Trauma sucks arse. Being retraumatised sucks arse. Nightmares suck. Fatigue sucks. It all sucks.

Stepping off

CW; Drug use. Abuse. Sexual assault. suicidal ideation

This is a hard one to write and post, I know I say that a lot, but I do try to push myself to publish things that make me uncomfortable. Not in a narcissistic way more of an opening up and learning to do the opposite of what I was taught thing. Not keeping secrets, not brushing stuff under the rug, not avoiding the hard stuff, not lying (by ommision or directly) So I try to be open, and vulnerable, and honest no matter how bad it makes me look. As long as I can cope with doing so, even when I fear I can’t. Saying all that is also a way of me procrastinating and not getting to the fucking point.

I can’t remember how much of the last few months I’ve managed to update, not much I suspect. But it has been A LOT. I could start listing things but that feels to me like setting up mitigating circumstances as a way to justify my actions. So I won’t, though I may try to do another post soon.

So I think I’ve talked a little about how I began drinking again a few years back, in an ongoing experiment to see if I can control it. And I can, when the world isn’t in a pandemic and I’m spiralling. I referred myself to addiction support, essentially for a refresher and top up. Knowing that I was also ‘at risk’ of picking up the crack again. It was just a, matter of getting ahold of some. I hoped that 1) I’d be accepted, which I was despite my fears! And 2) that help would come before the coke did. It didn’t.

I’m still waiting to be put onto a waiting list for a support group. No idea of timescales. With external forces constantly ramping up, no relief, just never ending stress. I never stopped looking for a way to buy crack or coke, heroin if I could, and I calmly stepped off the wagon and waded into a week long bender. It was wonderful, mostly. Apart from the chest infection, the pain and fibro flares, and the expense. But it was nice to start. Addict brain thought that a week of getting wasted, not communicating with anyone because how could I without saying what I was doing, making myself ill and poorer etc etc would be enough to satisfy the urge and I could put it down and walk away. If course that was a lie, I knew it was, I’ve been there before and despite (I think) 12 years mostly sober (I had that lapse a while back) it only took a couple of days for me to get back to the despirate addict cravings and behaviour I was at when I stopped. We pick up where we left off. And all I’ve done is reawoken sensations I’ve not experienced for over a decade.

And now that I had a contact, despite my lie that I would not give them any more of my money. It only took a week to succumb and justify buying more. Another big but only 1 day binge. Could have spread it out but I thought if I push it well beyond the pleasant I’d be more inclined to stop. It’s another deceit, I know that once the body recovered from the pain of the injuries the brain would take over and suppress any ill feelings towards doing more and getting another fix. And fuck me do I want another one.

I fucked up. I knew what I was doing. I didn’t care. I still don’t care in many respects. The main deterrent is that I RESENT making some dealer rich on my pain. I’m not sure if the new happy pills have plateaued or if I’m getting worse. I keep finding myself wishing that the gynae clinic had said that the new growth was a terminal cancer. Then I’d be able to just give up. I’ve imagined going out with a big drug binge, might as well have some enjoyment out of it. Basically what I’m trying to say is that my brain is in ‘wish I was dead’ mode so calmly stepping off the sobriety wagon doesn’t feel like a big deal. I have no future plans or dreams, I don’t want and have never wanted to be here. And therapy is going to bring up things that will fuck with my head and health. Going back to pushing myself into uncomfortable conversations, I need to verbalise the sexual abuse and multiple rapes, which started under the watch of my mother. I can kinda write about it now, speaking it out loud is something I’ve not done before beyond saying “stuff happened” but I HAVE to say those things or I’m wasting time and money on avoiding it. The dread of doing that has definitely pushed me towards picking up the pipe again, ironically it may be about to get me kicked out of therapy. I’ll find out the answer to that next week.

I tried to tell one friend what I’d done after the first episode, I think they misunderstood as they didn’t react much. I was took weak to push the matter and clarify, especially as we’d recently had an heated exchange about my drinking. But, in the effort declared above, I have been telling people because I don’t want to keep it secret, that made things so much worse last time, I kept it secret for years. I’m not doing that now. The people I’ve spoken to have been wonderful, they know my history and either supported me through rehab or have their own experiences with drug dependency. And they’ve been so good to me. So supportive, so understanding. I know that would fade if I keep using, which I could do to ‘prove’ that I don’t deserve their friendship and thus I may as well throw my worthless body into the gutter.

But not just yet. With encouragement I have deleted and blocked the dealers number. I don’t get the feeling that they’re a pusher so I shouldn’t get calls or messages from a different number. And now I’m back to square one, clucking, itching, thinking about it over and over. Picking and scratching my skin, hurting what’s already hurt. And sharing my shame with the world.

I fucked up. And I’d do it again if I could. My shame is here for everyone to see. I understand if people are disappointed or angry, I am too. I don’t need concern trolling or lectures. I know what needs to happen, I just have to make it happen. And that’s where I may fall down. Addict brain and suicide brain are a powerful combination. At least I’m not keeping it hidden.

So needy

I need hugs, I need to just spend days cuddled up with someone, allowing myself to be small and vulnerable.

I need to write a full post about recent events. At least some of the recent stuff. There’s plenty of things I’d rather move on from and not go over again. There’s some that I must say and not keep secret.

But I’m so very tired, and reluctant. Going to schedule this to go out tomorrow (now today). Maybe by then I’ll have built up enough energy to write it…. Maybe not. But it’s going to happen.