Life in Hell

What I know about the situation is that I placed myself in it, for starters, so I have no business complaining about it or being so butt-hurt. I also know how to solve the problem of wallowing in self-pity and resentment. I know how to mend the pain of being sore at myself. But apparantly, at the moment anyway, I am unwilling or unable to pick up those tools and put them to work. I imagine that tells me that I'm getting some sort of reward out of this being miserable which is a perverse idea so it shouldn't surprise me.

I went to court yesterday to be sentenced for a probation violation. If I had not violated I would have been off probation in like 10 more months.

Now I have 5 more years.

200 hours of community service to do within a year and 5 more years of being on probation in a state that doesn't allow me to leave except by special permission and only to go be with immediate family. Which means I'm here, in this state I can't stand, where I don't believe I'll ever have a boyfriend, where there are no opportunities unless you really like hunting or fishing or are a Mormon or a Republican, for five more M*$#er F@&$(*g years.

I seriously, at least at the moment, think I'd rather die. And unfortunately, because I placed myself in this position, it validates every rotten thing I already think about myself and every reason I think carrying on is not worth it. I know that is my disease talking. I know this too shall pass. But it won't pass till I'm fourty f-ing eight years old. Till then I'm trapped in a mean, nasty republican cultural wasteland trying to protect myself from my past and from my drunken mother.

What is stupider is that if they hadn't made it a requirement I probably wouldn't feel this way. I'd probably end up here for five more years anyway. And this feeling is so overwhelming, particularly on my 11th consecutive Valentine's Day without a companion or any prospect of one, that I'm afraid if I said what was really going on in my head I'd be locked up for my own good. In case anyone needs me I'll be hiding in my room, crying, praying for the willingness to do the work.

More than just counting the notches on the bed post . . .

Yes. I'm talking about sex inventory. I've been procrastinating on that final part of my 4th step and I am sure the reason is something more than that I am lazy. God gives us what we need when we need it, right? So it must be time. When I went to bed a couple of nights ago the parade of men that have waltzed, raced, smashed their way through my life suddenly took and held my thoughts for hours. I've been having trouble remembering things recently, things like what time I have to go to work, but that night I remembered the name of the man I lost my virginity to. "Lost" is really the wrong word. Killed and buried in the night without remorse is more accurate.

Then came the one I loved and, I believe, the only one who loved me; the one year summit of my success at relationships. That bitter-sweet memory was quickly followed with my 21 year history of mistakes of varying magnitude; the one who liked to beat me up, the one I used for his money, the woman I married, and the years and years spent one month here, two months there; wrestling with men who never quite fit. Finally, perhaps most importantly, the IFX. I never knew that I could hurt that bad. I never knew that, to me, love feels like loneliness, loss, abuse and a warm body. His disappearance on my birthday was the turning point for me. That pain and that prayer delivered me to the place where God gave me my first step.

I've found my pen. I've got out my Big Book and notebook. And now I'm going to balk over the whole thing for another few hours while I go see a movie. Because I'm a spiritual giant. Not. I haven't picked it up because I'm afraid and ashamed and I lack faith that God will lead me to better things. There. I said it. But I believe with my whole heart that God has a plan, a purpose and a destiny for me to grow, however haltingly, in His own likeness and image and that means doing the work. So I'll do the work. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Step 1: We Admitted We Were Powerless

This is actually a post I wrote for another joint blog I'm on (Two Women Blogging), but I thought it applied here too.

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We all like to think that we have control over our own lives. We like to think that if we just work hard enough or pray hard enough or act right, we can ensure that bad things don't happen to us. It's almost unbearably frightening to think that we're not the ones calling the shots: that it's God or the universe or random subatomic particles. So, we give lip service to our ultimate inability to control what happens to us, but deep down we never believe it, do we?

We'll say things like: "It's not his fault that he got colon cancer, but still, I do eat a lot of fiber. It's not their fault that their child is disabled, but still, I wouldn't have made the choices she did during pregnancy and childbirth. It's not her fault that she was raped, but still, I wouldn't wear that outfit. It's not her fault that her husband cheated, but still, she probably should have done more to satisfy him." We always think there really was a little something more those other people could have done. We would have eaten better, exercised more, prayed harder, worn different clothing, watched our children more carefully, done background checks on every last friend and neighbor, taken every precaution in every situation, right? We believe that we're luckier or smarter or that God likes us better. And as long as things go right, we can believe that.

My husband is a sex addict. He's like any other addict looking for a high, but his escape comes in the form sex and fantasy: affairs, pornonography, sex workers. There are people who blame him for being weak and immoral, but they also blame me, for somehow not satisfying him. I've met the wives of other sex addicts, and they too usually blame themselves to some degree: if only they were prettier, thinner, more exciting in bed...

Our culture constantly reinforces that stereotype: men are thoughtless pigs who will fuck anything that breathes if they aren't kept constantly satisfied by a beautiful, exciting woman with a ravenous sexual appetite. Look at the supermarket magazine rack. What does Cosmopolitan magazine (more aptly titled "Sexual Codependents magazine") tell us? Why do we love the stories of celebrity breakups? Is it because we know, beautiful as they are, there must be something wrong with them if they can't keep their lovers satisfied?

I was certain that my husband would never cheat on me, not only did he love me, deeply and passionately, we had a fabulous sex life. I wasn't like those other uptight women who couldn't orgasm or who had a low sex drive or who thought pornography was immoral or who wouldn't change up positions or wear kinky lingerie. I didn't need Cosmo to tell me how to make things hot in the bedroom; I was hot in the bedroom. I'd read, watch and look at pornography; I'd even create pornography; I'd send him stories and photos and videos of myself. I'd dress like a prostitute one night, a virgin the next. I'd ask him to tell me his fantasies and let me fulfill them. But more than in the bedroom, in all of our life, I was attractive, I was smart, I shared his interests and I let him be himself. Men cheated on women who hated action movies and sports and sci-fi, women who nagged them about leaving their socks on the floor and talked about shopping and wore frumpy sweatpants, women who were mindless and ultimately dull, women who were unattractive in their looks or their personalities. Men didn't cheat on women like me.

My husband was never faithful to me: not for a day, not for an instant. He was constantly looking for other women to have sex with, not because I wasn't satisfying him, but because nothing could fill the emptiness inside him. All the women and all the sex in all the world couldn't meet his needs. He couldn't control his addiction, and neither could I. We both had to let go of that illusion in order to heal. And I knew as soon as he came clean and told me about all the lies and cheating, knew in a way that I could feel at that deep down gut level, that his actions had nothing to do with me or his love for me.

Of course, we all know that that's because I'm luckier than those other addicts' partners or I did the right thing by trying so hard or God likes me better or something like that...

Friendship

As I was reading Wayward Son's previous post, I felt an incredible sense of community and fellowship. I never thought I would feel this way by joining a blog.

The main reason I joined the blogging world was because I wanted to get my feelings out. I have always loved to write, and always been told I was good. I have journaled my entire life. But as I got older, I couldn't find the time, or more honestly, didn't make the time to write. This was not only a great substitute to writing, but I could do it more frequently and while I was at work.

It was a shock and a surprise when I had my first comment, and after that, it was nice to have people reading and commenting. I found people who were going through similar things as I was.

Today and now, as I noted previously, reading Wayward Son's post and then looking at the list of members and writers to this community blog, I felt a sense of togetherness. I felt happy knowing that here were people that I have never met, but who were in it for the same reason as me. It is a diverse group of people, but one that I have come to grow quite fond of.

I love that I can read and learn and grow from someone going through what I am, and I have learned so much by reading an addict's point of view as well.

It feels good to know that we are helping each other - that we are listening without judging.

I just wanted to let you all know how your friendship has affected me. And thank you for it.

My Top 10 Signs that I am Using Heroin...

Of course being an addict, when I am in active addiction, or if I relapse my #1 priority is to hide my addiction at all cost. This usually comes from a deep seeded feeling of guilt that I have let not only myself down, but my partner as well. The funny thing is that most addicts are very smart, well, I am very smart, and therefore if I was really, really, trying to hide my use, I would do a much better job at not leaving any "clues." But I believe deep down on a subconscious level, I want my partner to know. Yes, I realize that this will cause all kinds of problems, but they are nothing compared to the day to day guilt I feel behind using and sneaking and lying. So, I am going to give myself up, here are my secret ways that I attempt to hide my use, or actually the "signs" that I leave that I am using. I am a shooter, but for a long time on this last relapse I smoked, so there are various things to look for. There is no particular order; I am just doing the David Letterman thing.

1. Missing tin foil (perhaps cleverly marking the foil to tell if any goes missing), or missing spoons, or spoons that are bent at weird angles. Also check the bottom of spoons for black residue, sometimes they are hard to clean.
2. I don’t smoke so there is no need for me to ever have a lighter (regardless of what stupid excuse I give for having one)
3. Spending a lot of time in the bathroom (taking a shit). I am probably not taking 3 or 4 shits a day. Also sometimes I tend to be sloppy and leave black marks from the bottom of a spoon on the counters, or if I am feeling “smart” the floor. Also cooking dope in a spoon will sometimes cause it to “splash” over, leaving tiny little round heroin specks on the counter. Also a little dope squirted from a syringe will cause the same affect (watch some csi).
4. Obviously money issues. The key dollar amount is usually $20.00. So if I am unable to suddenly pay my bills on time, or the rent, or my spending habits have changed in anyway, that’s a major clue. Also if I ask to borrow money say $20.00 for something at the store, and come home with $5.00 worth of shit, and no change. Bingo!
5. Touching. When I am using, I will refuse to let my girlfriend touch my upper arms, or my ass. This is because I am shooting dope inter-muscular (meaning in my ass or the muscles of my arm), this tends to cause “hard spots” which can be both felt and visible, so no touching or seeing these areas. This also means no more joint showers, or getting completely naked during sex. Also when I was shooting IV (into a vein) there are obvious track marks, so I would usually wear long sleeves even in the summer, or use my legs or feet.
6. Cell phone. My cell phone is the number 1 place I usually mess up. I usually will forget to erase my connections number, or will do something “smart” like make up a name for my connection and save the number. Going through my recent calls might reveal calling the same number several times a day, etc. I have been busted by this more than once.
7. Frequent trips out for short periods of time for no reason. You know a quick trip to the store that lasts for 45 mins, or the trip to the gas station that takes 30 mins instead of 5. These trips will usually be followed by either a trip immediately to the bathroom when I get home, to take a shit or shower, or when I return there will be a noticeable change in my attitude and body language. I will have gone from being really ancy, pacing around the house, to coming home relaxed, kicked back, eyes heavy, etc. which takes us to #3.
8. The eyes. Usually a dead give away for me. There are a few things that happen to my eyes besides the old pinned eye test. The problem with the pinned eye test is often the quality of heroin is not actually good enough to fully pin my eyes (make the pupils really small). But a good test for this is whether or not my pupils dilate when exposed to dark. Generally when you enter a place with little or no light, your eyes dilate letting in as much light as possible, with an addict, such as me, there will be little change from dark and light. My g/f would use a flashlight to test this. But it’s not 100%. Also my eyes get heavy and very glossy, they will often times become reddish in color, almost like I had been smoking weed.
9. Nodding off. This should actually be #1, because there is no way around not getting caught for this one. Eyes get heavy like I mentioned, and I begin to loose focus on the TV, or reread the same page in a book 20 times before “falling asleep.” Heroin itself isn’t usually enough for me to nod off, unless I get a real good dose, because of the quality, like I mentioned before. But when you mix heroin with a pill in the benzo family (Valium, xanax, klonopin, atavan, etc), I will definitely nod off. This also works well with mixing either alcohol or a muscle relaxer (soma). Heroin is never enough for me, because I have done it for so long, in order to capture that “high” I need some sort of kicker.
10. Home drug testing kit. This is the final test, this was the one thing I could not lie myself out of, and when my g/f finally got smart enough and $30 to buy one, I was through. Sure I sat there and lied right to her face, telling her no matter of all of the evidence she had found in 1- 9, I wasn’t using, and yes, I would absolutely pass the piss test, just give me a few minutes to have to pee. Lol. YA RIGHT. The test is still in the box unused.

Luckily we have gotten all of this nasty business out of the closet, she knows all my little secrets, all of by addictive behavior, and even knows how to collect the evidence with the best of the CSI’s. But when confronted, I will still sit there and lie to her face. It’s what I do. I lie and I lie, and I lie some more. But if I am going to be transparent, and say that I am not using, and she pulls that drug test out, WHAM! I know I am busted, so I lie some more, until I finally admit that I can’t take the test because I will fail. The truth always comes out in the end. Each time I have relapsed she has found out quicker and quicker, and even though she has the evidence, she has me busted cold; the thing I notice about her is that she doesn’t want to believe it’s true. After all, I swore I wouldn’t do it again, so even faced with a mountain of evidence, she will often put it off until she cant take it anymore, probably because she doesn’t want me to sit there and lie to her when she knows the truth, but mostly I think it’s because she doesn’t want to feel the disappointment that I am using again. But the one thing she never knew was the guilt I felt day in and day out, living the lie. I hated myself for it, I could hardly look her in eye most of the time (another give away). And even after all the lying, once the truth did come out, as painful as it was for her, I felt relief; relief that I didn’t have to keep lying, keep hiding, and hope that maybe this time I would take some action, but that’s a whole other story.