Friday, September 21, 2007

Guess who's back, back again? Married to an Ex is back, tell a friend.

I love everyone here, you know I do but I am having a helluva time keeping up with the reading and posting. I want you to know that I am reading but maybe not posting. I feel like collective blogs are the best of both worlds, us still connecting and letting each other know we are alive. This is the codependent part of me that needs to reassure that I am still here and don't want you to feel angry with me for some reason for not reading your stuff or that you don't forget about me. Being codependent is exhausting sometimes!
At any rate I want everyone to know how much these posts (EJ and Scout for the last posts) mean to me. It really helps open me up to a subject that is too painful to remember. It helps ease that pain. I am finally getting some understanding into the nightmare of addiction and am getting a better grip on my own issues. I feel very blessed to know you, even though most of these connections are online (I feel like you could be family!). It is hard to part with some of these feelings and desires and shameful memories so thank you for reading and posting. This is really awesome and a big help to those with meeting issues.
So, now I am off to bed to get ready for another day at the grind stone. Fun times working on Saturday, fo sho.

getting free

The Old Homestead
More than a few bloggers have been talking about the change of season recently. It's been one more reminder for me of how very much we are the same, more than we are different. It's almost Fall and I, like so many others, experience this season emotionally and physically.
It has a subtle beginning, this season. I first notice it in the angle of the sun. The way it shines on my chair has changed so very, very slightly. Then I begin to notice the intensity of the light. It has a filtered look to me -- like colors and shapes have been muted and rounded. They are softer somehow and slightly out of focus. And that is precisely when I begin to feel it.
Loneliness.
I can't even begin to tell how lonely of a kid I was coming up for fear I'll tap some darkness with which I am not fully prepared to handle. I am the youngest of four girls by many, many years. Combine that with the fact that we attended a private, boarding school for prep, and one can easily see that I was, essentially, an only child. I was an only child who lost her beloved father to divorce and child support wars and her mother to endless hours of work to spend time with a married colleague and a congregation that was more important to her than spending time with her last remaining child. To put it more bluntly, she "forgot" she was a mother.
I spent ages 9 to 14 totally alone; just me, my cat, and Boones Farm wine when I could get a "buyer."
Fall symbolizes the time my mother would be working in even more of a frenzy than usual. She was a campus pastor. Thus, the school year meant more people in the congregation. Fall was the time I would begin to live almost totally on my own. I could literally go for several days without even seeing my mother unless I went to her job. She was gone when I got up for school and I was in bed when she got home from work. I ate cereal or spaghettios or toast unless I went to her job.
They were tough years for both of us, my mother and I. I left her when I was 14 to go to prep school about 80 miles away from home. I never moved back home again. Her best was horrible but it was her best at the time. My mother is a outwardly cold, but inwardly kind woman; a loner by nature. She didn't mean to neglect me in the way she did. She didn't know what else to do at the time. I love my mother. I should hope to be as fine of a woman as she is. But she definitely left me with a legacy of the loner and a feeling of loneliness to accompany it.
Two years ago at about this same time I was three months deep into a $60/day habit of tar heroin (a rather lengthy relapse, so to speak.) It wasn't much in comparison to my once $200/day habit, but it was significant nonetheless. Let's face it, one still has to "get well" several times a day, whether the habit is $20 or $200. I had just fucked up a convention for my job that I was required to attend by ending up in the horrors of withdrawal with two days to go before I could get home to more dope. I had brought enough with me to last for a week, but had shot it all up in 5 days. So, there I was in Houston fucking Texas in the best hotel in town, kicking dope like a lil' bitch.
The alone-ness of that incident almost killed me. Still I used as soon as I got off the plane in Minneapolis and could get to my office where I had a stash of cottons I could squeeze until the morning hours when Hector decided it was time to get his ass out of bed and sell dope to the nagging junkys. It took another month for me to give it up completely.
It was October 18, 2005, and I sat in my car in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Minneapolis trying not to spill tar on the leather seat while I shot dope in the last remaining vein I had in my foot. The sun was shining through the sun roof in the same way it is shining today. I was alone. I was totally strung out. I was afraid of myself. I was afraid of everyone else.
The next day I got one of my old colleagues, who had started her own clinic by that time, to pull some strings and get me on Buprenorphine immediately. I had nearly been consumed by my own loneliness, but it in the end it was that very loneliness that set me free.
The picture above is from North Dakota. I grew up in that State; in those wide open spaces where its flat enough to watch a sunset for hours.
Kind of lonely, isn't it.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

A blog I like

This is a perticularly good share that I enjoyed and thought I might pass it along.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

countless vain attempts get old and so do I

The last time I came that close I just jumped right in the bag. I had 14 years clean, living with my ex-husband, who had terminal cancer and was shooting a piece every couple of weeks. I was coping for him. I guess that must be the height of co-dependency or what ever the term is for that kind of ass hole love this week.

that lasted about 6 months and loooooog story short I fixed, and fixed again, and wondered if the next slam would the one that would make me die. I really didn't care one way or another. maybe it was the anti-depressants my Dr. put me on when I came into her office 7 months or so ago and started crying.

I'm not sure why she did that accept that's what Dr.'s do. But I had just gotten a divorce, just had been told my hep-c-liver was in dire need of interferon or the cirrhosis was gonna kill me, and my crazy ex-husband who wouldn't move out and had relapsed a few months before, now had 6 months to a year to live. Oh ya, I had just bought a business the year before on wish and a promise and a $30,000.00 dept. It was doing well as long as I tended to it 7 days a week.

Oh ya, I was taking a couple of 400 level Art Theory at the University. I probably should have taken business classes considering Mr CPA now had cancer. Follow your passion I always say. or some shit like that when I'm running on alot of self will and arrogance.

Then I just decided to shoot dope. I didn't care. I didn't not care. It didn't matter really. After the third time(?) I guess I went to bed. I don't remember. But I do remember waking up in the ER and some bitch nurse trying to find an artery for blood gases. I told her to just let me fucking die in piece if my life depended on blood gases. And please pass me the puck bowl so I didn't mess my jammies.

Thank God my Doctor Friend showed up to figure out that I hadn't OD'd but had somehow stopped my heart. And then my good friend, the Methadone Man showed up and gaffled up my Ex and gave him a few options. What a damn circus it all was. I had a business to run and 2 A's that needed some love and I was in the ICU. They wouldn't let me even make a phone call. Worse then County fuckn' jail.

What an arrogant shit head I was to these kind people trying to save my live. But three days with my feet elevated above my head, and no visitors gave me plenty of time to reflect. I did get to make some phone calls. First, to Chatty Cathy... I wanted everyone to now what I had done before I decided to just call it a heart attack and then to that old hard ass NA woman I really didn't much care for and asked her to be my sponsor.

When I got out of the hospital I wondered if I had taken leave of my senses. I just had to let go of the crap I like to feed my brain. The fantasy that somehow I am really ok when I'm really not. And that is where I find the people who might be able to help. The power of one addict sharing with another addict. It always works for me and yet some days I just don't care. And that's the day I hope for the miracle to catch me again.

So that was in 2000. Wouldn't you think I learned something? But no, in 2004, I had a one night stand with 10 of my own percodans. The bottle said take one every 6 hours for pain, not 10 all at once to sleep. And thats another vain attemt at bending the rules to suit me. Way to long for this blog. But, I really believe that the only thing we can do wrong in this 12 step program is to not come back.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Clean to dirty in the blink of an eye (THE REASON RELAPSES SUCK ASS!)

This is a post that should probably be on my personal blog; I am not sure the reason for posting it here. Well, other than Scout's request for fresh material. So what the hell, maybe it will do some other hurting soul some good.

I almost relapsed to night. No wait, relapse is to pretty of a word, it's too much a recovery word, and not being one in recovery, and what I did or almost did tonight being pretty fucking ugly, let's just call it what it was; I almost slammed some dope tonight. Yup, no I am not talking about smoking some weed, or taking a drink. I am not even talking about doing some lightweight opiate like a few Vicodins. No, I went straight to the connection's house to score some dope in order to "fix" a gram straight to my head.

I was sitting in Costco, eating a polish dog and drinking a coke. I had had a particularly bad day, well as far as bad days go for me, and I have more than my fair share, today was a fucking shitty day, which fell on the heels of a shitty week, and is standing before a pretty bleak and shitty near future. Now I preach about staying in the moment as often as possible, and well, maybe this is the exact reason one should do so as often as possible. See already earlier in the day I had considered using, after all it was just the night before I had be asked if perhaps I was using again. Being a few days shy of 90's sober, meaning without heroin, but with the use of methadone. I took offense, I mean how dare she question my sobriety, I'm fucking 90 days clean, WTF, and to top it off, I am in the exact same spot every time she had ever asked and I had lied. Meaning not once had she ever asked if I was using when I wasn't using, except last night. I was pissed off. I was indigent, but fuck, even if I was using, it's not like it's her fucking business anyway, I am outta here in two fucking weeks, what's it to her anyway. Those were my exact thoughts the night before.

So I sat in Costco, like I said, eating my polish dog, and I think to myself, who has dope? See, I had already made the leap from; well if I am getting blamed, I might as well do it. to; I hurt so fucking bad, and muscle memory of how all of that washes away in the matter of seconds. to: I just got pissed test at the clinic, so I am good for at least 3 weeks. to: I am on methadone, meaning I can use just tonight, be back on my dose tomorrow, no worries of an extended "relapse" (was I used that word, at that time). to: I am on methadone, so I better get a full gram, because a half gram might not be enough and I want to get good and loaded. to: calling the one person I know who still uses. This happened all in a nano second, all on a subconscious level, but nevertheless, it sent the conscious Ej. into direct action. That is the only way I can explain the process of a relapse for this junkie. The only way I can tell you what happened, was because I never went through with it.

Turns out this person happens to be hold, he has 3 grams, but they are $60 per. Fuck, I don't really want to spend $60. But make no mistake, if I can't get it for less, $60 it is. I say I am on my way over, and head over. But I had already made another leap, one I forgot in the first set of leaps, and that one was: I will stop at the main connects house and see what's going, what kind of deal he'll give me. Side Note: This is the very same connection who for the last 8 months of my last run, I had worked for. I had free dope and an extra $2K a month in my pocket, all for making 3 or 4 deliveries a week. But near the end, someone got busted, and I am a smart man, I knew that by this particular individuals arrest, meant trouble for the organization I was involved in. I cut my losses, and bailed. Gave up the $2k a month and the free dope, went back to paying wholesale prices until I got back on MMT.

As it turns out this was a very wise decision. As I learn at the connections house, they came for him about a month ago, and they subsequently raided everyone who worked for him at the same time. These were all the people I had worked with just months prior. This could have been me. This was me. As he told me the story, all I could think was, thank god I got the fuck out. They didnt get the connection, he was smart, he used people, they were the one's who got busted. While I listed to his story all I could think is thank god I am not in this life anymore. He lost his kids, of course he would get them back, he could afford those high priced attorneys. But fuck, that could have been me that went down with the 6 or 7 others. That was me. I didn't even bother to ask about the dope, I knew he wouldn't have any, and by that time, I had lost all interest.

I was walking to the car, thinking about how blessed I was. How I had almost made a huge mistake, how had I not left the world when I did, I would have had made an even bigger mistake. I thought about how good it felt not to NEED to get loaded like so many times before. I thought about how good it felt not to wake up every morning with that same need. How good it felt that I wasn't lying to my family about using. About how proud I was that I could look at my daughters and not feel shame over being loaded, or worse, waiting for them to go away so I could sneak off to get a hit. I thought about all my beautiful, wonderful friends, that would be crushed if I had done it. I felt such relief of not having to eventually admit it and not have had let anyone down. How those things meant something to me for the first time in my life. I had never cared about how what I had done or was going to do would affect anyone. No addict does, we are selfish and self centered people who are self involved. I was happy. I thought about all these things not in a nano second, but I thought about each one, as if time had stopped. I went over each and every detail, I felt the feelings, I relived the moments, I played them over and over and over again. Then as I got to my car, I got a text message. It was from D, it was a picture of my daughters. I just smiled. It was a message from God, he was smiling upon me. He was basking me in his light. He was showing me the exact reasons I made the decision I did, that I had made the right decision, and that I had answered to a high calling. It was beautiful, it was magical and ultimately divine.

Until the next day, which is all gloriously posted in the comments section and you can all read about my true insanity there.

can i get a lil' help plz?

Would someone please post something new here? Plz. Plz. Pretty plz?
I am sick and need fresh reading material.
Entertain me!
People! People! Work with me! Work with me!

Sunday, September 16, 2007

A Prayer For The Unsuspecting


Image Credit: The Adventures of Tobasco de Gama

My favorite astrologer and ├╝ber-creative man of prayer.


PRAYER FOR YOU, Rob Brezsny
Free Will Astrology

This is a perfect moment. It’s a perfect moment because I have been inspired to say a gigantic prayer. I’ve been roused to unleash a divinely greedy, apocalyptically healing prayer for each and every one of you—even those of you who don’t believe in the power of prayer. And so I am starting to pray right now to the God of Gods ... the God beyond all Gods ... the Girlfriend of God ... the Teacher of God ... the Goddess who invented God.

DEAR GODDESS, you who never kill but only change:

I pray that my exuberant, suave, and accidental words will move you to shower ferocious blessings down on everyone who reads this benediction.

I pray that you will give them what they don’t even know they need—not just the boons they think they want but everything they’ve always been afraid to even imagine or ask for.


DEAR GODDESS, you wealthy anarchist burning heaven to the ground:

Many of the divine chameleons out there don’t even know that their souls will live forever.

So please use your brash magic to help them see that they are all wildly creative geniuses too big for their own personalities.

Guide them to realize that they are all completely different from what they’ve been led to believe about themselves, and more exciting than they can possibly imagine.

Make it illegal, immoral, irrelevant, unpatriotic, and totally tasteless for them to be in love with anyone or anything that’s no good for them.


O GODDESS, you who give us so much love and pain mixed together that our morality is always on the verge of collapsing:

I beg you to cast a boisterous love spell that will nullify all the dumb ideas, bad decisions, and nasty conditioning that have ever cursed the wise and sexy virtuosos out there.

Remove, banish, annihilate, and laugh into oblivion any jinx that has clung to them, no matter how long they’ve suffered from it, and even if they have become accustomed or addicted to its ugly companionship.

Please conjure an aura of protection around them so that they will receive an early warning if they are ever about to act in such a way as to bring another hex or plague into their lives in the future.


DEAR GODDESS, sweet Goddess, you sly universal virus with no freaking opinion:

Please help all the personal growth addicts out there to become disciplined enough to go crazy in the name of creation, not destruction.

Teach them the difference between oppressive self-control and liberating self-control.

Awaken in them the power to do the half-right thing when it is impossible to do the totally right thing.

Arouse the Wild Woman within them—even if they’re men.


DEAR GODDESS, you pregnant slut who scorns all mediocre longing:

I pray that you will inspire all the compassionate rascals communing with this prayer to kick their own asses and wash their own brains.

Provoke them to throw away or give away all the things they own that encourage them to believe that they are better than anyone else.

Show them how much fun it is to brag about what they cannot do and do not have.

Give them bigger, better, more original sins and wilder, wetter, more interesting problems.

Most of all, Goddess, brainwash them with your freedom so that they never love their own pain more than anyone else’s pain.


O GODDESS, you wildly disciplined, radically curious, shockingly friendly, fanatically balanced, mysteriously truthful, teasingly healing, lyrically logical master of rowdy bliss:

Cultivate in yourself a fervent yearning for the intimate companionship of these budding messiahs. Play with them every day. Answer their questions. Listen to their stories. Inspire them to love you so much they lose all their hatred forever.


DEAR GODDESS, you psychedelic mushroom cloud at the center of all our brains:

Bless the insanely poised creators out there with lucid dreams while they are wide awake. Provide them with their own spin doctors, and vacuum cleaners for their magic carpets, and solar-powered sex toys that work even in the dark.

Give them a knack for avoiding other people’s hells, and a thousand masks that all represent their true feelings, and secret admirers who are not psychotic stalkers.

Arrange for a racehorse to be named after them, or an underground river, or a thousand-year-old storm on Saturn.

Teach them to be their own prophets and pray to themselves and right their own wrongs and sing their own songs and be their own wives and save their own lives.


DEAR GODDESS, you riotously tender, hauntingly reassuring, orgiastically sacred feeling that is even now running through all of our soft, warm animal bodies:

I pray that you provide all the original sinners out there with a license to bend and even break all rules, laws, and traditions that keep them apart from the things they love.

Show them how to purge the wishy-washy wishes that distract them from their daring, dramatic, divine desires.

And teach them that they can have anything they want if they’ll only ask for it in an unselfish way.


And now dear God of Gods, God beyond all Gods, Girlfriend of God, Teacher of God, Goddess who invented God, I bring this prayer to a close, trusting that in these mysterious moments you have begun to change everyone out there in the exact way they’ve needed to change in order to become the gorgeous geniuses they were born to be.

Amen. Awomen.