10 Grams of Meth in a Toilet

Posted on by meltingneurons

I know a man who threw away 10g of meth. Down a toilet. Intentionally, during a moment of lucidity. He woke up from his dream. He didn’t do it for the posturing or the bragging, he did it because he had a fucking moment and things added up.

He saw his future was his past and all that was going to come again. The regrets. The broken relationships. The self-hatred. The loneliness and the pain. The body count and the desperation. The stagnation. The missed joy and thrill of life. The empty smile and the personal failings. The prayer for death unanswered.

It hit that water in the toilet and didn’t even stain the water with some indication of all the soil and grime that its brand had left over the years. All the marks on his morals. His appreciation of life. His awareness and understanding of the world and himself. His inability to connect and always be “other” – not in a way he was proud of, but in a way that left him sullied and greasy where it would always be felt most.

He wasn’t going to revisit and replay what had come before. He was learning gratitude for all the experiences, painful or pleasant, and that meant realizing that the pain had only needed to happen once. He didn’t need to put his hand back into the fire like always. it was still fucking hot and he was worth more than scorched flesh. He wanted to, could, and will become more. He’ll evolve, be seen in the mirror as true to himself, a good friend, an honest and genuine man, and as a survivor not an unchanging Peter Pan chemical fiend. Wreckage for decades as his only gift to the world, a Lost Boy playing pirate to his own loot.

He had learned, was learning, would continue to learn. He would grow.

I know a man that threw away 10g of meth. Finally took a dive and emptied a bag, got back on the horse, and welcomed in a change for once.

Stay that road fucker, I miss you.

Melancholy for Anya

Posted on by meltingneurons
A minimal background here….the young girl in the photograph is my daughter. Because of both my actions leading up to the divorce and subsequent relapses, along with a “less then friendly” civility between the mother and myself – I have only seen her once in the last year and change. She’s about a year and a half to put it in perspective. 
Anya's Big Blue Eyes (2)

Some sing songs of longing,

Blazing with desire to find or be found.

A lonesome call to remove the isolation,

From the desperate state of silent night.

For others,

Absent are the sounds once felt.

Or missed because of poor choices.

To have loved and lost is a blessing,

To lose a love over choices given away,

Hurts the way that pain self-inflicted does.

Unswayed by pleas for mercy,

Nowhere to misdirect the blame.

I want to know my daughter,

But all I feel is shame.

Not at the beauty she is sure to be.

Surely not at the creative gleam in her eye.

Not her brilliant hand that will craft a world,

Or her soft skin that will feel the kiss of life daily.

The shame is a shattering indulgence.

A reminder striking loudly of what could have been,

Of where I should have been.

Wanted to be, and missed the closest moments with her –

And those can never be reclaimed.

Because she doesn’t know who daddy is –

And maybe doesn’t even know that I’m not there.

I’m sorry Anya.

I love you even if we aren’t together yet.

 

Small note – even though I only have a short call with her and my son weekly, she spit out a “dada” for me. 🙂

Built to Suffer – Addicts/Alcoholics

Posted on by meltingneurons

Note: I would love to hear from the rest of the addict community out there what they found to be their breaking point or share some experience with the damn cycle of relapse. Someone recently echoed my sentiments from bygone years…some of us are only allowed further suffering. There are existences that truly prove death to be a relief – active addiction is a great example. Please share, I know I’m not the only lunatic, chronic relapsing, seemingly deathwished addict out there having adventures when they want boring….I think. Thanks! -s

To anyone who ho has been following this blog, my apologies for the extended delay in posting….it has been a remarkably fucked up couple weeks.

I relapsed. I overdosed 3 hours after leaving one detox and was thrown from the car I was in onto someones front lawn. The police were called and I was resuscitated.

I left the hospital and went back to the house of the “friends” who had chucked me out and went on a coke shooting binge.

Two days later I had found a bed at another detox. Unfortunately, I use with the same intensity that I do everything else…so while it wasn’t an extended run, it was more than my body could handle.

When I showed up, my green haired angel started to help me get in and I simply collapsed. The ambulance took me to another hospital where it was found that I did indeed have an abscess forming on one arm, a blood clot on the other with the beginning of cellulitis, and most importantly, my kidneys were failing and there was concern that dialysis would be needed.

Makes sense when you consider that I hadn’t had anything to drink other than some wine in about 3 or 4 days.

I had been hallucinating earlier in the day which should have been a big warning. I had a conversation with a man while walking down a road about the quality of the train system running to Philadelphia…after blinking it was a bit frightening to find that in reality I had been standing still and there was no one there.

Took me right back to the meth days.

Eventually I left that hospital…lost my mind at the doctor for reasons I don’t fully understand. That miserable fucking shit sack decided that since I was leaving AMA he was not going to give me a prescription for antibiotics despite the fact they were giving them to me IV and as Bactrim pills. Not very positive karma from my side, but I hope he finds himself in a position someday where the hippocratic oath he took is ignored in the same way he did for me.

I left partially because I was starting to see red and wanted more than anything to break that fuckers teeth out the back of his throat….I might have been a bit crazy.

Turns out crazy was right…I’ve never been completely hysterical before. Waiting for my angel to show up again, I was sitting in a parking lot, sobbing, laughing, and yelling simultaneously. Everyone I spoke with on the phone that had previously offered help started getting scared and decided to bail.

There’s still only one person in the world that I can trust to always be there beside my mother – Misha. She took me to yet another hospital, spent the night with more IVs and going nuts….

Since I was homeless again, she helped me find a place to stay with a couple individuals that understood the madness I was going through.

Eventually I made it back into the same detox facility that I had tried to get to previously.

I completed it, and will be moving to another “sober living house”. I have multiple probation violations, new court dates, and am relying completely on my family for financial support like a child and not a 29 year old.

Fucking addiction.

Fucking disgusting.

I hurt so many people that I truly cared about and who cared about me with this relapse. I’m sorry to you if you happen to read this to the one who introduced me to country music and taught me to dance – and to the one who always floats on the outside of my thoughts. I’m an idiot, but you already know that.

And to my “neverland” – you know what I would say to you. You’re my everything.

Misha #5