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!

A Prayer For The Unsuspecting

Image Credit: The Adventures of Tobasco de Gama

My favorite astrologer and über-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.

help

I need help guys, maybe im just an idiot or maybe there is no such things, but im trying to search the blog world.. is there a way to do this. Like if i want to search for blogs about drugs or about flowers or w.e it is ... is there a way to search?

help a sista out!

Throw'n my will around

So I have come here to rant away about my quitting smoking. I do not call my self an addict in the heroin/alcohol sense. Whether I should or not, is not a question I can answer. Being a 'normie' has lead to believe I am not entitled to that label, as surely.... I do not know ANYTHING about real addiction. So I humbly discuss my smoking- whatever it is. I have quit a number of times for various amounts of time, the longest being two years. It keeps good timing with my addict, when he relapses... I clearly need my old faithful friend, the cigarette, around to keep my morale up.

So, I had my last smoke Sunday night. Day 3 I recognize as one of the more difficult times for me and then it slowly dissipates. But.... the flashing moments of complete pissed offness I get that I can't have a cigarette (which was really a choice I made to not have a smoke) gets a little stronger. And then, there is the calm reasoning- which is what I encountered this evening.

It is completely reasonable that I should be able to have one cigarette! So what? I would have one- no one would know, and then it would be done. I would satisfy that urge and then become clear again as to why I don't want to smoke; that, it was, in fact, a choice. Sure, in fact... having one cigarette was quickly becoming the best idea I could have had. Excellent!

It's amazing how wholly and completely the addictive voice can convince you that you are talking- and not that incessant mind fuck chatter that just WANTS WHAT IT FUCKING WANTS, that you really want something that you chose not to have....

and yes, I am wearing the patch. I have nicotine acid flowing through me like electricity- electrifying my dreams.

And still, that little voice made having a cigarette the most sound idea I ever had, a thinking woman's idea, a mature idea. Fucking Fabulous.

So... now I stink and have a horrible taste in my mouth.

whatever.....

Doesnt it hurt

When you stick that needle in your arm, don't you feel the pain?
Is it worth it, to hurt your self only to look like a fool
What do you gain?
Spoons, syringes, razor blades, mirrors..
Things to you that are nothing but a tool

Why would someone want to intentionally cause himself pain
I know it hurts you, It has to
What could you possibly gain?
I could ask you until my face was blue
You are too numb to even answer

You are not the only one who's feels this pain
The lies you tell, the things you steal
You have nothing to gain!
The life you live, it isn't real

Doesn't it hurt...

Can you keep on living causing pain?
Every where you go it follows
What do you have to gain?
Is your heart really that hollow

Your life is dark and decrepit filled with nothing but pain
You walk down a road to nowhere
What could you possibly have to gain?
Your face is nothing but a blank stare

You are not the only one who feels this pain
If you continue on this path, there will be nothing left
You have nothing to gain!
Soon your family will put you to rest

Doesn't it hurt....

and the winner is.....

As I draw ever closer to my 2nd birthday in cleanland -- that elusive spot of black key tag status in Narcotics Anonymous -- I have a desire to change my blog title. My gf says I can call myself a newcomer for as long as I think it works for me (ha! smartass that she is with her near 17 years!), but I think it's time has come as I turn 2.
I have thought of many titles, but none of them seem to jump right out and grab me. Then today I saw that Mantramine had changed her title and written a bit about why. JW left a vote for another title in her comment section and an idea was born.
Why not let my people vote for a new blog name for Scout? You know me well. You know what I love and what pisses me off. You know I think I am a special addict because heroin is my beloved. You know almost all of it. So, who better to give me ideas for a new title than all of you?
Lay them on me. Serious votes (Ej corrected me and let me know that voting implies choices and did I really want suggestions)suggestions only, please, or this could turn into a real fricking free for all! (Wow, it scares me to think of what I just put out here.)

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...

Reduction Redux

Image Credit: www.bbc.co.uk

At an AA meeting recently a speaker sharing his story mentioned harm reduction and how, well, that didn't really work for him. He spoke of how he would drink until he couldn't drink any more and then, as his own form of harm reduction, he would use speed. When he couldn't use speed any more he would turn to pot. After a while when that wasn't working he would return to alcohol. His point was that it was alcohol that brought him to his knees and gave him his bottom. No one could argue that point because it was, after all, his story. But one of the discussion comments after his share was someone who stated how she appreciated him speaking of harm reduction and how for her such a model for recovery was useless. She wished someone would tell the city and other funding and recovery organizations that harm reduction was a joke... a waste of time and money. There are many times I have wanted to speak at these meetings but none more than this time. But I have made it my goal right now to just go to meetings and listen. I am there to feel good and, for now, am not looking to risk that feeling by getting up on my soap box with an opposing view. So I will do it here instead.

I understand people's frustration with the concept of harm reduction. It IS a concept that in reality doesn't fully work. On the face of it it seems that there is a permission given to use or drink in a manageable way which totally goes against the grain of a twelve step program where the basis for recovery lies in how this issue of drinking and drugging has made life unmanageable. This does seem "wrong." I have never tried harm reduction myself. Instead I chose to use about a hundred times more than I needed to just to be certain that using and me was not a combination that was going to be helpful or enjoyable in any way. But in my recovery I have witnessed many, many people who have come to the same decision I have to not use ever again by employing the harm reduction model. People I know have used this model of recovery to come to the understanding through their own experience that using isn't going to work for them no matter how hard they try and manage their use. In many cases they did not have to lose their life completely to come to this understanding. They could retain their jobs and though relationships sufferred some where not completely severed. For some this was because of the harm reduction experience. They also came to the decision to seek a better life on their own. Indisputably, if telling people that using drugs were bad for them would make them quit, life for so many would be a whole lot easier. I think everyone whose life has been touched by addiction knows that simply is not enough. So there is great value in having a path to take that will reduce the harm along the way.

Even though harm reduction is akin to being suckered into a vacation get-away only to be corralled into a sales meeting to induce one to spend money on a time share, it is a way to get the addicted on the road to a complete recovery. It does reduce not only the harm they do to themselves but also the harm done to people's families, loved ones and community. It is easier to loosen one's commitment to using or drinking if the carrot of managing their addiction is dangled in front of them. Hopefully with a little clarity that might come of this scam, people can see there is a way and that way is better. It cannot hurt more than it already does to offer up yet one more way of getting better—perhaps one that does not sting as much.

I look forward to the day when one of my amends might be, "Sorry I tricked you into getting clean."

Stepping it up

I started a 12 step writing workshop last night. We're using the book, The 12 Steps, a Way Out. I love this format. The little Naranon step study booklet just isn't enough for me to really delve into and work the steps. I love the book we're using. It has enough of a balance of people who've come before me sharing stories that sound remarkably like mine, with room for me to write my own story. As I've been working the steps with my sponsor, I've drawn from this book. What I love even more about the writing workshop is the group process. The group is not closed yet, but it will be within the next few weeks. And there's a contract for us each to sign, with agreements like, "I will be as honest as possible in all things, especially with regard to what I am learning about myself- past and present." And "I will accept any discomfort or unsettling behavior changes that I may experience as a result of working the Twelve Steps." I like the fact that as a group, we can hold each other accountable. I like using the writing process, having the freedom to make it mine, and the guidance of people who have come before me showing me a way.

I just edited the last two words above from "the" way to "a" way. I also like the fact that the book we're using is NOT titled, "THE Way Out", but "A Way Out." As a member of a number of minority groups, two of which are Jewish and Gay, I'm a firm believer that there is not just ONE way. This 12 step program is something that I choose, because it helps me. It's not the only way. But it's MY way. And I'm excited about this leg of my journey.