one more medicated, peaceful moment…

“The Noose” a perfect circle
So glad to see you well, overcome them
Completely silent now
With heaven’s help
You’ve cast your demons out
And not to pull your halo down
Around your neck and tug you off your cloud
But I’m more than just a little curious
How you’re plannin’ to go about makin’ your amends
To the dead
To the dead

~ i feel like such a fraud sometimes. everyone is always telling me how good i’m doing, and how good i am, and i feel like i should appologise for deceiveing them. i am not good, i am not doing good, and when i let everyone down, i’m sure it will hurt alot like it does right now. ~

falling out of love at this volume~bright eyes

tell me what you wanted to hear
let me do the right thing
let me do the wrong thing
and if it’s ever this clear
i will only say it once
just let me turn the amps way up
so you can hear nothing
and if i die tonight then i guess i die tonight
let me go on
just say what you wanted to say
i cannot stand these talks dear
they only get us nowhere
it’s never resolved
we only run around
you wanna tell me anyone could be just like me
if it’s a different time and a different place to be
you would go on

you know when you are in a car accident…and you can see it coming, but you can’t brake it time, those few seconds feel like an eternity.

that’s how i feel right now. i’m watching my life unravel all over again, and i feel like all i can do is brace for impact.

things have been getting worse the past few days. not in the “real world” i suppose, just in me. i feel so isolated.  i’ve been spending alot of time with josh, and we are not getting along so well. that’s a story for another day…the point is i feel like i lost whatever i had that was driving me to get well.

meetings are few and far between the past few weeks, i forget to call my sponsor, and she’s really into working out these days, so when i do hit a meeting, she’s not there. i have no friends in the program, only aquaintances. i don’t speak to anyone from back home.  the eating thing has been weighing heavy on me. it all just piles up.

so josh and i got into *another* fight last night. i have discovered one of his character traits is being really, really critical. ( i have this problem with most guys i date) but josh takes the cake. not only is he always telling me how to work my program, he doesn’t like the clothes i buy, the music i listen to, or the books or movies i like.  he also thinks i need to improve my body (for my own self esteem, of course) i need to watch the way i walk, the things i say. i need to act more lady-like, i need to grow up and stop acting childish, i need to let go of the past and start over right now. above all i need to get well, and be the girl he sees me being.

now, don’t get me wrong, i believe he thinks he’s got my best interests at heart, and on some points he may be right, but i feel like he’s got this image in his head of who he wants me to be, and he loves that girl, not who i am now.  it’s alot to take to always feel wrong, feel flawed, and always be under the microscope, always being corrected.

so we got into another argument, which started because he didn’t like the tone i used on the phone (yes, i’m serious) and it ended up with me telling him i don’t know if it’s gonna work, and i want to get high. what a fucking mess.

“this was a mistake.” he says, staring off into his own thoughts. “i had no business dating you, and i knew it. i just thought you were getting better so fast, and i love you.”

i just looked at him, i was full of ice water, numb in my head and my heart. sometimes i wonder if i’ll ever feel anything..ever.

“now i don’t know what to do. we have to get back into the program.” (he says this alot, nothing much happens.) “we need to do something different. ”

we had sex.  this was not different. but it did make me feel better. as we lay there, holding each other in silence he looks at me “the sex is good, kaia, but it won’t keep us sober.” i looked away. i know this time, he’s right.

he dropped me off, and i went to bed, sleep was ellusive, and i’m pounding coffee this morning.

so as i sat here, mulling over the mess i find myself in, an email popped up on my computer. it was seth. yes, the seth i relapsed with four months ago to the day. (coincidence? you tell me) he’s working in town, and “if you’re in the area, stop by.”

so here i am, full of caffeine and discontent, unhappy with the kid i’m dating, lonely, and longing for the familiar. and seth pops into the picture.  so tomorrow i am totally planning to go see him, not telling josh or anyone else, because i know it’s a bad idea. but i won’t change my mind. and i know what happens when i see seth, and all the justifications in the world won’t make it untrue. (”he’s working, there’s no way we can get in trouble.” “i’m going to a meeting right after, it will be fine.” “i’m only gonna see him this once, nothing will change.”) the truth of the matter is, this could put and end to my relationship with josh, my recovery, and my life out here, in one fell swoop.

but none of that seems to matter for some reason.

i am still a really sick kid.

but i must be putting myself out there for a reason.

so i can see the collision coming up, and i’m pumping the brakes, but part of me just want to hit, feel that impact finally. these past four months have felt like a dream, and i have a feeling i’ll soon be waking up to that  nightmare i know so well.

i never noticed how empty she was

until the flood stopped

and we swam alone

all the blood drained away

and we were left, holding hands

death grip

on my limp wrist

and she’s scared

the walls are too high to climb

and i’m too confused to tell time

how long have we been

lost in this dream

how much more

until it’s over

left at the bottom

i held her close

even though i can see

she won’t make it

i play with here hair

tell here i’m still there

as her breathing gets smaller and smaller

i promise not to let go

or let anyone know

she was terrified

as it ended

her skin thin and white

just like that night

i finally realized

we had lost the fight

i never knew how empty

she was

until i stopped feeding her that shit

then she waisted away

like a cold winter day

nothing to show for all of it

my head’s been so sore

with all these thoughts

wanting more

something to make it all better

she’d take over my dreams

with shards of moonbeams

and promise to love me

if i’d let her

but now that i’m looking

it’s too late for this

she’s letting go

with one blissful kiss

her lips taste like m orphine

her skin smells like salt

all i ever needed

all i’ll ever want

i never noticed how lonely it was

on my own at the bottom

i see now because

there’s nothing left now

but the beat of my heart

the ache in this spot

and the sounds of my thoughts.

as i was sitting in a chair getting tattoo number four last night, i couldn’t help but be pulled back into the past, to all those other tat’s, all those memories…..

#1 tribal butterfly on the small of my back (ah yes, the classic “tramp stamp”) i was 20 years old, and i was with john, the ex to end all ex’s.  but at this time we were still together, playing our best at happy. he was 19. we lived w/ his parents, and we drove my shitbox plymouth sundance. (the passenger door was rusted shut, so he always had to jump in dukes of hazzard style)  i had had this one tribal backpiece cut out of a magazine for almost five years, it sat in my wallet waiting for the right time, getting worn and weathered as years past, and i just never got around to it. one day we decided to go up to NH (this was when tat’s were still illegal to do in mass) and get ink’d together. how sweet. i was all ready to get the picture in my wallet put on me permanently, but as i was driving up to the shop, john lookes down at a cd cover in our car (no, i won’t tell you which one) and says “you should get that instead.” i looked down, and knew at once he was right. it was so pretty, so perfectly me, and i never even noticed it before. it’s so funny too, cuz it sounds so cliche, a butterfly on your lower back. every bar slut from here to san fran has that. but this one is so intricate, and all black. its so me. and i love it. i went first, and the pain was tolerable (we did this sans pharmaceuticals, which i was very pround of at the time) but it seemed to take forever.  i was relieved when it was over. then john jumped up on the table, and i have to hand it to him, to this day, he was a trooper. he got this massive dragon that stretched from his armpit to his hipbone, and he got it all black, and he did it all that day. i named the tattoo dave, and sometimes i wonder if he still calls it that. we drove home laughing and joking about how hardcore we were….all tat’d up and crazy.

in the end, the relationship was a disaster, just like the first time he and i tried and failed, but five years later, and at least three years since we’ve spoken, i can look at this tat and be reminded that for a moment or two, we had a good life.

#2 blue snowflake on the back of my neck. this was february of 2005.  casey and i were pretty heavy in the dope scene by this point, and we were only able to afford this tat for my birthday because a friend of his was willing to cut us a deal. i remember feeling so loved because casey was willing to spend good drug money on a gift for my birthday. (nobody else had ever gotten me anything, it meant alot) casey got me nice and jammed, so the pain wouldn’t be too much (better living through chemistry) i got the blue snowflake because casey has a blue snowflake on his arm.  trey anistasio does this song called “snowflakes in the sand.” its a love song. the idea was he and i were snowflakes in this sandpit of a fucking world. like a diamond in the rough. it was a way to keep him close to me, and always remember him, even if we weren’t together. but it was our secret, nobody had to know the tat was a bond between us. he left me sitting there a couple times during the tat to go get off, and i remember being so mad, cuz i had to wait til it was done before i could fix myself. but after it was over, and we drove back to the crackhouse, i really enjoyed those few minutes in the car, basking in the afterglow of having a birthday present, having a guy i loved, and having a killer buzz. at the time, i didn’t want anything else.

#3 star on my stomach. i got this tat on a complete spontanious whim, with mikey the first time i saw him in over a year. we were just walking by and he’s like “you want one?” i said yes, and we both went in and did it. that is the perfect microcosm for our entire friendship. we were always impetuous and crazy and we did whatever we wanted to regardless of the mess we left or the consequences. i always felt so free when we hung out, like i could do whatever felt right and damn anyone else, he would have my back. now that we dont really talk anymore, i’m glad i have those memories to look back on, and this tat that reminds me to let go sometimes and just do what i think is right, not to be so worried about what everyone else thinks about me. that’s what i owe to him.

#4 “deliverance” in arameic on my left wrist. this idea came to me while i was in a holding in the city.  now it’s easy to assume this is a recovery related tattoo, but that’s only part of the story…..  deliverance: noun. relase from pain or suffering. now that could mean a myriad of things. i find release from pain in many places, many people and many things. i got this ink to remind me that it is possible to be freed from the past, from the pain. it is possible to find an end to suffering. to remind me how far i’ve come, and to show me i can keep going. no matter what. i got this tat with josh…he refused to get one, and he gave me a ration of shit about getting it “that’s a bad place to do it” “you’re going to regret it” “what about this what about that” but after he saw it, he realized i was right, it looks killer. and i hope he realized one thing he seems to be forgetting alot lately….i can make decsions on my own, and sometimes they are even good ones.

i am so glad i got this ink, and i am already planning the next one (they truely are addictive, but what isn’t, to me?) hehehe

and i am just as grateful for the reflection it brought me to, as i am for the amazing art i now carry with me.

long before i knew i was an addict, i knew something else about myself. i was fat. no matter what anyone said, what the scale said, or what the pictures said, i was fat.

if you are an addict, you may be familiar with the term “substitution” you know….”i won’t get high, but i can drink.” “i won’t party, but a little gambling won’t hurt.” “i’ll lay off the dope, but a valium would be nice.” i think we all do it in one form or another. even caffiene counts, if you want to be a real dick about it…. but one of my unhealtier sustitutions is this food thing.

i’ve been bulemic since seventh grade (for those of you counting along at home that’s 12 years.) i suppose its just another vain (no pun intended) attempt at controling the biohazard i pass off as my life.  i never really paid too much attention to this one, because i was always so fuct up with being an addict. and once i got really hooked on the heavy stuff, and i was barely breaking a hundred pounds, it didn’t matter anymore. i barely ate, nevermind needed to chuck it up when i did eat. i thought i had finally found my happy place, complacent in being a junkbox, and skinny *finally* to boot. i thought i had it made, and i looked great.

(yeah, not so much, looking back)

the point i’m trying to make now, though, is since i got sober i have obviously gained some weight back. and i know i’m not “fat” persay. i weigh 132. i’m 5ft4in tall. i know that’s not grotesquely obese. but i LOOK fat when i look in the mirror. and i feel out of control. like i should be able to decide how much i weigh, and what i fucking look like.

i feel lazy and gross, and it’s really starting to weigh on me. (again, no pun intended)

so in case you’re curious, no, i’m not delusional. i know i’m substituting this obsession for my drug obsession. i know it’s unhealthy, and i know weight is a big relapse trigger for girls. i know all this…and yet i still feel myself slipping into this well of self loathing.

i haven’t been purging. i told josh i have an eating disorder, and he’s been on me like white on rice. so am i obstaining from puking because i know it’s the good thing to do? no. am i afraid to piss off the person holding a place in my life right now? yes.  part of me thinks i told him because i know he’d make a huge deal out of it, and i need that kind of pressure to keep in line. i don’t trust myself as far as this is concerned. i need help.

but there are other ways to control your environment. counting calories, exersize, blah blah blah. and i’m doing all those things. it sounds obsurd when i put it out here, but i started out trying to keep the calorie count down to 1000 a day, then it slipped to 800, then 700. i’ve gone back to being a vegetarian, which makes it easy to say no to food. i’ve been doubling up on caffiene cuz it kills my appetite. breakfast now consists of a sugar free instant breakfast mixed w/coffee instead of milk. (i really am a sick kid)

i exersize every day, and i’m starting to resent going to meetings, cuz it takes up time i could be working out. twisted, really…..twisted. i just don’t feel right unless i can chalk up some time to sweating.

but i don’t know. it’s just so tiring, to slave away to another sick way of life. i know, i know….it’s not looking good. but i don’t know what to do, i’m trying all the tricks i learned in the program. obviously, i’m putting myself out there, i’m asking for help, and i’m bringing it to my hp. i guess i’ll just try to keep it in control (ha) and see how it goes.

these are the days i feel like as soon as i kick one sick life, i’ll just grow another, and suffer on…and on.

automatic writing…..

days blur into each other nothing changes nothing is the same anymore i drift along this rift of noise and scream out this slience my head rings with pain and i want it again and i have no where to go i’ve forgetten the way home and this place gets so cold at night all alone i just want you to hold me hold on it get rough through here this ride goes all night as we walk up the flight of steps lead the way as i pray for daylight and the bathwater was warm a few hours ago but i fell asleep and drowned in this mess so hand me a towel and well start again because i don’t know how to get clean in a place like my head we danced for so long my feet bleed i cant go on just carry me to the alley way and leave me alone i don’t mind it so much i’ve just had too much and its never enough to calm the static and the whit noise blairs on somewhere in it i hear a song i know all to well i sing along just tie this off for me and well be okay well make it to the sunrise one more time cuz each night melt into day and it all stays the same no matter how far away you think your getting….

i literally feel like i am cybil sometimes, as if there were really two (or more) totally seperate and unique personalities living in my head. junkbox kaia doesn’t give a shit about any of this crap. she doesn’t care to stay sober, or make a life for herself, or do good things or make people happy. she couldn’t care less about helping other, or even living. she’s got this attitude like “whatever happens happens, i just wanna party.” she obsesses about the last high or the next on, she thinks of ways to get over, and she comes up today and makes life suck all over again.

sober kaia is struggling to really do this right. she works the program to the best of her ability, she tries to stay positive, and do what she thinks is right. she tries to put other people before herself, and she tries to steer clear of sick thinking that will put her in bad space, and maybe ruin all this.

that’s where i’m at right now. half the time i just want to say fuck all this shit, and stick myself. the idea makes my mouth water sometimes. and other times, the thought of going back out makes me want to rip my hair out.

i keep trying to recognize a mental slip before it puts me in a week long downward spiral. this last time almost took me out. you know how they say a relapse starts way before you actually pick up. well, they’re right. i see now, certain behaviors lead me right down that path…and i’m lucky i didn’t just pick up and go back home. i had no idea how close i was…

so i am in internal conflict, but i hear part of getting better is putting it out there, and this is a good place to start.

i don’t know how much you guys now about “recovery” or the program, but there is a phenomea known as “the pink cloud” most people exeperience early in sobriety. when you really get the program, are really amped to do  the work, and you think you are recovered…nothing will ever make you wanna get high again. you could be entirely free of the obsession for drugs for weeks, or even months. you say, do and feel all the “right” things. nothing can touch you.

that’s where i’ve been since i came back from my relapse.

there is also a phenomena i like to call “the descent” where you come back to earth, and reality, and realize that it’s not even close to started, nevermind over. you lose your zeal for everything aa or na, you don’t want to get high, or maybe you do now. but the thoughts creep back in, as well as old behaviors and ways of dealing with things. sometimes you forget what brought you in in the first place.

that’s where i am now.

to be honest, it feels okay. i feel more normal now. i’m still doing all the things i am supposed to. meetings and the like. but i feel a little bit more like myself. it was strange to be so gung-ho about anything, now that i look back on it. it was like i was dreaming.

they say the purpose of the pink cloud is to show you how great your life can be and feel after you do all the work. like a sneek preview. it can often be overwhelming, good or bad.  but either way it’s over now. and i see again, that life cannot be shoved into any neat little package, aa or otherwise. it’s way more complex than that. and it will never stop being an adventure, and it will never stop being work. it will never stop being unpredictable. i wouldn’t want it any other way.

we all end up in a desolate place if and when we finally hit our bottom….for me, that place was lynn’s house, a shooting gallery in downtown nowhere. i knew it was a bad idea, but the drugs were close, and honestly, i didn’t care anymore. what was left to want anyway? it was all gone except for getting high, so that was my focus.

we moved in the day after new years.  casey and i had spent new years in a volvo station wagon, driving back and forth on the highway through inches and inches of snow, to the dealer’s, back to lynn’s. we’d get a couple hundred bucks, drive a half hour in the miserable weather, cop, drive back, put the shit in our arms, hustle someone for some more cash, and do it all over again.  i remember watching the clock change 11:59…12:00. “happy new year.” i said, fixing the interior light on my arm so i could start the year off right. casey just grunted. we didn’t really talk to much anymore.

i woke up new years day, sick as a dog and frustrated. this was my life. i took a walk around the house. benji and lynn, who were running partners and roomates in this cesspool, were sitting on the floor, with what looked like thousands of postcards spread out on the carpet.

“can someone get me off e please, and i’ll go make some money.” casey was still alseep, and i knew i had a better chance of getting hooked up if it were me alone, he could fend for himself.
“sure, i’ll get you straight, if you’ll go through this bullshit for us after.” benji pointed at the pile of endless paper.

“absolutely.” that was a good deal, as far as i was concerned. i didn’t know what my part of the deal was, really, but did it really matter? i’d do almost anything by this point. so benji gave me two bags and i walked into the bathroom. now here is a picture of where i was at at this time.  the bathroom was small. very small. there were no handles on the tub faucet, and the wall was always leaking from the taps, very hot and very cold water, respectivly. but nobody showere that much, so it seemed inconsequential.  there was no toilet paper, just a box of tissues from a cheap motel. there was no real shampoo or soap, just those tiny bottles from the same hotel. there were a few towels on the floor, mostly stained with blood from shots gone bad. there was a toothbrush cup on the sink, but there were no toothbrushes, just sets of works. the whole damn cup was full of needles. mine has a snowflake star on the barrell. i didn’t really think about weather or not anyone had used it since i was gone. did it really matter? i went over to the “work station” a bureau by the door of the bathroom. spoons, a cup of qtips and lights were strewn across the top of it. empty bags littered the space. i took a spoon that was still wet, hoping to get a little extra, and i cooked up. i sat on the toliet, tied off and looked around. this is really it. i thought. and i stuck myself.

i walked out of the bathroom, blissfully unaffected again, and i sat down in front of the pile. “so what the fuck is all this crap?” i asked.

“we hit some house a couple towns over last night, and we got all this antique-y shit.” benji laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “i guess it was some elderly dude.”

i started going through the piles, and i got a little sad, somewhere inside.  these were piles of postcards and letters, birthday cards and wedding pictures, school report cards, all from depression/WWII era. there were war rations and parts from an army uniform. they had hijacked someone’s life.

“i know a guy downtown that will buy all this shit for an auction he’s having.” benji was so proud of himself.

me, not so much. i felt a dull ache in my heart as i sifted through this poor guys belongings, from letters from his wife during the war, to pictures of his kids at camp. but it didn’t stop me, i spent hours sorting through it all, to get my cut of what would come next.

hours later, when benji had returned from selling all that stuff, we got high again, but this time the emptiness wasn’t fulled up.   i sat on the floor of that hellhole apartment, looking around me, wondering how much lower i could get.

bad question.