Writing, Fear, Sobriety, Kids… a little bit of everything
I had a… let me see if I remember – a 900+ word post here. I did, I swear. I started it the other day, and walked away at like 150ish words. Today, I came back and added the other 800 or so words. And WordPress autosaves drafts every few minutes. So I didn’t bother to do it manually – then I decided to add an image, because I like putting images into my posts. This one was funny. Anyway, WP didn’t like it for some reason or other, and wouldn’t insert it. Ok, fine, I give up on the image. So I hit “preview”, like I always do with my posts before I hit publish. And there was my 150 or so words from the other day. The 800+ I wrote today? Gone. Never saved. Not by me, because I trusted WP to do what it was TELLING ME it was doing. Down at the bottom of this white space I’m typing in, it kept telling me every few minutes that “draft saved at xx:xx:xxpm”. Today. A minute ago. Well, WP lied. Shit. Ah, I’ll be honest – it was a bullshit post anyway. It didn’t really say much at all. Guess that was the little angel on my shoulder or whatever’s way of telling me that the post sucked and I shouldn’t publish it, lol…
…Multiple hours later…
Spent way too much time looking up old blogs on Google Reader. Can’t find so damn many that I used to love – where did all my bloggy friends go??? My memory sucks, so that doesn’t help either. I remembered a few, and thought their blogrolls would help, but no. Then I went to Twitter and got lost there for awhile, too. All killing time to avoid coming back here.
And then I do come back, and I write bullshit. About cell phones and shit that means nothing – because I don’t want to write about anything real right now. So I just deleted the bullshit – a few hundred words of nothing. And then wandered away again, only to come back and feel like this page is scolding me for ignoring it. I did find a few of the specific blogs I was looking for – I’ll give myself credit for that, and they were worth the time spent searching. But that’s done, and now I’m back here, wanting to be anywhere else.
Because I created this space so I could have somewhere to be truthful. Somewhere that I didn’t have to put on the mask, smile, and say “everything is wonderful” when someone asks. Where I could admit that, no, I’m not clean yet. I’m trying really damn hard… or am I? I mean really. Am I trying as hard as I possibly can? Or am I making excuses so that I can still use? We’re on methadone. We’ve been on it about 2 months now, and 2 days ago we started the weaning process. Methadone is not a good drug for your body – true, neither is heroin or other opiates. But methadone is a nasty drug. And to be truthful, we couldn’t afford the $200 a week it was costing for the clinic. Not if we wanted a roof over our heads, insurance on and gas in our vehicle, and things like food. The clinic staff pushes for long term maintenance – like years of being on the methadone. Of course they push long term, that’s their income. But after 2 months on it, we’re still using. Granted, we’re using a LOT less than we were. And in that sense, it’s served it’s purpose. Since we’re not paying them, they put us on a 14 day detox instead of the standard 21 day ($$ talks), and we’re coming down 7-9mg per day. So far, it’s not that bad. We haven’t started using more to compensate, either. Still only once a day, as it has been for the past 6 or 7 weeks. And on day 14 we’ll take our last (useless) dose of methadone, get high that night as usual, and wake up the next morning feeling like total and complete SHIT. Because we’ll be starting to go through opiate withdrawal, but will still have another 12 hours of the methadone remaining in our system, so we can’t start the next step in our detox – the pill or sub lingual strip that has narcon or something similar in it. What it does is prevent you (pretty much completely) from feeling the withdrawal from the opiates, and it makes you physically incapable of getting high. You can ingest as much opiates as you’d like, in any manner, and you will not get high. What you will get is SICK. Sick to the point that you’ll think you’re dying – or, if you know enough to know that you’re not dying, you’ll just WISH you would, because what it does is take the usual hell of opiate withdrawal and multiply it by about 10. So the plan is that within 2 weeks, we will be completely clean. Off the opiates entirely. And we’ll only be on the narcon pill/strip for about 2 weeks. That’s another one that they push long term usage of, but once again, that’s the money talking. We don’t want to come off one drug just to be dependent on another. It’s still an addiction, regardless.
And when we take our last dose at the clinic, we’re hoping and praying that that will be our last day in this state. That we’ll have enough saved, transportation arranged, and everything set to go – a many many hour drive and many states away. There’s not much time between now and then… but we’ve been planning this move since October, when all went to hell with probation. Every time we’re close, something comes up, or something happens to change the plans. We were ready, but had no money. Then we were ready, but tied to the clinic and couldn’t find one close to where we’re going. This time, our biggest issue is money and transportation. The vehicle we’re driving isn’t the greatest, first of all. And it’s not ours, second. It’s my brother’s, he’s only allowing us to use it temporarily, since he’s NOT using it. I don’t know what his decision is about us taking it with us. Plus I’m SOOO anxious about the drive – being in the car is my biggest anxiety trigger. I need to stay awake to keep Jeff company and awake, but I don’t want to be on the edge of a panic attack the whole ride… or a xanax zombie, either. Just the thought of the drive has me on edge. We’re scratching up every dollar we can to get there, and I can’t wait for that part of this whole thing to be over, too. I just hate the whole scene and I want to be done with it all. But the thought of giving it up completely scares the hell out of me, pisses me off, so many different emotions that go with it all. We can’t keep living like this. We don’t want to. Deep down we know we’re better than this. Better than the drugs, the hustle, the waiting for the next high… We ARE better than this. We want so much more… we have dreams, plans, just like regular people – but we have this shit holding us back from everything else we want. It winds up coming down to a very basic choice – the heroin, or everything else we want out of life – our kids, (the remaining parts of) our families, jobs, a place of our own, maybe one day an RV, traveling the country. And we’re choosing everything else. Not the drugs.
This is so damn hard. And it’s fucking scary. I’m terrified of failing. I’m terrified of succeeding. I don’t know how we’re going to deal with the pain, the physical PAIN in our bodies that started us on those little 5-10mg percocet pills that led down the path to shooting up heroin. We’re going to have to manage with non-narcotic options… and I don’t know how well that’s gonna work. So what happens is that I just want to get high so I don’t have to deal with it, don’t have to think about any of it. And so begins the cycle. Because getting high doesn’t take the pain away like it used to – to be honest, I barely FEEL the high anymore. I just can’t let go of that last once a day, whether I feel it or not.
… and now it’s Monday. But that’s ok, because I wrote last night – I wrote honestly. That’s another fear of mine. Usually, when I write, I’m on something. Not 100% sober. Whether it was the pain meds in the beginning, or xanax or something else more recently… I’m afraid I won’t be able to write anymore. I’m scared that I’ll lose this, this that is so important to me. But if I have this, and not myself, it’s not really worth having. I’m not sure if I said that right… If I don’t have myself, because I’m buried under drugs, but I have my blog, my writing – then it’s not exactly a fair trade. Because while my writing might be a huge part of who I am, it’s not something worth giving myself up for. Lol – you get huge points if you followed that train of thought, because I barely can. I know what I mean, I’m just having a hard time putting it into words.
I saw my second sister the other night at walmart… it was so strange. To feel awkwardness with someone who once felt like a part of me, closer to me than my own husband. But we were civil, she seemed – well, I’d like to think she did – like she actually cared how we were doing. Mainly we discussed the boys. I’ve made the decision to sign guardianship of my younger son over to her. He’s medically so fragile, in and out of the hospital, constantly needing decisions made and fights fought for him. I’m not in a place right now where I can be that for him. I’m doing the best I can, but for now, she’s better suited to that role than I am. She was by my side as I made those decisions for years, her feelings on all of his care points agree with mine, down to end of life care decisions. She has a medical background from nursing school, and works with adults with special needs. She lives locally, and visits C at least weekly. Me? I visit him, though not as often as I feel I should. (I hate that word – should.) But if I’m back in jail, or halfway across the country, there needs to be someone legally able to make decisions for him, and I don’t want it to be the staff at the group home. They’re wonderful, and care deeply for the kids, but they’re not family. She’s his aunt, and loves him just as deeply as I do. I trust her to make the decisions in my absence. His biological dad is in jail (for violating his parole, which he was on for breaking into my brother’s home and assaulting me) and hasn’t seen him in years. I know that if I’m reachable, she’ll contact me for my input into the decision. If I’m not reachable, she’ll take into account my feelings on the situation. C isn’t going to live much longer – that’s a fact I struggle with facing every day. The oldest living child with his diagnosis lived to be 17 years old, and she was by far NOT typical. C is 14 now… so every hospitalization, I hold my breath. I struggle with leaving the area, because this is where he is. D can jump on a plane and visit us, or hop in the car with one of his friends and take a road trip. C is here, and this is where he’ll stay. But if we stay here, chances are that we’ll be back in jail fairly soon, and then I won’t have the option of coming back to see him. At least if we’re in another state, Sis 2 can call me and say “hey, it’s bad, you need to come back” and make the decision to keep him with us until Jeff and I can get here to say goodbye. If we’re in jail, saying goodbye won’t be an option. And I know that’s something that I’ll regret for the rest of my life – something I will forever struggle with forgiving myself for. So for now, the choice is to leave the area. And while I can’t sign custody over to her (the whole not dealing with the court system thing), I can sign temporary guardianship over to her, a notarized letter that will be accepted by both the staff at the group home and the hospital, when necessary.
I’d say I accomplished some real writing in this post, so I’m gonna go veg out in Google Reader for a little bit now. It’s my time of day where Jeff’s not home for a few hours, it’s just me and the Candy Kitty (she lived under the dumpster at the last hotel, she was the runt of the litter, and when I would feed the kittens outside our door, she always came closer than the rest – so she adopted us, and travels with us now. From a dumpster diver to a spoiled princess kitty who sleeps on daddy’s head or mommy’s boobs and drinks only running tap water, lol…). She’s napping, and I’m trying not to, lol… I’m proud of this post. I just let go and wrote. The trick for me is not to stop… once I miss a day, it becomes so much harder to come back, and gets harder with each day missed. So I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise myself. (And whoever’s reading.)