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I'm ad'DICK'ted to
a kiss, a kiss, just one kiss. a cuddle, a hug? anything you got, dude. I'm jonesing already, I need my man-fix. sit beside me, brush my arm, look and remember and smile and almost fall off your stupid bike cause you had too many in the pub. put your arm around me and let's just sit in companionable silence, both thinking the same thing, neither moving a muscle towards it. fuck off. fuck off before I'm stupid again. I won't, I won't, I fucking won't. I swore I won't and I won't, I said it. never again. I'll just keep jonesing. turn up my music and live with it.
Friday I met with a nurse practitioner, because my shrink is in Alaska. She sees I have a prescription for, and two refills left for, Klonopin. Very minor league benzodiazawhatsit. This woman, this nurse practitioner, has no sense of humor, and only wants to focus on one thing. My addiction. It's very early in the morning, and I had just come from dealing with the rarest of events, my mother and father in the same room, speaking to each other. She says there's nothing they can do for the anxiety or depression until they've handled my addiction. I mention that I've been allowing that approach for nearly six years, and here I am, newly clean for the tenth time, more anxious then ever. She blah blah blahs, tries to intimidate me with her knowledge. She doesn't say a single thing I don't know, and continues to upbraid me for having a K-pin prescription in my name, what with the addiction and all. I mention it was called in in November and has never been refilled. I mention my regular psychatrist, the guy I've been seeing for years that I trust and respect, prescribed it. None of that matters, because she's a hardcore NA/AA type. While I'm glad those programs help some people, they still only have a ten percent success rate. If politician only appealed to ten percent of the voters, he won't (shouldn't) win. Ten percent on an exam is a major failing grade. I could go on and on with examples. I don't think they should be shut down or anything, ten percent is better than the old commit-em shock- em lobotomize-em method ever got. I just don't understand why it's accepted as the ONLY method. I horrified her by telling her NA never worked for me, and then assumed that, despite my listing of meetings, years wasted, etc, she just proclaimed I wasn't trying hard enough. Fuck you, you cunt. I want this more then anything, I have put more effort into this than you can imagine. I mention that I'm on Suboxone therapy, and that it's helped me more then anything else has. She's further horrified. "You can't fix your problems with a pill." No, I can't. But there are medications that can help me fix my own problems. Suboxone is just as approved for its purpose as my anti-depressant is for depression. Suck a cock. You know what? I went out tonight, had two drinks, and didn't finish the second. I feel no need to drink now, and won't drink again until I go to another bar with friends. Alcohol simply doesn't have that hold on me. Neither do the Klonopins. But they help. Bitch. I am so fucking sick of your insular community. You've gotten lazy, believing that there's only one way to stay sober. Get bent. Even better, develop a horrible opiate habit, then find NA insuffecient.
Not so with me. The horror that is coming down isn't enough to keep me away. The possibility of jail time. The giant financial hole that looms. The mistakes I've made. The distrust I've rightly earned.
I tried crack. By tried I mean I went to this guys house with some friends, and he turned out to be a wealthy crack dealer who was on day three of binging, and wanted some company. Spent twelve hours binging. Didn't want it the next day.
I'm a total nerd. The fact that I play World of Warcraft alone makes me a total nerd. This I accept. But that does not make me an addict. My boyfriend and I play together, and we especially will be doing so over the summer when I'm stuck on campus alone for 12 weeks. My roommate after breaking up with her boyfriend has decided that, since he lives in our suite, she will stay in our room and never leave except to go to class. I don't get to have sex with my boyfriend, I might as well spend quality time with him somehow. Killing Night Elves works for me.
I don't play for more than a few hours a night, and I only end up playing a couple nights a week. When I get bored of it, I stop playing. I don't ever find myself somewhere else thinking, "God. I wish I was playing World of Warcraft right now."
But apparently I'm an addict.
Today I was playing with my boyfriend for the first time this week, and 10 minutes in one of his friends came to his room and said, "God! It's a beautiful day outside! Come out with us! Bring your girlfriend too!" I said "Sure. Sounds good. I'll meet you on the green." He said, "I'll bring my frisbee." I said "I'm sorry, but I really don't like frisbee. I think I'm going to stay here." He said, "Get some sun, you addict."
Of course, expressing any of these opinions makes me an "addict in denial."
I've been physically addicted to alcohol, but it took six months of constant drunkenness to achieve it. You really have to work for the dt's. Once you are physically addicted to alcohol, it's a nightmare coming off the stuff. You'll shake like a leaf while sweating buckets, your skin will crawl, your heart will race, and you might even see the famous pink elephants. It's entirely possible to die from the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. Having said all that, the aforementioned six months were the best of my life. I think it was a far trade, and I might very well do it again some day.
alcoholism isn't an addiction. we drink because we're bored, because it's much more fun to watch a movie disoriented, because everyone else is. we can't be alcoholics because we can't go to the bar, because we don't drink every day, because we don't need it to feel normal.
you are my favorite drug. you are my fairy godmother, and i am your bleach blonde cinderella. cinders ella, cinderella, who doesn't want to be a scullery maid, who wants to be pretty and thin and sociable at the ball. Who wants to dance with the prince. Who says such wonderful things. Who wants to get all her homework done. but the spell ends at midnight. it ends and i am dirty again with no way to get home. my golden carriage is a pumpkin, my white stallions are mice, my coachman is a lizard. But where does the glass slipper fit in? What is left behind besides a trail littered with exhaustion and tears and bitterness and grief and bruises and cuts and screams for god-only-knows-what? Besides poetry? Besides bad metaphors? Beides some completed assignments and small chunks of euphoria? and what prince charming would follow that? but this isn't even about men.
we call it "amphetamine" with an A, because that's what we cinderellas want. we want A+es. we want amplitude and assurance and ambition and assertiveness and artistry and animation and airiness, because those are the things amphetamines give us. But the clock strikes midnight and there are no more balls. There is no prince. And going back to scrubbing the floor is drearier than it was before, because now we know that the dirt is all around and no matter how clean we are it'll just keep coming back.
I am an addict. The reasons, the mistakes, the loneliness and the fear, the procrastination and the need to hide, to dose myself, they helped me fall into this hole. Now I'm looking for things to help me climb out of it.
My sister just called me asking me to find her some stones. I did not know WTF that meant. I looked it up online, and it means crack. Very considerate of you, sister dear, to ask someone who isn't even a month clean to score you one of the most addictive drugs in history.
Early march now.
I've been on methadone for two and a half months. I don't do drugs, I don't crave them, but I'm still an addict. There's no telling what I'd do if I was slowly taken off of the methadone. I know exactly what I'd do if I got cut off though.