Tag Archives: sober

Last night I went out and used copious amounts of illegal drugs

And today I am paying for it, needing to dose every half hour or so, so as to not go into remission and suffer through withdrawal.

It’s awful. I thought I’d be OK going to that party last night where I knew there would be GHB. Someone asked me if I wanted a shot and I said no then another person asked me again and I said no again. I should have just left that party. I should have just walked home. Then another person asked saying “Oh, Jessica, it’ll be OK” proceeding to explain that he was addicted to and now only takes it when he’s around other people. I caved, and said yes thinking it would be OK just this once.

And just like that…

…I’m completely addicted to GHB again.

I’d be a FOOL to even try that drug again with 1679 days sober off that stinking drug.

967 days later…

Memories accumulate over time interlacing overlapping each other causing fog to form at the base of one’s understanding. We see people in passing who at one time understood us; perhaps even loved us and whom we used to love to. They dwell between the nether regions of our souls; a place dark perhaps distraught from years of neglect and solitude.

When you see what it really is
that is what you’ll “get”
Got it?

I don’t know why I saw her tonight. I don’t know why she was there dancing. I couldn’t understand the memories that surged yet understood why and how they became.

We ingested copious amounts of drugs together. We partied days at a time. Not hours. Nor evenings. Days. 72 hours? 3 days turned into weeks for me. Months. Years. Passed.

It broke tonight. The craving for intoxication. Annihilation. Emptiness. I saw her and all that was is. All that will be was forgotten.

Nine hundred and sixty seven days later I remain sober of GHB.

Fuck, the last two weeks became stupendously hard for me and I don’t know why. It was all I could do but work, draw, write, sleep, not sleep, be, not be, freak silently while the cravings raced over me, through me and around me. How can this be? How!!! Talking to someone here in this freaking city is irrelevant. People here in this small town have no clue. NONE.

So, I will talk to you. You who will not judge, nor react. You who will accept. You the unknown, the present tense of life.

It melted away tonight. As quickly as it hit, two weeks later it melted, evaporated. It’s been a long long time since I’ve craved like this. Maybe the longest it has ever lasted since I quit. The whole of the month of April, 2008 has nearly strangled me with… the words just don’t exist to continue writing right now.

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About 11 Days Ago I Celebrated

I celebrated quietly. It felt surreal. It felt awkward and good.

Eleven days ago on August 26th, 2007 I celebrated 24 months *sobriety.
I drew a picture; a representation of feelings felt in the midst of quietly laying alone, late that night in bed.

11 days ago I celebrated

Some people know this as I did tell them that day. A handful really, had not much to say.
“Be proud” they reply.

I sigh inwards
outwards
and rather deny… the right to be so.

Lightning didn’t strike and the World remains intact, save
for the few orgasmic attacks.

I wonder why I didn’t cry. I wonder why.

*sobriety from GHB which had been my lovely drug of choice

Sober since August 26th, 2005.

This is me 11

Today is day 200. I’ve been clean of GHB for 200 days. I’m proud of that fact. I used once three weeks into my sobriety and re-committed again. I had two glasses of wine this past weekend on Saturday night and have re-committed again. I find myself hitting a tuff spot. It’s not that I want the G back but I find myself searching for something, anything to change or alter my state of mind. This feeling is familiar to me, 20 years familiar. Truth is, it feels like my life has been cycling in three or four year cycles. I’m in the down time right now. More than ever I know it’s crucial to keep going and focus. Focus being the elusive enlightenment I crave the most.

This is me 21

My ex-husband used to say, I would look for problems when there was none to be found, only happy in a tumultuous non-routine life. Today, f@#$! Am I searching for someone to blame… You betcha! Who in their right mind wants to blame themselves. I’ve been blaming myself most of my life! I don’t understand why it’s not ok to talk about addiction and/or mental disease. If sites like http://www.recovery.com talk about it all the time, why don’t we?

But who is saying it’s not OK? Is it you? Or is it me? Is it an ideal created by society? Such as what fashions are OK to wear and what ones are not?

I’m so tired of hiding the crazy side in me. It’s agonizing. I am so scared of what people will think? OMG! I have to let that go. I don’t even know who these people are. Are you one of the ones who will judge me because I’m crazy and like to wear orange pants on occasion? OK this is making me laugh. It’s been difficult to write by hand lately in my journal. I have this online journal now. I’ve been swaying back and forth, to and fro to write or not to write about what I want to write about online. Well – decision made.

This is me 3

This is the web space I payed for. Money. f@#$. See I’m censoring myself. For who?

Fuck I feel better. There.

On to business. There is this project I’ve been planning to undertake for the past two years perhaps, of typing into the computer all of my journal entries, so they are digitized. I will be able to edit them better that way. Who knows, maybe I’ll be the next James Fry. A Million Little Pieces, whether non-fiction or not, is only so, in the eyes of the beholder reading it. This book held my attention for five days until I finished reading it! He understands.

Another book I could not put down was “Addicted – notes from the belly of the beast”. It is a collection of short ‘true’ stories of writers lives and the addictions they have succumbed too, lived with, recovered from or are still dealing with.

The more one reads, reaches out, talks about the more one understand and accepts. Knowing I am not alone in my struggles and joy is inspirational.

Perhaps, drug use and the creative mind go hand in hand?