Princeling

Just because we are both in NA
Doesn't mean a fuck to me
You need to back the hell off today
Pay attention to my body seethe, please
Hear
my
Clear
verbal
no.
See my hand outstretched for a handshake.

I will not capitulate
When you state
"But we hug in NA"
Ah, hell no.
Especially if my body you can't respect.
You're acting like you're not grown.
Not a man
yet
not a king
yet

I can tell just by quietly observing
They way you've been behaving
Little Princeling
Walking in the rooms late and loud
Slapping hands with yr boys
Disturbingly proud
before finally sitting down
Legs splayed out
Hat cocked back,
eyes scanning the crowd
For folx to 13th step with, newbies to plow.

*Oh, a Footnote for the confused
You've heard of the 12 Steps, right?
A life and death fight
for sobriety for those who choose?
A quest for life through spiritual health.
Meaning not god exactly
(yeah, ah hell no!)
Oh, sorry, I meant to say god is not for me
Instead I use
willingness, honesty & integrity,
just to name a few

So, well, 13th stepping is when
NOT grown men & women
Do the opposite of sobriety zen
Instead of growing and and letting going
They use the rooms to 'hit that'
Chopping struggling saplings with an ax
Preying on fresh meat
Jackels stalking wounded gazelles
Taking two sobriety's down in one fell
Swoop

So just because we're both in NA
Doesn't mean a fuck to me
Put your arms down and away
I shake hands when we meet
No hugs here until I CHOOSE.
Until you just say "Hi" and
look straight into my eyes,
thinking of ME, not YOU.
Until you quit interjecting
and start respecting
That hugs are two way street
and you have swerved over the double yellow lines
Brother mine.
Now you are going the wrong way down my side.

I dont know you
You arent touching me
yet
Just because we're both in NA doesnt give you permission
I am on a mission to save my life.
And your fervent man-boy pheremones aren't what's gonna keep me clean tonight

I want to hear your thoughts
The real feelz
Deep down
Brave and spoken OUT LOUD
in a meeting
I want to hear you read a reading
Not just speeding through
I want to see you seeing instead of looking
Instead of preening
Why can't you see I am a Yew tree?
I cant hug
yet
But I am strong, just check
Lean your Heart against my Bark, just not your arms
Yet
I will touch when I trust
But I listen always
I will stick and stay
I will never look away
I can help staunch your bleed,
Eye to eye to infinity

Because I, this man-woman child
has some bleed of her own
Ax chops in childhood
until my sap was almost all gone
And I need personal space
To explore on
Wild hiking boots soled with diamonds
On the journey to reclaim my baby BoiGrrl
Still alive somehow inside my flames
I am Daenarys Stormborn and Grey Worm combined
And I am out to win my life
Win the Full Grown Genderfluid Titanium Throne

So, go my princeling, my budding King
Please stop scamming on newbies
Daydreaming through meetings
Go my brother, my sweet talking kin
Growing slowly into your adult skin
Go my princeling, go
and I know
You also
will find, create and
Win
your own
throne.

Happy

I am completely and utterly dissocaied now.  and I dont care, wich is coool.  so I am letting this go out as it is.   because this is the truth.   the truth is messy and gross and incorect grammaticallly.   I am watching Girls and I am very happy about the seond season.   They are telling the truth about class and fame and whoring and the lines that blur between them.  I love it. love it. love it.  i am so fcking out of it right now that ovviouadsly i cant type for shit.  but i am safe.  i am in my pretty apt with green grass and sunlight and a hammock.   Safe.  And we paid the rent and made sure there was enough money in the account for the check to clear even though it wont cleear for like a week and a half.  He always takes forever to cash the check.  but that is cool, becuasue the point is when you write the check, you have the money. DONE. via GABRIEL.

Also we own the internet at this place now.  Whooot!!!!!!!!!! We fucking rock!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  We did the thing Nancy does on Weeds.  We did what Jessa does on Girls.  We just took what was ours and were fari about it and 1YATTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.  And fuck them if they try to fuck with us. Chesire Grin

Do the Work

Fucking fuck.  I don't wanna do the work, but i do wanna do the work, but fuck.  OK, we gotta do the work.  we gotta write the poems.  we've gotta go for the walks.  we gotta fucking do the fucking yoga.  we gotta fucking meditate. fucking meditate. fuck.  we don't wanna.  we wanna do drugs and get high in the sky and teach beautiful theoretical math and fuck the world.  and eat what sugar crap.  but we gotta fucking drag ourselves outta this.   we gotta. we gotta.

We have to do the work.  It's on now, I guess.  It's on.  We are high right now, but I guess it has to stop.  Eventually? (With a Chesire grin?)  Fuck.  Drug Problem.

Drug Problem.

We love the way we feel so much on DXM that we do not want to give it up.  It almost feels like a "gimme" quick cut pull away to me kind of thing.  My precious.  It's MINE, AND I LOVE IT AND FUCK OFF.  fuck. 

And we gotta focus on what the problem is, and actually the problem is not DXM.  The problem is that you are healing from a childhood of SEVERE abuse and mind-fucking and sex abuse and hurt.  And your mother is a very sick person who is not going to be able to go on this journey with you.  And your brother may not be able to go on this journey with you.   He has come a fucking long way, and he may find a way to be happy, but you can't do it for him  I ABSOLUTELY will help him any way that I can, but I can't control  his path.  It would be grotesque to do so.  You are alone.  You are going to make it.  You have to stop doing drugs.  You have to stop doing drugs.  You have to stop numbing reality.  You have to feel the freakiness in real time, not drug time.  You have to feel weird while you are sober.  You have to feel dissociative and wonky while you are sober.  While you are not chemically affected.  It is OK.  It is safe to be dissociative and wonky and sober.  You will not let go and become fully crazy all the time.  You can control it.  It is actually beautiful.  And you can do it.  But although the drug is beautiful and it helps, it hurts you, it is a chemical not meant for your body, it is probably hurting your liver, it is probably hurting your heart muscle, it definitely hurts you ability to have mental perspective and clarity.  Yes, it helps you feel and get to the truth.  It does. I absolutely will not dispute that.  It does fucking WORK.  But it can't be a lifestyle.  And you want it to be a lifestyle.  I do. I want it to be a lifestyle of wonkiness and gut intuition and truth and weirdness and calm and beauty and truth.  I am so scared to do it.

You have to fucking live out loud.  Yeah, that movie.  Cheesy, fuck yeah, but correct.  Live Fucking Out Loud.  You have to.  You can't keep going doing this drug thing.  I mean, you can.  You seem to be handling work, money, therapy and drugs sorta well right now.  You can do it.  You just have to decide is that the life you want?

I've been watching Weeds. Probably a bad idea.  but someone on it said he did all this terrible stuff, just to see if he could get away with it.  And that is sort of how I feel about the DXM.  Like, holy shit, I am dissociated to the fucking moon, high on chemicals and totally living my life.   And it's working just fine.  The only chinks are literally my own truthfulness.  If I didn't go to therapy, if I didn't have a true relationship with my friends, I would be fine!  It's sort of gross.   I could live like this forever.  I'm the one who keeps telling my fucking therapist I'm using drugs.  If I didn't go to therapy there would be no problem.  But I keep fucking going to therapy.  I feel like I need it.

BECAUSE I DO FUCKING NEED IT.  I need to tell my truth and be heard and loved and that is fucking therapy.  OK, I feel like I gotta stop because now I want to defend DXM forever.  OK.  Stop.

Taking the Long Way

So a pretty OK day today.  Got up just barely in time for the depression support group and was a few minutes late, but that was fine cause I got there before the facilitator.  The group sort of sucked- some woman (new just like me) came in and hijacked the group, talking about her daughter and how sick with mental illness her daughter was.  She said nothing about herself as a consumer.  It pissed me off, so I said something.  I'm really proud of myself because I said it fairly calmly and coolly.  I told her I thought that this was a group for people with depression, not a parent of someone with bipolar.  I told her that she hadn't said one word about herself, just complaints about a person who is just like me.  (she really did piss me off).  She paused for literally only 5 seconds, then continued on hijacking the meeting.  At one point I interjected again, and the group asked me to share, so I did. I told them about how I feel so lost right now, OMG.  I cannot remember what I said.  Wow, is this a dissociative moment?  I cannot remember, I'm guessing.  I think I talked about how I was unhappy with my life and how non-functional I am, but I can't remember.

Holy Shit!  This is the real deal.  A real proof moment.  I cant remember.  And I was angry at the meeting and I think the angry one was out.  Which is why I can't remember.  This is actually cool.  A real prove it to myself moment.  I am not making this shit up.  This is real.

Which is what Lara has been telling me for a year, but I didn't believe her.  (Well she hasn't really told me I'm dissociative, she just lets me see all the dissociation around me and asks me if it looks familiar.  And she asks me why I'm in group.  And don't I feel at home there?  Why would I feel at home if I didn't fit in, didn't have the same thing everyone else has?)

I'm sitting here trying to remember what happened in the group, but I can't.  Anything else I would write would be a mixture of guessing and fabrication, which I just realized, I think I do a lot.  Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.  The angry one was in group!  She's also the charming funny one.  The one that can kick your (and my) ass.   I don't know her name.  I'm pretty sure she's a teenager.  And she hates everybody.  Everybody except Lara and Dr. S.  But now she's hating them a bit because they won't let her back into group.  She want's to tell them to go fuck themselves.  Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I talked to my sponsor today for an hour about.  It was great talking to her.  She helped me a lot.  She understands how hard it is for me right now, and she validated me.  She knows it's hell at first.  Which it was last night.  I couldn't sleep because my inner voice just kept going over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over how bad the program situation is.  How much they all hate me.  How much I hate them right now.  How I am such a horrific, terrible monster because they need to protect groups from me.  At one point I grabbed my head and screamed stop!  IT WAS AWFUL.  I felt like I was going crazy.  That's when I called my sponsor for the second time, still not getting her, only her stupid answering machine.  But she called me back finally tonight.

I love her, love her as a sponsor, but I need someone who is in town more and who picks up their phone when I call (not always me having to leave a message and wait for a call back).  I guess I could have her as a support friend.  I can always call her, but get a sponsor who is in town.  This sucks!  I want R but I she's not perfect!  Ugh!  Oh well.  I guess maybe I'll ask N to be my sponsor.  We'll see.  She keeps not showing up for meetings, and I don't really want that.

I bought diphenhydramine HCL for sleeping (benadryl) tonight.  My body is a little leery of using it, but I don't want the shit going on in my head like last night.  I want to sleep!

OK, tomorrow I'm calling the volunteer place.  Yes I am!  And I will make three calls about Medicare D!  Yay.  I will do it!  I will, because I want to.  But if I don't, that's OK too, because I'm supposed to be being kind to myself and cut myself some slack.  It is OK if I am not super-productive awesomeness all the time :) 

DXM and Guitar

I think I'm going to get fucked up this weekend.  I want to do DXM so that I can feel.  Uh oh.  That's no good.

But being high is the time I feel safest to feel.  I don't have to stand guard at the gate, ushering in or blocking out my thoughts.  I can just let go.  And I'm happy.  I'm happy to die.  Life is good, I'm good, all is good when I'm high on DXM.  Maybe I can write a song.

I think I've also decided to write a short story about abuse.  Not sure what.  Childhood maybe?  Now?  I don't have enough of a fucking clue of what's going on with me now to write about it intelligently.  Or maybe I do.

I just finished reading Dr. Jack's book- the first part, the story part.  It triggered the urge to write.  His story begins with a woman in the car on the way to a  hospital.   I'm thinking I might start in the same place- a woman (me, but not me) driving herself to inpatient, as I did.  A nice fat five hour drive.  It was like liberation and fear at the same moment- driving myself to what?  The lady or the tiger??  It sure as fuck feels like the tiger a lot of the time.  And I'm not sure I want the lady even if she showed up. 

So yeah, a rumination on my/her ride down here.  But through it, there'll be remembrances of how she got to that point.  Not serious trauma, because hell, I don't have that.  I just hate myself.  But somehow let the fear, the excitement, the hope, the crushing depression and self hatred come through.  But show 'em, don't tell 'em, as old Samuel Clemens was wont to say.  What the fuck is with all my cute folksie-isms.  I'm about ready to make myself puke.

OK, goodnight.

Rollerskate Skinny

Rollerskate Skinny (Old 97's):

Every other day is a kick in the shins

Every other day it's like the day just wins...

I believe in love

But it don't believe in me...

So, here's my new blog entry.  I'm editing it on Notepad, we'll see how it works.

My newest roomie relapsed today.  That makes 3 in about a week.  WTF.  I guess I'm doing pretty well comparatively.  No relapse.  Or maybe a relapse, I'm not sure.  I took a bunch of one roomie's sedation crap. So I guess that does mean I used.  I don't want to admit it.  But I guess I did.  I didn't even get high though.  Suck.

I'm still a complete mess mentally.   I'm not cutting, but I'm giving up.  I hate myself and my life.  And I'm tired.  Just tired of trying.  

I sick of even writing this.

Blah Blah Blah

So, I feel like shit.  Suicidally like shit.  And I'm too much of a chicken to do anything about it.  Or I'm too apathetic.  Or lazy.  Whatever the reason, I'm still here whining instead of going through with it.

I told two different mental health professionals today that I was feeling suicidal.  And neither one did anything about it.  Is that normal?  I guess they think I need to be in charge of my own life or lack of it?  Which I guess is correct.  If I want to die, that's my prerogative and responsibility.  I guess I was hoping somebody would care and help me.  But they haven't.

Which falls in line with what I have learned in the past 3 months.  Only I am responsible for me.  I can't count on anyone else to care.  So if I want to die, then I should do it.

I cut a few times today.  It helped a little.  But not enough.  I am proud I didn't use though.  So hell, I'll die clean.

So, how am I going to do it?  Lately I've been envisioning slicing my wrists and bleeding to death.  I don't think it would hurt that badly and wouldn't make that much of a mess.   But after reading about Elliot Smith, I've been thinking about sticking a knife in my chest.  That is how his girlfriend found him- with  a knife protruding from his chest.

I could do it with my Swiss army knife, it is sharp as hell, but probably not long enough.  I have to hit my heart or the aorta, otherwise I won't bleed out and die quickly. 

Or I could go the wussy way and take pills.  But I don't want to be puking while I'm dying.  We'll see.

Why do I just keep thinking about it and not doing it?  Why?  Why can't I decide once and for all and get it over with?  Or, why can't I decide I want to live and keep going?  I just keep swinging from complete apathy to suicidal depression.  I can't keep steady.

I am really, really, really angry at Dr. J and Cheryl, I just realized this.  They both blew me off.  It does seem weird.  This is the first time I've felt this badly in my life, and none of the mental health professionals I'm seeing seem to give a shit.  Do I not sound sincere?  Am I that annoying?  I guess I'm still just looking for external validation, for external help when I should just be taking care of myself.

So on to taking care of myself- I need to get busy living or get busy dying.  Dying it will be.  A hotel room and some razors this weekend.  Why on the weekend?  I'm not sure, but that's when.  This Saturday. 

I wish I could figure out a way to make a case for continuing my life.  But I can't.  I'm just wasting space, resources and time that could be better spent on other people.  I am in the way and I am useless.  If I don't want this life, then I should get the fuck out of the way.  People could use the water, food and air I'm using up on this wasted, self-centered, whiny, bullshit life I'm living.

I am not anything and I need to accept it and follow through.  Goodnight.

What a long strange trip it's been (and is continuing to be)

So, it's been 3 months.  90 freaking days.  Of sobriety.  Wow.

And I am dying inside right now, not doing well mentally.  Or spiritually, for whatever that means.

Update:
I went into detox on November 2.  I spent 12 or so days there, then went to inpatient substance abuse treatment for a month in  a town so small they don't even have a Starbucks.  I met the most amazing counselor there, and he probably saved my life.  I need to call him, I've forgotten to do it lately.  I said that I was going to call him once a week.  Bad me .

So, after rehab I came home.  Alone in my apartment I was going crazy.  I needed more help.  So I wound up going to an inpatient PTSD treatment hospital for 3 weeks.  I just got out of there and am staying in a half-way house to do the outpatient portion of  the PTSD program, as it's not in my town, where I am still paying rent.  Double rent, gotta love it.

This program I'm in helps women with trauma get over themselves.  I guess it helped me.  But maybe not.  I don't know.  All I know is that I feel like cutting the shit out of myself right now.  I skipped the IOP today.

I haven't been on this blog since November, and realize I never really updated the F story.  I'll do that later.  There's been an even more interesting twist that I created.  I am a drama queen.  Not really.  But I do like to make things interesting when I'm in the mood.

More later.