"First the mic then a half cigarette, singing Cathy’s clown. That’s the man she’s married to now. That’s the girl that he takes around town. She appears composed, so she is, I suppose. Who can really tell?"
Listening to Elliot Smith… smoking a cigarette… sipping on coffee that’s starting to get cold…
It occurs to me that even though I’ve always hated uncertainty, I’m presently hiding in it. I don’t want to think ahead, at all. I don’t want to anticipate anything. Well… maybe, one or two things… there are things I look forward to, but it’s nothing like A PLAN. The only plans I have are very immediate – like not contaminating my blood with a narcotic, today. Like not banging my head against the wall, cutting myself, or losing my mind…
"She shows no emotion at all – stares into space like a dead china doll."
My thoughts get so skewed, and nutty, if knock them around in my head, too long. Maybe, that’s why I have to write it all down – when I say, or write, what I’m thinking, I have to confront it. It becomes real, because I’ve put it out there, into the universe, and if doesn’t make sense, or if it seems over the top, I’m more likely to see that. I know writing these blogs has helped me. Helped me stay accountable to myself, and to whoever happens to read these…
"I’m so glad that my memorie’s remote, ’cause I’m doing just fine hour to hour, note to note."
By the way – your responses to what I have been going through are incredible. I will never forget you guys, cheering me on, and helping me through this. I can’t tell you how much it means, when I’m in a bad place, to come across words like, "I’m proud of you," or "don’t give up." Last night it really helped a lot, when I was trying to fall asleep, and my dealer called, again – I was so shaken up. I just reread some of the comments people had left, and some personal messages I’ve gotten from Ace, and I felt a lot better. It makes me feel like I’m doing something good – I know, that should seem obvious, but there are times when it just feels hard, and agonizing, and it gets hard to see past that to the good. At moments like that, when I’m in physical pain, or my mind’s running in circles, desperately seeking endorphins, or dopamine, or whatever (making me feel like I’m losing my mind) – I lose all perspective. I just want to make it stop. But, I tell myself, I’ve held on this long… I can hang on a little longer. I just have to do this today. Worry about tomorrow when it comes… I just have to hold myself together, right now, in the moment, and stay focused on that. It’s like watching my feet while I walk. I can’t look ahead, because that’s too scary. I can’t look back, because I might turn around. And, I’m inching along a narrow ledge here, so I sure as shit can’t look down. If I start thinking about how far I could fall…
no worst case scenarios, damn it. This isn’t Requiem For A Dream. This is my [email protected] life.
I just watch my feet, as they shuffle, one little step at a time, until I get to a safer space. Somewhere less precarious, where I’m not so close to the edge… because, even without looking, I know it’s a long way down.
"Here it is the revenge to the tune: you’re no good, you’re no good, you’re no good. Can’t you tell that it’s well understood?"
Charlie and I talk about so much, and so little. I never know what he knows, about what goes on in my head, and what he doesn’t. He’s not stupid. He has to see some of the resentment I feel. I mean, nothing justifies fucking this up (the kick, that is). He acts like he’s reacting out of concern for my discomfort (he acknowledges his own, but acts like he’s speaking up for my sake). Last night, he said, "If you wanna get something, I’d be okay with it. I’d understand." Translation: I wanna get high, but I want you to make the decision, so I won’t be responsible. There was a time when it would’ve worked, too. The mere suggestion would’ve had me counting my money, and dialing dude’s number, even if I had been determined as hell to kick. I’d just snap like a twig. I was a broken person, with no one to hold me up. But, not last night…
I never blamed Charlie for me getting strung out. I might’ve alluded to such bitterness in some venting rant, at some point, but I never would’ve said so to him, because I know, in reality, it’s not fair. Sure, I was a mess, and he should never have given it to me, but I was an adult. I didn’t have to go there. I do, however, blame him for getting in my way, now. He hasn’t been as bad about it as he was. He says I’m stronger than he is, right now. I don’t feel like that’s true – I’ve just been putting up a tough front when I’ve had to. On the inside, I’m screaming, but I know if I feed into my feelings of misery, and wanting to quit, and dwell there, I will, as Mason Jennings would say, "slide right down into my own bad idea." I also know that Charlie would feed off any whiff of uncertainty on my part – if he though t I really wanted to get high, he wouldn’t feel half as bad about suggesting it. So, I try to keep my game face on, and act like I’m sure about everything, when I’m actually sure of very little. But, the things I do feel sure about are pretty fucking bad ass.
But, this really does feel impossible, sometimes. Sometimes, I feel like I’m dragging myself, broken, and bleeding, trying to get to someplace safe and warm, where I can nurse my wounds, but… I can’t see three feet in front of me, and I have no clue where the hell I’m going. There’s no compass – I’m just trying to head in the opposite direction of what’s gonna kill me (or worse – what’s gonna give me twenty or thirty more years of being junked out).
"Looking out on the substitute scene, still going strong. XO, mom, it’s ok, it’s alright, nothing’s wrong. Tell Mr. Man with impossible plans to just leave me alone. In the place where I make no mistakes… in the place where I have what it takes…" – Elliot Smith, "Waltz 2"
I don’t want to do anything, or face anything, or figure anything out. I just want everything to be okay, somehow. I want to stop feeling so afraid. Those feelings make me want to break sometimes, but I have to remind myself – the last time, it didn’t wash away the sadness, or the guilt, and I hated myself like mad. I was so pissed at myself, I wanted to rake a razor across my arms. But, I didn’t want to hurt anyone who’d been looking out for me. I can’t express my gratitude to those of you who’ve helped me. Ace pretty much saved me from myself – talking me through my worst moments, and checking up on me when I’m struggling. I can’t even describe the difference he’s made. I know I wouldn’t be where I am without him. And, I’m also very lucky to have Jordan, the lovely lady Bob, Mags, and Anna. Jordan’s been a saint.
Too bad Mags and Anna are out of town, right now. Alone with my thoughts, at moments like these, I don’t do well.
It took me years to get this way. I need to be patient with myself. I will get better. It will get easier. I just have to concentrate on the things that do matter – the things I know I’m fighting for.