One week of sobriety…down the drain.
Today was difficult for me. It started with me waking up, feeling detached from the world, buzzing beneath the flesh.
Group was alright. I felt paranoid a lot. Micah began circling around my chair, as a wolf. A deep growl resonated from him as he traipsed around me…almost as if he was protecting me from something- which turned into a relentless paranoia. I was afraid someone was going to shoot me through the window and that everyone was talking about me.
We had creative writing during 4th group, in which I wrote the following poem:
The dead bell hangs quietly,
and rather lonely.
Still, the jealousy I’ve
encapsulated for this
weathered tool retired within
its old, iron tower,
springs a new from the depths.
How great the dead bell sits,
suspended eternally above the
pedestrians, families, unsuspecting lovers.
My thoughts alone chase after me.
Snarl-grinned, jagged-toothed and clawed,
with low growls the black wolf cunningly
seeks a meal from the stark fear
painted on my face,
Completely rooted up, he goes flying.
And what of the other ones?
The dismal groans,
the 3 AM ribbon-like
life nightmares, protruding from the eyelids.
How envious I am of that old, dead bell.
No need to sing, or feel. Its life purpose
done and checked off the gargantuan God list.
Needing not to think, to dream, or even choose.
So, later on, I was talking to my boyfriend’s mother (because we have a great relationship still….for the most part), and I was telling her how I’m going to find an NA group near me. She said, “You don’t need that. You don’t have a problem…you could’t even get your hands on enough narcotics to become addicted.” (never mind that SHE is my supplier) Too much to go into. When we got off the phone, I told him that it really upset me. I felt invalidated. He said, “Well, you don’t have a problem. You’re just being impulsive and you’re creating a problem.You’re involving yourself in too many groups.” -In so many words.
I felt that I have been working hard, I have finally identified the fact that I have a problem, AND I’m seeking help…yet, I’m getting attacked for all of the above.
That being said, I said fuck all of you and drank. I’m trying very, very, very fucking hard not to snort a line of hydrocodone. I want to fold myself into a pocket of destruction and get it over with it.
I’m going to get it all out tomorrow on therapy but fuck. Right now, right this second, I feel hopeless. I feel so fucking alone. My boyfriend….he’s allowing me 2 glasses of wine….because he says I shouldn’t be stopping cold turkey. I should allow myself a drink or two at night.
10 minutes to med time. It will take strength not to take more than my seroquel prescription.
I just want this fucked up disease to get better. How the FUCK am I going to get better living here?