Sunday, 19 March 2017

Groundhog Day

Baby don’t worry I’m a good disease.

Why, when life becomes half-decent again, do I feel this burning desire to fuck everything up. Not just a little bit, I want to drop a nuke on my face. It’s what I’m used to, chaos, turbulence, the ups the downs, the highs the lows. Today, everything is good. It’s not perfect, but, overall it’s moderately satisfying which is more than I could have hoped for at any point last year. And that’s just fine with me. It’s what I thought I wanted. I tell myself I want to just be normal, I just want to feel slightly-better-than-average all the time rather than bounce from stratospheric highs to desperate depths of depression regularly throughout each day.



In reality, being normal is boring. Maybe I’m not even qualified to say that, because if I’m honest I’m not normal. Do normal people fantasise about swimming out off the coast of North Korea and hoping a dirty bomb plops onto their face? I’m not sure what exactly it is about the chaos that turns me on. Maybe it was the attention at first, it gave me something to talk about when my life was full of nothing interesting whatsoever. Poor me, give me some sympathy.

People say to me, ‘play the tape through to the end’. To which I normally say, ‘thanks for that crazy deep advice buddy’ and roll my eyes. This advice is great in theory. Why would I want to go out again when I can clearly see that within a few short months I’d be back in the same miserable hole I’d just managed to climb out of? Getting out of the hole is exciting for a minute. It’s scary at first when you open your eyes after being in the dark for so long, everything looks brighter, genuine joy is euphoric, but with it flood in negative emotions, anger, grief, hate, despair. And when they do, crawling right back into that hole doesn’t seem like such a bad option. Just one more time and then I’ll be ready to come out into the world.



Today it’s different. Right now I want to get high. I’m playing the tape forward, I see that everything I have going for me right now will vaporise as that nuke detonates. Goodbye to the two months of hard work I’ve put in just staying alive, pushing through anxiety, insomnia, depression, withdrawals, physical rehabilitation. I’ve got a really decent life today, and that doesn’t sit right with me, I don’t know what to do next. My natural instinct is self-destruction.

When I let everything play out, and imagine getting back into recovery again, I see myself throwing in the towel. I honestly cannot do this again. Finally, there are good things in my life I do not want to lose. If I decide I want to walk away from what I have today, I know there will be no return. It’s not that I can’t do this again, I simply won’t. It’s no life.

No life.


Addiction vs. The Matrix

Here's something I wrote a couple months ago when I first landed back in treatment. 

Morpheus. Laurence Fishburne. Furious Styles. Call him what you want, but know that he’s a badass and speaks the truth, be it laying down the law in Boys n the Hood or freeing people’s minds in The Matrix, I wish he was my sponsor.  

Two lines from The Matrix have been going through my head today.

“You are a slave. Like everyone else you were born into bondage. Into a prison that you cannot taste or see or touch. A prison for your mind. I’m trying to free your mind. But I can only show you the door. You’re the one who has to walk through it.”
Addiction is a prison that you cannot taste or see or touch. You might see me sitting on the street with some bums stuffing junk in my arm, you might smell the stale shit stains on my pants, that part of addiction you see. But your neighbor might be an alcoholic, your partner might be an addict, your father might be in recovery, and you might be completely oblivious to it.  
True, we are not all born into bondage, but some are. Many of us make numerous seemingly irrelevant decisions which lead us to, over time, develop an addiction to some external thing. Without realizing, often, that we have become dependent on this in order to survive. You have your first sip of alcohol at 18 and end up in treatment centers during your 50s dealing with your alcoholism. You get hit by a car, break your hip, get on painkillers and end up on heroin when you can’t afford the pills… and heroin is so groovy that you forget everything and everyone you ever cared about.



I get sidetracked thinking about it. Heroin really is so fucking sweet if you’re ready to peace out on life. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to walk out of my parents’ house past my mother, in tears, begging me not to go. Think about it enough and it makes me think I’m a really, really bad person. What would make you stab your mother through the heart (metaphorically speaking) over and over again? Would you do it for $1 million if I put the cash in front of you? And you can’t just give her the money. You’re a selfish, drug addict, and that money is for you and you alone. Just like what the Oracle tells you.
You tell yourself she’ll be fine, she’ll get over it, but somewhere inside, you know you’re scarring her for life. Maybe you’d take the money, maybe you don’t even like you Mom, but I love mine. I can walk out the front door, or the door Morpheus has shown me, either way, I’m the one who has to walk through it. I make bad decisions for a living.   

“What you know you can’t explain but you feel it. You’ve felt it your entire life, that there’s something wrong with the world. You don’t know what, but it’s there, like a splinter in your mind.”
A fucking splinter in your mind? Really picture it, having a splinter in your mind, not knowing how to get it out. Or maybe you’ve been to some meetings, done a couple rehabs, and you know what you need to do to get it out. You can “free your mind”, wake up and choose not to use every day, just for that day. You can ‘work a program’- I can’t even write those words without rolling my eyes - work? Every day? You have to be fucking kidding me, I’ll chose the easy option every time. Pop down the pharmacy and get a pair of tweezers/needles/dope.



A splinter in my mind, a dagger in my Mom’s heart, everyone is suffering. Sometimes I think it would be better for everyone if I just put an end to this now. 
I’m in detox at the moment and I’m just trying to distract myself from the splinter in my mind and the dagger in my heart.

Saturday, 18 February 2017

Part 3 - 'I'

This final letter I wrote earlier this week as I prepared to leave treatment after 30 days of inpatient. Time for the next phase of this journey, wish me luck.

Part 3 – ‘I’

I met you when I knew no better, walk out my life, yes I let her, you helped me then now I’m your debtor, with sadness I write you this letter.

My mind seems forever tainted by you, disease. I know not how to leave you. You are everything negative in my life. Will positive choices put distance between us? This ongoing duel, a chess match in my subconscious, seems a forgone conclusion. You possess control of what I think, intuitively knowing what lies ahead as I plan each attack. I try to make positive choices, but you cloud my judgement and pollute all moves forward with fear. Contradictions, like a cancer, multiply, confusing all reason.

I thought my decision to move away from where we met would help, with fewer reminders of you around the place. But you tell me we came here with other motives – cheap dope, warmer climes if homeless, freedom from isolation if we use.

I thought I wanted to be happy, I thought I despised this life of misery. But you tell me to hope for misfortune, loss and death in my life, as this will excuse my return to you.

I thought I wanted to love those in my life, as I would want to be loved back. But you tell me the only love I need is yours, fuck the lot of them, all they’ve done is interfered in our relationship and tried to control me.

You and them are one and the same, conspiring against me to determine the direction of my life. But they are the white blood cells attacking you, their intentions are good, but allowed to run riot they can be a disease of their own. As your presence subsides, these cells form growing resentments inside of me. These fuel your regeneration.

For the first time now things feel different. I’ve run away from both of you. That freedom I’ve sought since young is beginning to fill the gaping wound inside my chest. This feeling drives me forward seeking new opportunities, friendships with those who support me, those who pick me up when I feel down, those who bring me joy, things that take me out of myself.

I see now that you will haunt me forever, and to move forward we cannot be together. So from myself I must escape, alone with you we isolate. Your voice grows louder and louder until I can take no more. When in times gone by I might concede defeat, follow your instructions to bring relief, I will now choose a different path, I will suffer you whispers only so long before I seek distraction. Music, friendships, writing, laughing, even just talking silences you. All I need do is repeat your whispers out loud to weaken their grasp of me.

Loneliness and boredom, I know you cling to these knowing that I cannot tolerate these feelings, thinking these will always find a way to reunite us. I have some news for you, milady, I laugh at your pathetic attempts steer me off course.

Boredeom, a bore no more. Lonely, not a feeling, but a choice. Check, mate.

....

Restore my life I’ve tried before, but this times different there are no more,

Things I value, you’ve taken all, I break your shackles and halt my fall.

Only in my dreams do we still meet, you drip-feed drama and deceit.

From scratch I now begin again, with freedom fueling fires within.

_________________________________________

Part 2 - 'Me & You'

A teeny tiny bit of hope appears after 3 weeks in my second letter to my addiction.

Part 2 – ‘Me & You’

You steal my laugh, you steal my smile.

Hijack my thoughts, insert denial.

I want you gone, depart my life.

But you won’t leave, without a fight.

Step to me, I challenge you, I’ll strangle you until your blue, breath deprived you will be slew.

But me alone I cannot snatch, a victory, or leave a scratch, each bout I lose I’m back, rematch.

We meet, we spar, you beat me down, you strip me bare, whip me around, no choice I have but run from town.

Notoriously difficult, I think I’m safe, surprise assault, each time I run, same result. 

I know I cannot run away, for you will always find a way, “come back to me” you softly say, with me you will forever stay.

Acceptance – something I must do, admit defeat, you win, I lose, and to myself I must be true.

Everything I’ve come to love, and even things I’m just fond of, I give you when push comes to shove, the emptiness fits like a glove. 

Left with nothing now I’m free, to forge my own eternity, misery, not my cuppa tea, blind to life, now I can see.

My tendencies towards introspection, hinder me like an infection, the cure I’ve found for this abjection, connection, affection, a new direction. 

Now I have revealed your truth, lies you tell I can construe, so whisper friend, do what you do, recovery will silence you.
 __________________________________________

Part 1 - 'You & Me'

I got asked to write these letters to my addiction over 3 weeks. Here's the first one, I had 2 weeks clean at this point. Yesterday I got 30 days.

Part 1 – ‘You & Me’

You took my life, my future wife, all day and night you cause me strife, I’m coming at you with a knife. 

Watch your back, surprise attack, cut through the light to curse the black, your shadow casts along the track.

I met you at the age of ten, you’ve always been a loyal friend, revealing lies beyond the bend, providing refuge now and then. 

Through the darkness and the light, you guide my spirit shining bright, gliding high up like a kite, we ride the breeze despite the height. 

Hold my hand, as we land, gently lying in the sand.

Here we are, finally, alone at last – eternity, I’ll let you have your way with me. 

But then one day, in early May, the sand gives way.

Down we go – gravity, force of nature, naturally, enmeshed we are, for all to see.

Your fire, once burning bright, now emits no warmth or light.

No longer do you help me out, you bring me pain, you make me shout. 

You never told me tar’s like glue, will always be a part of you.

You stick to me, you hold me down, you’re the king, curséd crown.

Hands reach down to assist, pull me up out from this ditch. 

Once escaped, I think I’m free.

But I hear your voice, constantly.

I want you gone, forever more.

I can’t escape your lurid lure. 

So one last question, I ask of thee. 

How can I kill you, if you’re me?

______________________________________________

Tuesday, 13 December 2016

Recovery clichés: is addiction an allergy?

Why is it, that the things we know we cannot have we desire above all else?

When you go to rehab you hear things like “you can no longer drink or use, you are allergic to drugs and alcohol”. Well that’s a nice analogy that someone dreamed up one day but it’s stupid as fuck because I do not have an allergic reaction when I have a drink or a drug. If I did, surely I wouldn’t drink or use?

Assume I’m allergic, I smoke a pipe of crack, feel great for 30 seconds then start feeling shitty. I’m going into anaphylactic shock? Nope, that’s just crack bro.

Seriously, let’s assume I do get anaphylaxis, “a life-threatening whole-body response to an allergen”. I nearly die, ambulance comes, quick trip to the hospital and Mr. Doctor tells me I’m allergic to cocaine and if I ever ingest one tiny little grain of the white powder again I’ll get the same result.

“Okay doc, thanks for the tip. Does that mean I get an epi pen? How many of them can I get and how often can I get that refilled?”

So now that I’m allergic, just like if I was allergic to peanuts, I’d go out of my way to avoid them, right? I’d let my waiter know at the restaurant… maybe I’ve got one of those hyper allergies where my worst nightmare isn’t Snakes on a Plane but rather a kid with a pack of peanuts. Logically, I let the airline know that I might die if they serve nuts on my next flight to rehab.


Before boarding check your plane for allergens, and snakes, both potentially fatal. 

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I can’t figure it out. I do not think a physical allergy is the same as an addiction, but I've little confidence in my verdict. I don’t have any allergies that I know of so I can’t really speak about that. Do all my peeps out there with a nut allergy spend their days dreaming about peanut butter?  Do you wonder if you’d be a crunchy or a smooth person? Would it be more delicious if you smoked it or shot it? What about if you put it in a shot with some jelly? Bet that would be so fucking tasty.

A smart kid, I stick to shooting jelly. It’s a cheaper habit, its sweeter and much easier on my veins. Or do I?

People with allergies avoid allergens. But because you can’t have peanut butter, do you desire it? Or are you just curious about the taste? Do you even give a shit about nuts? Do they ever just… pop into your head? Do you actively try and not think about delicious, salty nuts in your mouth?

The clearest example of this that I think most people can relate to is cigarettes. We all know that smoking is hella cool. That’s why we do it. But we also know that it is highly likely to cause us a painful early death. And for the lads out there it turns our dicks into flaccid cigarette butts. But we smokers all think one of two things. We either think “it won’t happen to me” or “I’m planning on quitting”. Probably both.

Your penis may be smarter than it appears.

I can quite confidently say that if smoking one cigarette guaranteed terminal cancer and/or instant death, there would be no tobacco industry.  

Same with drugs. At the beginning, I thought, I can control this, I can quit. On jails, institutions and death, “it won’t happen to me”. Thankfully I’ve avoided jail but I do have multiple overdoses and institutions on my record now.

I also have the intellectual capacity to understand that I cannot use just once. I don’t really want to use just once. Sometimes, I fantasise about the good ol’ days when my using was recreational, but in reality I just want to be high all day, every day, minus all of the consequences. And if I’m being honest, my using was never really recreational. It was always some kind of escape. Be it from boredom, loneliness, anxiety, whatever. I know that when I start using it is going to end in one of those three ways. Jails, institutions, death. The top secret fourth option is to get clean. But that too, ends in death eventually, so to keep it simple let’s stick with three.

Generally, it is not that first drink/drug that gets someone into rehab, behind bars or dead. It’s highly unlikely, in fact. And that’s why I think denial can become so overpowering. It is so easy for me to live with a “I’ll deal with that problem tomorrow” philosophy. You know what they say, tomorrow never comes.

And without fail, tomorrow always comes (lately, all over my face, into my eyes, eww). I’m blind, but I can feel the warmth of the sunrise shining on me in the morning and the nip in the air as it sets each evening without fail. I continue to sit on my lazy ass moaning about how boring my sober life is or running around frantically using like a maniac. I’ll rebuild my sober life tomorrow. I’ll stop using tomorrow.

The other classic line you’ve probably heard if you’ve been to a rehab is the moniker for denial. Don’t Even No I Am Lying. And as tired as I am of hearing that crap, unlike the allergy analogy and unlike any gram I've ever purchased, this one is bang on point. I know facts yet still my mind can convince me to act against reason and defy logic. My final recovery cliché for today, the definition of insanity.


And addiction is insanity. It's so dumb, I do sometimes feel like I'm just being completely retarded. Today's JFT says "Addiction is not a simple disease, but it has a simple solution". This sums it up perfectly, and explains why I feel like such a jackass for being seemingly incapable of executing this ‘simple solution’.

To wrap this all up I want to go back to the original question which was looking at addiction as an allergy. And I specifically want to reference Antabuse. Firstly, if I was allergic to alcohol I would under no circumstances take a medicine that provokes an allergic reaction upon my consumption of alcohol, I would have no need. Secondly, I know several people who have drunk on Antabuse multiple times, with catastrophic results. The allergic reaction does not stop them repeating the behaviour. Finally, in the case of the chronic alcoholic whose liver would fail simply from using Listerine, we have an example whereby one drink is highly likely to lead to death. And that doesn’t stop some people drinking. 

What exactly are the symptoms of anaphylaxis? Impaired breathing, swelling in the throat, a sudden drop in blood pressure, pale skin or blue lips, fainting and dizziness.

Chuck in respiratory failure and it sounds a lot like a jelly overdose to me. Need an epi pen? Here, have naloxone. 

So is addiction an allergy? I guess so. But that analogy hasn’t done anything to help me stop using. I fucking hate recovery clichés. Thing is, they’re clichés for a reason, people say them over and over again because they are true. 

Sunday, 11 December 2016

I want rid of you (warning - this is a poem)

For the record, I have thought poetry is the most super duper gay shit ever for the longest time. And I still kind of think that. But, I really enjoy writing it.

I am constantly being told - "you don't even know what you like Alex you've been high for half your life".

So maybe I do like poetry after all.

I want rid of you.
An endless denier, I only deny her,
happiness.
I am weak on my knees,
begging with bitter breath.
Forgiveness? For business.
She tires of my desire to be higher.
The liar extinguishes the fire.
Once roaring, she’s still warm.
Hooked on her feeling,
I grow hungry for her.
I hold onto her.
She no longer holds back.
Heroin holds my hand.
She haunts me.
Hope is my hell.
I wouldn’t even recognise her anymore.
I bury my desire, admire the high flyer.
I can’t do without you.
I don’t want for anything.
I want for everything.