staring at the clock while making small-talk about whatever. Maybe I'm making progress? It's not like they tell you. They just kick you out and schedule the next appointment.
I've got a tissue stuck up my nose because there seems to be a leak. My brother got sick, then I got sick, then my girlfriend got sick. So we're a happy family, indeed.
