I'll Be Waiting

I find it quite ironic that I have finally gotten to the point where I am only reader.  I've been wanting for this for a long time.  I thought I could avoid it, but this website fails to let me forget it.  I guess it is just you and I reading this...and let's be honest, we both know you have no interest in reading this.

I thought about it a lot tonight as I was driving home, which is funny because I didn't think about it when I was driving out there.  East on National Ave doesn't seem to be a problem, west is a totally different story.  I'm not stupid, I have a great fear of being alone.  I am so completely content when I head east, I have all my friends waiting for me, but headed west...that is a totally different story.

It's strange to see a pillow next to me in this bed.  I think each time as I get in what it was like to have you lying next to me, but when I wake I see nothing and I remember.  I had this dream the other night, I don't know quite how to explain it.  You were there, you wanted me back...funny, right?  I should have known it was a dream right then, but I couldn't help being sucked back into the life that was you.  I guess I don't know what I thought about the whole thing, I just know that when I woke up and found the right side of the bed empty and...well.....

I miss you.  I don't know, maybe I more so miss the idea of you.  I miss knowing someone was always going to be there next to me when I laid down for the night.  Who am I kidding?  I miss you.  You know, I'm alright with that.  My dear, I'll be waiting.

I am going to try so hard to spread out those eastbound times, times when I am feeling on top of this town.  I am not going to concentrate on the westbound blues that always call your name into my head.  I miss you, regardless of whether the feeling is mutual or not, and I don't feel any shame about it.  I'll be waiting.

Maybe it will be you, I would take you back if you would have me.  The thing is, I know you won't.  I suppose I'll be waiting for someone to take your place.  My sponsor keeps telling me that I will never find a woman who will top you and I agree, I don't want someone to make me forget about you.  I want someone who I can use the knowledge I learned with you.  I want someone who will be there for me when I fuck up.  I want someone who I can be there for when she fucks up.  You were just too perfect...I could never live up to your standards. 

I just want someone, but in the meantime I am happy enough with me.  I know she will come along someday and I hope he comes along for you.  I don't know about you but...I'll be waiting.

When I Lie, I'm High

Hi my name is Patrick and I am an addict.

"Hi Patrick."

I don't know how to start saying all of this and I don't quite care what anyone thinks of me for saying it.  It must be said and it must be said aloud.  No more hiding and no more lies.

Some of you now what it took to get me here and I'm not going to rehash an entire life to get the point across to those who don't, so you'll have to settle for the abridged version.  Suffice to say that I am an addict who had someone who truly tried to save me from myself.  I dropped my life and moved to New York for that woman.  I worked my ass off when I got there to make a life with that woman.  I asked that woman to be my wife.

They say that there is no one too stupid for recover, only those who are too smart for it.  Some think that they can do this on their own, that they are somehow better than their addicted peers.  I would be that oh so smart dumbass, but we'll get to that in a minute.

As I was saying, I had this woman once who took it upon herself to save me from my malfeasance.  I lost that woman because I am an liar and a addict.  She left me over the phone while I sat in green scrubs in a psych ward a thousand miles away from home.  So there you go, background.   Now, moving right along, I have a few things I need to say.

I've been having a really rough time getting over what happened in New York, I just can't seem to shake it.  I have been half-assing this program from the minute I didn't have to piss in a cup for this very hospital.  I can't seem to deal with the pain on my own, I keep taking the so-called "easy route."  I wrote this email the other night to said ex, I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself, hoping maybe she would say something that would take this pain away.  Maybe she forgives me, you know, maybe she understands. 

The old quote keeps ringing in my head:

"I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that I can never trust you again."

Shockingly enough she responded, I don't know what I was expecting to hear.  I wanted her to say that she loved me, that she knew that I loved her as well...I guess maybe I'm dumber than I thought.

"I never doubted that you loved me. But the lying came before me. The alcohol came before me. The drugs came before me. I was always last on your list of priorities."

Oh how that stung.  I feel it beating in my chest now, crushing me and begging me to get drunk and forget.  Trouble is that no matter how much I smoke, how much I snort or how much I drink...I don't fucking forget.  That's what makes this next part hurt so much.  You see, she ordered the three things I put in front of her just as they were intended.  They say the steps were written in order for a reason, so were her words.

Lies

Alcohol

Drugs

I'm might be dumb but I ain't stupid, I know why she left me and I fucking knew it before she ever wrote me back.  I've been living a lie my whole life and that lie has taken nearly everything from me, it almost seems I won't be satisfied until it truly takes the last things I have.  That brings me to my point.

I have these two orange keytags, "Orange you glad you're in recovery," you know?  It is more like, "orange you supposed to be clean when you take those fucking things?"  I took both of them under false pretense.  I lied about my clean time, talked out of both sides of my mouth in these meetings and fell back into the same piss poor routine that I have lived my whole life.  I thought for a while it was no big deal, I could hit that bowl one time or have just that one drink.  Kinda threw that theory out the fucking window driving home drunk the other night.  Took a keytag the next night, cause I was to embarrassed to admit it...pretty pathetic, huh?

So like I said before, "there is no one too stupid for recovery, only those who are too smart."  I guess I'm not so smart after all.  See, that email from the woman who ripped my heart out of my goddamn chest told me something I knew all along but did not want to admit.  I am fucking lying again, just like always.

When I lie, I'm high.

I want to give these two keytags back, I do not deserve them and I never should have taken them.  Think of me what you will for this, but it is better to feel the pain now than later.  It is time to take responsibility for my actions and stop hiding.  The lies have to stop or I will never get clean, I will never be happy, I will never hold down a job and I will never find love again.  I can't handle that thought, at least I can't handle the thought of preventing myself from the chance at each of those.  I would ask for your forgiveness but I know the only reprieve that matters is the one I give to myself.  I may fail again but for God's sake I must be honest about it and learn from my stumble.  Life on life's terms, right?

Hiding My Heart

"I wish I could lay down beside you when the day is done,
And wake up to your face against the morning sun,
But like everything I've ever known you disappeared one day,
So I spend my whole life hiding my heart away."

I guess I should be sad as I write this, who am I kidding, I am sad as fuck.  I've had tears in my eyes for the past hour.  I am still so desperately in love with Nicole and nothing makes me feel weaker than that.  I gave up everything for a chance at our love and it was all thrown back in my face.  Quite frankly I am not sure how I am supposed to recover from this.  Not only did I lose her but I lost my career, my independence, my savings and my dignity.  I am almost 27 years old, unemployed and living with my parents.  Even more embarrassing is the fact that they are paying for my Cobra and my car insurance, simply because I have no money to pay for it on my own.  Look where love got me. 

Ah love, it got me sneaking bourbons in my parent's basement and having my dad come down and asking me what the ice was for.  I'm through lying, I'd rather just admit the disgusting human being that I am.  He handed me the drink and told me, "I can't change anything, they are your choices."  Funny, isn't it?  They have always been my choices, just ones I have made so poorly.  These last few weeks I have been in such a cloud of depression that I have a hard time seeing the good in my life.  I, in fact, wonder if there is any good in this life of mine.  I've been thinking a lot about joining the infantry, going to war and seeing if that would change me in some way.  Crazy thought isn't it?  My dad told me it was just another way I was trying to commit suicide.  I told him at least it would be a noble death.  That would be a delusional person speaking.

Now that we are over that (I might as well note that it was blended Canadian Whiskey) I should get back to what I wanted to talk about.  I sat around with the old man for a while tonight, seems like he finally gets me to an extent.  He sat outside as I smoked and listened to me cry over how much I missed Nic.  He told me something that hurt more than anything, "I saw you happy with her."  I couldn't control the tears when he told me that because it was totally true.  I have not been happier than I was with that beautiful woman by my side.  Of course he went into the, "remember how badly she fucked you over," conversation.  I just can't see that right now, I am too much in love.  I truly wish I wasn't.  I wish I could hate her and curse her name, all I can do is miss her like no one else.  I am paralyzed by this woman.  Unable to move forward without a dream or thought of her that pulls me down into such sadness.  I do, however, have a solution.

That was it, I am fucking done.  I wrote earlier on this stupid website that I didn't want to find my dick getting wet in some unknown woman.  I don't care about that anymore, I just don't want my heart getting involved.  My dad kept telling me that no matter what I would someday find a woman who would change all that, someone who I would fall head over heels for.  The trouble is that I've already done that, look where it has gotten me.  I have never felt such pain in my life.  Not facial reconstruction surgery, not kidney stones and not nut cancer.  Nothing has been nearly as bad as this.  So...I've come to a conclusion.  I've stolen it from an Adele song, I plan on hiding my heart.

I guess that someday I will meet a woman who will blow me away, I just want nothing to do with her.  It is not worth the risk.  This pain is so intense that I would rather be lonely than experience it again.  So now we come to the title of this post.  I plan on burying my heart as if it did not exist.  I don't have anything to give anyway, why should I waste my time?  What is the point in putting my heart out there again?  Loneliness seems like such a better option.  I never want to feel this pain again.  This rejection was too much for me to handle, something I still can't cope with.  Why in god's name would I want to do it again?

I'd much rather be alone.

Until You Remember

I don't know how I didn't stress over it the few weeks before I left, maybe it was the stop over in Louisville that kept my mind off of it.  I wasn't even thinking about it as I read the signs passing by, the miles peeling away with each passing minute.

"Cincinnati: 90 mi"

"Cincinnati: 50 mi"

"Cincinnati: 20 mi"

I'm doubting you would remember that distance, you never were good with directions, but it was the distance from the I-275 bypass exit onto I-71 headed up toward my old place.  It hit me hard right when I saw the sign for the airport and only got stronger as I grew closer.  Every mile marker on that fucking freeway had some memory of things we had said or done together.  Telling you about the now finished hospital building that I had shipped steel to when it was being built.  Having you nearly naked in my front seat as we passed the Reading Rd. exit.  The feeling I in the pit of my stomach as we would hit the off-ramp at exit 5, knowing that in just a few short minutes nothing would be between us.  Holding your hand for dear life as we drove through the blinding rain to send you back on that fucking plane.

I remember all that shit, same as I did when we visited together.

The difference is now I have to remember all this on my own.  I drove past my old place on Dana Ave., the one we used to make the bed on the floor in, the one I fell in love with you in.  I wanted so badly to pull into the parking lot and sit out on those three steps where we used to smoke together.  Tears already clouded my eyes and I figured I would be better off just passing by.

I could go on and on about all the places I saw your face in, I just don't feel like rehashing that hurt again.  Suffice to say that I saw you everywhere, even in places where so many other memories were born...you took over all of them.  I knew the second I crawled into the spare bed at TJ's house that I was fucked.  I remembered exactly how it felt to have you there next to me, proud as hell that you loved me.  It's no wonder I spent the whole weekend drinking and smoking.

Then again, that is what you wanted to hear...right?

I saw you so much in that place that I could not bear to handle "life on life's terms."  The only thing I could think to do...want to do...was numb the feeling of you out.  Like I said, this is what you wanted to hear, right?  I keep getting the feeling inside that deep down you want me to fall flat so that your decision to ditch me is justified.  That being said, I truly have no fucking idea what you want for me...you won't even speak to me.  Makes me wonder if you're going through the same thing I am.  Am I really alone in this hurt?  Are there nights when you think about me as much as I do you?  Do you ever wake up thinking I'm lying next to you like I do you?

I don't know and I know I never will.

I don't really wonder why you left me, I would be a fool for doing that, I wonder if it hurt to do so.  You damn well know it hurt me, I just wish I could know that I made enough of an impact that you still think about me.  I remember all of the reasons why I fell in love with you, everywhere I turn I see something that reminds me of you.  What I really want to know is if you think about any of the reasons why you fell in love with me?  Do you ever remember me fondly?  Do you ever miss me?  Do you think of me as a waste of your time?  Do you think of me as nothing but a morally weak addict and liar?

Things without an answer, right?

I hope that someday you remember the good things about me.  I hope someday that we will speak again, that I will get a chance to tell you I'm sorry and hear your voice again.  I am holding out on such a stupid and unrealistic hope, something my head clearly knows but my heart doesn't.  I'm not stupid, I just want to know if you remember.  Do you remember me like I do you?  Do you care what happens to me?  Will I ever speak to you again?

Am I the only one of the two of us that feels this pain?  Am I the only one who misses you?  I've never felt so alone.  I miss you Nic.  I wish I didn't but I just can't help it.  Please don't forget me.  I know I'll never forget you. 

Family

I decided to kill myself a bit over two months ago.  I don’t know right now what I was thinking and what my motivation was, but I wanted to do it.  There was one thing…person who held me back.  I thought about her, looking over my grave, unable to forgive me for what I had done.  That thought right there made me turn around and check myself in.

It sure is ironic now that she wants nothing to do with me and couldn’t care less what happens to me.  If I died tonight when I went to sleep she wouldn’t shed a tear, let alone know that I left this world.  Amazing how she totally defined my world.  I would have done anything for her, anything and I probably still would.  I could not bear hurting her…and so I turned that car around.  

Tonight I sat out on the back porch of my cousin Leslie’s house smoking a cigarette and thinking about that afternoon.  I thought about all the people inside this house who actually love me, not ones who just say they do.  Why weren’t they the ones I thought about when I made that U-turn?  I can only see it now, but why didn’t I think about the people who have loved me and proven it when I made that fateful decision?

I was blinded by the “love” of a woman who told me she would never leave me.  Les told me a story yesterday that really hit me hard, a story about when she and her husband got together.  He had back surgery only a few months before they bought this beautiful house that I am in right now and had been given a serious prescription to painkillers.  It seems almost needless to say that he became addicted to them.  Les told me about how much of a mess he was and how she thought about leaving him so many times…but didn’t.  She told me that they had invested too much into their relationship and that she couldn’t possibly walk away from him, she cared for him too much.

I sat there wondering why I was not granted the same favor.  Why was I not good enough for the woman I loved to stand with me when I needed her the most?  I finally realized tonight why my normally passive and quiet brother says he would kill her if he ever saw her again.  She left me in my darkest hour.  She ran because it was the easiest thing to do.  She told me she loved me but would not be my rock when I needed her the most.

So I thought again about that U-turn and why I thought about her instead of the family that would love me no matter how far I had fallen.  They cried when I told them how badly she had crushed me, I could see my brother gritting his teeth.  You see, there are people in this world who will love you for who you are…no matter what.  There are also people in this world who will say that they do but don’t mean it, they will run when the going gets tough.  I am finally realizing the difference.

I may be without the one I loved, but am never without the ones who love me.  I wouldn’t trade that for the world.  I know she loved me; it just hurts to realize that she did not love me enough to stay with me when I needed her the most.  She could say it all she wanted…it just wasn’t the same.    On the other hand, my family never have to say it and yet I know anyways.

I am thankful for my family.  Thankful for those who actually love me, not who just say they do.  I am thankful to be done with the pain and betrayal that was New York.  Thankful to be back in a place with people who care about me no matter how far I fall.  Thankful to be with people who see the good things about me that I cannot.  Thankful for my family, the ones who truly matter.

Thankful that I now see that.

It's In The Pudding, Dumbass

"There is one thing more than anything else that will defeat us in our recovery; this is an attitude of indifference or intolerance toward spiritual principles."

This is a passage from one of the readings at the beginning of every Narcotics Anonymous meeting.  It is one I have been struggling with since I first entered (was forced into) the program.  More accurately it is something I have been struggling with since I became old enough to think for myself.  I have always believed that there was something greater than myself working in this world, guiding me through this life...I just didn't know quite what.

I'll be completely honest when I say I still don't have a fucking clue.  They call it the "God of our understanding" at meetings, but my sponsor wisely calls it "the God of my misunderstanding."  I guess I am not so good at accepting things that I do not understand.  The trouble is that right now I am completely lost.  I have no idea what the hell I am supposed to be doing, let alone why I have to endure this heaviness in my chest.  I guess that is the definition of "the God of our misunderstanding," isn't it?

A friend suggested that I keep a "proof" list, a list of ways that I see something greater than myself working in this fucked up world.  I started last night with my writing about how her letter to me was a hell of a sign.  Tonight I want to document one more that has been on my mind a lot since I have returned to Wisconsin, you might even call it proof.

When I got back into town, completely heartbroken and defeated, I went back to work at the meatpacking plant that I worked at growing up.  Needless to say it was what you might call...well...fucking demoralizing.  Every time I was there I thought about her and how far I had fallen, for fuck's sake I was working here in high school!  Just a month ago I was making a good salary, living in Brooklyn and engaged to a beautiful and smart woman.  Look at where I am now...

I came in one Saturday and it was just me and my uncle (who owns the place).  We chatted for a few minutes before he asked me to pick up the garbage in the front lawn and cut the grass.  The first thought was, "fucking awesome, I won't have to work in the freezer," and I grabbed some imitation latex gloves and headed outside.

The thing about the plant is that it is located smack dab in the middle of the worst fucking neighborhood in Milwaukee.  I  headed outside and started picking up the ridiculous amount of trash in the front yard on that warm fall day.  I got about a quarter of the way before I bent down to pick up a coffee cup.  It was covered in dirt, obviously there for a long time, waterlogged to the point of near disintegration.

I bent down to pick it up, not paying attention as I reached my hand down for it.  As I lifted the cup up I noticed something sticking straight up at me from the grass, a hypodermic needle.  I felt the wind leave my lungs.  I sat down in the grass, completely terrified at how close I had come to Hep C or HIV or something fun like that.  What the fuck?  I just came an inch from getting stuck by an AIDS needle, that shit was just too much to handle.

I threw the needle out onto the street and cut the grass, angry music blasting in my ear-buds.  I didn't think much more about it, but for some reason it kept popping into my mind.

I went to a meeting that night at the psych facility in a posh little town by my parent's house and could not help but thinking about that brush with infectious disease on the way there.  I was clean for the first time in a long fucking while, thoughts seemed so...real.  Why did this encounter happen?  What did this mean?

I walked into that meeting and realized what it meant as soon as I planted my ass in the chair.  My addiction is always waiting in the grass, ready to prick me and send me down the same old path if I am not paying attention.  What else could I see that as but proof that something somewhere is trying to tell me something?  How naive could I be to think that was just a simple coincidence.

I don't believe in fucking coincidences.

I suppose this is another notch on my "proof" list.  Proof that something greater than me has a hand in my life, something my stupid ass addict brain cannot control.  Something I have to open my eyes to see.  Strange because for so long I didn't want to believe that something was taking place beyond my understanding.  Strange because it is something I have to take my fogged up glasses off to see.  Strange because now that I have them off, I see better than I ever have before.

An Answer

I was outside on the back deck a few minutes ago, watching the tail end of the Sunday Night Football game through the living room window while I smoked my cigarette.  I had been thinking for an hour or so about the next post I was going to write, "Hell Hath No Fury," about how I wondered if this suffering I am feeling right now was her revenge on me for the hurt I caused her.  I looked up to the sky and I asked (pleaded) something along the lines of, "what does this mean?"

I went back inside, sat down and turned on my computer all set to write yet another post that would send me to bed depressed.  I went to my reader and saw that there was a new post I wanted to read by someone I follow.  I felt tears welling up in my eyes when I read the first line:

"Dear ez cheese,"

At first it reminded me of a time when someone else whose blog has long been deleted wrote to and about me, that memory hurt.  After a few lines I realized it was something written by someone who does not know me but has felt this pain and wants to see me relieved of it.  It is a feeling I am still unable to put into words. 

There is a line that struck me in that post, "You truly start to believe (and, eventually, trust) that there is a Higher Power and a plan for you, for me, for her, for him."  The "Higher Power" concept is something I have truly been struggling with as I wade through the muck and mire.  I grew up believing but came to have that belief shattered as I grew older and things started to get bad in my life.  I know now that an indifference to spiritual principles will hinder what little recovery I have gained to this point.  Correction, it is something I know in my head but have yet to understand and accept in my heart.

I asked the above mentioned question and looked around as if a fucking bush was going to start on fire or some lighting was going to strike out of the sky.  It didn't happen, I flicked my smoke and walked back inside wondering why the hell I even bothered.  Then I found this letter, written to me, and I realized that I had my answer.

This is my opportunity to fix the shattered definition of a life and to bring happiness into my world.  I have finally started to come to terms with the fact that I am never going to get her back.  Notice I use the word "started," I use it on purpose.  I can say it as much as I want, "I am never going to get her back," see I just did it, but I know it is going to take time to believe it.  What is going to take even more time to believe is that I will someday gain the happiness that I have always missed out on.  The catch is I'll only get there if I work for it. 

It takes a lot of conversations with my boys, support from my family and reminders from friends I barely know to keep me on track.  I find myself truly grateful for all of them but for right now I am grateful for my first "A."

An answer.

Things Without an Answer

It has been like this every night for almost two months.  I just can't seem to forget and I'm beginning to wonder if I ever will.  I wish these thoughts didn't paralyze me every day, but then again I wish for a lot of things. 

Mostly I wish for a fucking time machine.

When the sun is up I think of her but I seem to be able to pass the thoughts quickly.  I hear the TV turn on and it plays the same tune the one in our apartment did.  I put on the Rangers sweatshirt her parents bought me for Christmas.  I watch the old shows we used to watch together.  I don't do these things because I miss her so much, I do them because they are part of me now.  When the sun is up I find it much easier to send my mind in a different direction.  Right now is a completely different story.

She comes to me as I try to close my eyes and sleep, something that seems to elude with me each passing night.  I truly wish I could let go of this but I seem to be unable.  There are too many questions that remain and always will remain unanswered.  My mind seems to rekindle the hurt in my sleep.  Funny how you wake up from a great dream (like winning the lottery or something) and then go back to sleep and it is gone.  Funny how you can wake up from a nightmare about being in a hospital and getting shitcanned and then go back to sleep and it picks up right where it left off. 

I don't know if this is part of the process of dealing with the pain of a loss so great as this.  I don't know when, if ever, this wound will not be so raw.  Mostly I hate all of these "I don't knows" that come over me when I hit the hay at night.  I hate that I wish I could go back in time and do everything differently, but the fact is that I wish I could and I can't change that.  She told me once she hated that I had such a power over her, a power over her heart.  I guess I can only laugh when I think that she has much more power over me than I ever thought anyone would.  Well, to be quite honest, I can't laugh at it.  I can't even cry over it.  I fear I would never stop.

I often wonder if I am the only one out of the two of us who feels this hurt.  I wonder if I am the only one who lies awake at night thinking of the one they used to love.  I suppose I shouldn't lie and come right out and say "the one I still love."  Again, I hate that she still has this power over me.  I wonder if she has found someone new, I wonder if she is looking and then I cringe at the thought that I let her slip through my fingers.  I lose sleep thinking about everything I did wrong and everything I had the chance to change. 

It seems I always come back to the one moment when everything came crashing down around me, the phone call.  I remember hearing her voice, so grateful that I had someone who loved me regardless of the fact that I was in a psych ward.  Every night.  Every night I relive the question I asked her...

"What time are you coming to visit tonight?"

"I'm not."

It never seems to end.  The questions never seem to answer themselves and I am beginning to think that they never will.  I go back to all those nights that I cried over how lost I felt in New York and all the times she was my only comfort.  The one I moved across the country for.  The only one I ever considered asking to be my wife.  The only one I ever truly loved.  My questions always remain the same: what is she doing, how is she feeling...does she miss me like I miss her?

Things without an answer.  Things I will never know.  A woman I loved like I never thought possible.  A woman who does not want to speak to me again.  So many questions.  So many answers I will never get.  So much hurt to swallow each time the alarm goes off.  So many questions and so much pain.  Never had I loved like I did with her and never have I hurt like I have without her.

Another sleepless night. 

Things without an answer.

What the Hell?

So I met this girl today when I was out with my friend Dave watching football.  She was crude, vulgar and telling dirty jokes...needless to say I was smitten.  That's the fucking trouble though, isn't it?  I have gone and made this little promise to myself that I wouldn't get into any kind of relationship.  The thing is, I hung out this girl for the better part of three hours.  Three fucking hours, that's it.  It wasn't like I've known her for months or anything. 

What the hell?

I guess this is what my return to being single holds for me, falling for every girl who so much as bats an eyelash at me.  I'm thinking I might be better off putting saltpeter in my eggs because this is ridiculous.  When I got home I fucking looked up the makeup place she owns and found a picture of her.  Now that shit is just creepy and not something I've ever done before.  I was honestly kind of disgusted with myself.  Am I really back to this high school type bullshit?

Then I have the other side of this new little adventure I am unwittingly going on.  That would be the "I can't stop thinking about the girl who broke my heart" side.  I am getting sick of pining for her every fucking night.  A few days ago my dad could see it was getting to me and told me something his dad told him a long time ago, "best way to get over one is to get under another."  I had to laugh, not just because he said it but because that very concept has been seriously fucking with my head.  I know that old adage works to an extent, I know it because I have done it before...a few times.  I also know that it could wind up throwing me right back down on my face.  I sure as hell need to learn how to be single and to be comfortable with myself but I sure as hell miss having someone. 

I am one co-dependent son of a bitch, aren't I?  What the hell?  I can't believe I'm actually writing this, much less going to post it.  It's like I'm sixteen all over again.

Graduation Day

So my insurance company decided that I am both sane and not an addict anymore, I didn't realize that shit had a cut off date.

I "graduated" from my intensive outpatient program yesterday and have finally finished up almost two months of treatment.  I don't really know what to say about it, I don't feel any different but maybe that is the point.  I went to a meeting tonight at the hospital where I did my treatment and the staff brought up a bunch of the "no shoe crew" (inpatients) to join the meeting.  They said the typical shit that most newcomers have to say at a meeting.

"I did this this and this and the cops did this this and this and now I know I have a problem."

"I feel like this is the beginning of something new for me, I am never going to get high again."

"I had just hit such a bad rock bottom that I knew I had to change."

I guess you should probably pardon me for being such a pessimist, but that sure as fuck wasn't the way I felt when I was inpatient.  It was more like, "When the fuck can I get out of this fucking place and smoke a goddamn cigarette?"  I don't know maybe that was just me, but I always wonder how many of them are being forced to go to these meetings and have some sort of "awakening" while there and then go back and plan out how they are gonna buy a bag when they get out.  Again, call me a pessimist or an asshole if you must...I never claimed to be anything else.

The thing is, I truly do want to see them at meetings.  I want them to get their lives in order and realize all the things that the program can do for you when it is properly followed.  I sure as hell ain't perfect and I've had my fair share of fuck ups, but I know I want it...I just hope they do too.  I hope they realize that it is going to get so much worse if they go out and conduct more "research and development."

The time came at the meeting to share.  I had honestly gotten quite fucking sick of hearing the, "I had a gram in my pocket and a bunch of rigs in my glove box," stories when I decided to say something.  I figured I would talk about graduation.

"I graduated from the inpatient program here just yesterday."

They clapped for a second before I told them to hold it.  I got the usual "what is wrong with this asshole" looks I get from time to time.

"So like I said, I graduated.  All the people in the group told me what they liked about me and wished me good luck and all that shit before they gave me a little coin with the Serenity Prayer written on the back of it.  I'm not gonna lie, it felt good to hear them say these things about me, that they see the strength I can't see in myself and so on.  The thing is, I left there feeling vulnerable."

They looked at me kind of strangely. 

"The truth of the matter is there is no such thing as a 'graduation day.'  You don't graduate from addiction, you don't graduate from sneaking around and you sure as hell don't graduate from being a liar.  The real fight begins when they don't have you pissing in a cup every day and you don't have the structure of a forced recovery program.  This shit is on you now.  You don't graduate from addiction, you can only fight it, study it and learn about it.  Know your enemy.  Know that you can not fight this disease unless you understand it and recognize how it shows itself in your life.  Know that you very well might fail but know that you can't give up so easily.  Did you give up when your first guy didn't have the shit you needed to get high?  No, you went on to the next one.  Just remember...you will always be fighting this battle.  We only protect what we have through vigilance."

"Thank you Patrick," they said before continuing on with the war stories.

My sponsor came up to me at the meeting and said something along the lines of, "Well didn't you learn it all overnight?"  I told him that wasn't the case, just that I saw a bunch of people in the room who wanted to want it but didn't truly want it yet.  The newcomer doesn't need a bunch of bullshit thrown at them, they need someone to be honest and brutally so if necessary.  They need to know the truth: you aren't gonna be normal ever again.

You...no...we will fight this battle until the day we die.

We only protect what we have through vigilance.

Sweet Forgiveness

There is a song that I had been listening to a lot when I first moved home.  "Sweet Forgiveness" by Susan Tedeschi was listened to quite a bit before that as well, most often after I had fucked something up.  It talks about someone who has done wrong but has their lover there by their side, supporting them with love and helping them move on.  I thought for a long time that I would always be forgiven by her but I was wrong.  I stopped listening to that song a few weeks ago because it had become too painful.  I had no one to forgive me and the pain of that realization was too much to take.

I've got this fortune cookie saying that I keep in my wallet which reads, "the first and only love is self-love."  I guess I kept it because I knew it meant something, I just did not know what.  Every time I would open my wallet I would see it and think about what it meant to me.  I had heard the old adage, "you can't love another without loving yourself first," plenty of times in my life and I just brushed it off.  I did love someone and I sure as hell wasn't so in love with myself so it didn't seem to apply much to me.  I would often times be lead to another thought when I saw it, "maybe because I didn't love myself I didn't love her in the way she needed to be loved."  Again, a thought too painful to think.  I considered getting rid of the little slip of paper but for some reason never did.

I went to a meeting tonight, my usual Monday night one, which normally is a meeting on one of the twelve steps.  I was a little excited when they said that we were having a topic meeting instead and that we would be discussing the topic which an old-timer named Kurt had chosen.  He opened his mouth and as soon as the words "Self-Forgiveness" came out I knew there was someone somewhere that was trying to tell me something.

He asked that when he turned the topic over to the group for discussion that we concentrate our "shares" on how we had gone about forgiving ourselves for our past indiscretions.  I sat there listening and realized that I didn't know how I went about forgiving myself which led me to the conclusion that I never really have.  It seemed so clear to me that what was hindering my recovery, my love life and my overall happiness was my inability to love myself; a condition brought on by feeling guilty for everything I had done and the people I had hurt in the past.

I started thinking about how I had tried to atone for my sins and realized I had been beating myself up about each one of them for as long as I could remember.  I guess deep down somewhere I had always thought that the way to make up for my errors was to destroy myself emotionally so that I felt the maximum amount of pain each time and would therefore be conditioned to avoid such hurt in the future.  The problem was that I was fucking high every time I went through this process.  High because I did not want to feel the extreme level of torment I had become so efficient inflicting myself which, something that in the end made me feel even worse.  Sooner or later, after enough suffering, I would go back to my old friend self pity which got me right back to getting drunk of high and making the same mistakes I had fallen victim to time and time again.

I listened to that Susan Tedeschi song on the way home from the meeting and for the first time I found a different meaning in it.  I can't rely on a woman, a friend or even a parent to forgive me for what I have done in the past.  No, there is only one person whose forgiveness really matters in the long run: my own.  You see, the first and only love is self-love.  It all seemed to click so suddenly but in the same instant seemed so unattainable.

How does one who has been beating themselves to the bone over every mistake go about changing their frame of mind and cutting themselves a break?  That is something I just haven't quite figured out yet, but is something I know I must learn to do if I ever plan on being happy again...or for the first time.  I really quarrel with the notion of not crucifying myself after I have fucked up.  I know it is a foolish and detrimental way to deal with my past but I know no other way.  What is for certain is that I must find a way to take it easy on myself.  I am my own worst critic, as most of us are, but I need to learn to be my own savior as well.

No forgiveness matters as much as my own but finding out how to get to that point is proving much more difficult than I ever imagined.  I know I have to start somewhere but I just don't know how.  I'm hoping that the answer will make itself clear with enough thought.  I know it is in there somewhere.

On Trauma

For a while I thought my little bout with PTSD was caused by this incident on the left.  I did end up being jumped in a parking lot mercilessly by three men and then having my face completely reconstructed after all.  The more and more I go through therapy, however, the more I realize that this illness has been plaguing me since I was young.

I started talking about it in group this morning and was describing how I used to clear my apartment at gun point and how I would keep it loaded under my bed.  I used to take it with me all the time, regardless of where I was.  Then I realized that I was doing that long before I ever got jumped.  I started thinking about this pattern of behavior and realize it began to take its hold on me during adolescence.

They said I was an angry kid who couldn't concentrate in class.  I was constantly getting in fights, disrupting class and quarreling with authority.  Of course the standard therapist M.O. at the time for kids acting out was none other than Ritalin.  I hated it, it made me feel like a different person in all the worst ways.  It was able to curb the class disrupting, but couldn't seem to stop the fighting.  I fought my way through grade school and into high school, losing a great majority of them.

I was nothing short of depressed when I got to high school, nerdy suburban kid in a gigantic city school who didn't fit in.  I didn't fit in until I discovered pot, that is.  Sooner than I expected, I was buying bags constantly and getting stoned as many times a day as possible.  I realize that now I was using it to cope with the things happening in my brain that I did not yet understand.  The same can be said when I got into heroin, cocaine, hallucinogens and pills.  I was fucking stoned on something almost every waking moment of every single day.  Before too long I didn't feel much of anything at all.

I moved to Cincinnati for college so that I could get away from all the drugs here, I truly wanted to clean myself up, but the drug use just followed me there.  I was having a lot of trouble dealing with the pressure of school and the homesickness that accompanied it and before too long I was fighting again.  It seemed that almost every fucking Monday I was coming into class with a black eye or cut up knuckles.  It only got worse when I got jumped at a music festival here in Milwaukee one summer break.  The kids broke my cheekbone completely in half; turns out that night would come back to haunt me for a long time.

When I graduated and my relationship with my first serious girlfriend broke up I went off the deep end.  I started getting paranoid all the time, thinking everyone was plotting against me.  I bought guns and got a concealed carry permit, I was rarely without my Springfield.  I sat around at home a lot drinking so I wouldn't have to think about all the shit that I had done and that I had endured, trouble is that only made it worse.  It was around that time that I began to re-live the sexual abuse I underwent as a child.  I began plotting ways to find her and kill her, I was getting out of control but I was too blind to see it.

Then I met someone, completely by accident, and everything changed.  She genuinely cared about me, wanted me to stop using and helped me "deal" with some of my demons.  I was still living on the edge, but once we met in person for the first time things slowly began to change for the better.  Or so I thought.

It happened on the first of December.  I pulled into the gas station before work in the morning and apparently had "driven too close" to some jaywalking piece of shit on the street.  He and his buddies decided that it would be a good idea to punch me in the face and then proceed to stomp my head into the ground as a bunch of fucking dickbags stood by, watched and did nothing.  I remember when they let me go, seeing the blood pouring out of my face as I drove the half mile back to my apartment.  I remember being completely consumed by rage as I loaded my AK-47 and prepared to go back to the gas station with the intention of killing every single person there.  I only stopped when I saw my eye hanging out of my head, it was time to call an ambulance.

I moved to New York City not long after that to be with the woman I loved.  For the first few months everything was perfect: I got a job quickly, we got a beautiful apartment and our relationship was going well.  I felt like I had finally stepped out of my shadow, not realizing that it was slowly working its way back into my soul.  It started with the nightmares, awful terrors in which I saw the people I loved kicking my face in at that gas station.  It continued at work where I was extremely aggressive to the point that it got me suspended twice.  I was drinking and smoking constantly and the fighting was getting worse at home.  I was lying to my therapist who diagnosed my PTSD and abusing the benzos they had prescribed me for anxiety.  I was coming apart at the seams, but I was too scared to admit it.  I ended up in a psychiatric hospital where I was so cruelly dumped on the phone.  Just another trauma in a long line of them, something they call the "kindling effect."

You see, when I came back to Milwaukee the nightmares got worse, I had them again last night as I do most nights.  I can't fucking sleep anymore regardless of the fact that I am so tired I can barely function during the day.  I'm having flashbacks that I can't get out of my mind.  They haunt me constantly, tormenting me the most as I lie in my bed.  I see her face in my dreams, laughing at me as I fail again and again.  I cry out to her but she only turns away laughing.  I see her and her family stomping on my head at the gas station.  I see her ambushing me at Summerfest.  I see her touching me and holding matches to my face when I was a little kid.  I see all of my horrors personified by her in my dreams and yet when I wake up I miss her so.

Just another trauma in a long line of traumas.  Just another mountain I can't seem to climb.  Just another event preventing me from healing.  A heart so broken, battered and abused that I wonder if it will ever love again. 

On Second Chances

For so many nights since I lost the one I love I have laid awake thinking, "How could she do this to me, how could she not give me one more chance?"  I started to hate her for not issuing me one final ultimatum, "Do _______ or I am going to leave you."  Instead she just left me.  No goodbye, no last kiss and no closure whatsoever.  I have never felt so much pain and bitterness in my life, it has begun to consume me.  Why didn't I get just one more second chance?

I am slowly coming to the realization that I did not deserve another chance.  What a painful thing to have to come to terms with.  Even harder to deal with is the fact that she did give me second chances, third chances, fourth chances and so on.  I was simply too fucking stupid and lazy to realize that she was trying.  I was too fucking stupid and lazy to change when she asked me too and it cost me everything. 

So many times she asked me not to get fucked up and I went ahead and did it anyway.  So many times she asked me to be completely honest and I went ahead and lied to her anyway.  So many times she asked me to put my all into my treatment and I went ahead and half-assed it anyway.  No wonder she left me, I did not deserve her.  I was too blind to see how badly I was hurting her and finally she could not take it anymore.

So here I sit, all alone and so depressed.  How do I move forward with this "second chance" that has been laid so cruelly in front of me?  See, the truth is that I have not truly viewed this as another chance.  I have been seeing my current situation as a product of my failure and in a sense it is nothing but that.  In another sense, this is the chance to look deep into my heart and try so hard to turn myself into someone deserving of another shot.

I want nothing more than to fall in love again, to get another chance at giving my gift to someone who needs it.  I so badly want the opportunity to hold another beautiful woman and to have her tell me that she loves me.  What I want more than anything is to not need another second chance, or at least to be deserving of one.  Right now, in my current state, I am not worthy of love.  I need to change my ways so that I do not hurt another woman I proclaim my love to.  I need to change my ways so that I do not force her to leave me and rip my heart out again.

I need another shot, maybe not with the one I still love, but another shot nonetheless.  I can only pray that I do not fall short again.  God only knows what it will do to me if I do. 

Starting Over

I wish I didn't have to write this, but it is essential.  I relapsed, more accurately I have been relapsing for the past week.  I'm sure this is information my insurance company would love to know but you will be the only ones.  For now at least.

It isn't as if I was out shooting up or blowing lines, no, I simply had a beer or two and hit a bowl a few times over the last week.  I should be beating myself up, as it is my M.O., but I cannot go that route.  I don't really know what to do except to admit it.  So here I am admitting it.

A lot of people would say, "what's the big deal, it was just a few beers and a couple hits," but I know I can't operate under that way of thinking.  I took a step onto a very slippery slope and I need to get off of it.  The trouble with relapsing for me is not so much the using, it is the lying.  I let lies destroy my life far more times than I care to admit and I stepped back onto that slope again tonight.

I went to my NA meeting that I go to every Monday night and my sponsor immediately said to me, "Hey it's thirty days for you, let's get you a key tag."  I was too ashamed to admit to him that I did not deserve it.  He read off the key tags and called me up when he got to the thirty day tag.  I took it. 

I feel like a fucking thief.  I don't know why I took that tag, or why I haven't told him that I relapsed (even if it was minor).  I am ashamed of my actions and I don't know what to do about it.  I know the answer is honesty, but I do not wish to hear the disappointment in his voice when I tell him.  I guess that has been my problem for a while now; I don't want to hear disappointment in the voices of people who care about me so I lie to them.  Sometimes they find out and decide to be done with me, other times they never find out...but I always know.

This pattern of behavior makes me hate myself.  I am disgusted that after such a short time I am back committing the same sins that got me into this position.  I cannot continue to act like this if I ever expect to be happy and to love myself.  If I do not love myself, how can I possibly love someone else?  Love is what I want more than anything.  I want someone to love me unconditionally, something I have never known, and I want to be the person that she deserves...whoever she is.

Right now I am not that person nor do I think I ever have been.

It is time to change.  I say that all the fucking time, don't I?  Now it is time to actually do something about it.  Tomorrow I will call my sponsor and tell him that I did not deserve that key tag, but I will still keep it.  I am going to pin it to my bulletin board to remind me that I have more than one problem to fight.  I am an addict and a liar.  They are both intertwined.  One feeds off of the other and they both seek to ruin my life.  They have both succeeded in the past and if I continue on this road they will succeed again.

So unfortunately it is time to start over, I guess I am not as strong as I thought.  Maybe I should stop trying to be strong.  Maybe I should listen to the suggestions that others have given me.  Maybe it is time to actually surrender and to start over again.  Maybe it is time to admit (and actually believe) that I am powerless.  I just have to keep coming back, no matter how many times I fall short...I have to keep trying.

A Letter to a Friend

I see you every day and I wonder how you are still carrying on.  You have been shit on so much in your life and you still keep on going.  You have overcome abuse, beatings and a few serious drug problems and you still persevere.  You are far stronger than I ever thought you could be, don't you see that?  You can get over this too and you will be fucking fire tested when you come out on the other side.  Don't you see that you have so much strength and so much potential for love and good?  I don't really know why I'm asking you that, I know that right now you don't.  That's alright, it doesn't make it any less true. 

Remember that phrase they tell you in the meetings?  "You are not responsible for your disease.  You are responsible for your recovery."  You have to take that advice seriously and we both know that you are trying so fucking hard.  Don't give up.  Make sure that you keep in mind that recovery is not just you learning to live clean, it is you learning how to live honest and well.  It is about learning to be happy, don't you see that? 

You think that you don't deserve to be happy and I think you don't deserve the criticism you constantly level on yourself.  Take the nail out of the board before you beat yourself over the head with it, will you?  You have just lost the love of your life, it is OK to hurt right now.  It is healthy to hurt right now.  If you weren't something would be wrong with you, but you are and you are learning how to live with that pain and that takes strength. 

I know you are tired of fighting, I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice.  You think it would be easier to blame yourself, give up and go under.  We both know that you have too much conviction to do that.  You were born to fight, my friend, and this is the fight of your life.  I know you won't shy away from it.

You keep saying that the worst thing about this whole breakup is the fact that you have no closure and I get that, I really do.  The thing is, she does not want to give it to you and you need to learn to live with that.  You hurt her, but do not forget that she hurt you too.  I know that deep down you want her back, no matter how much you try to tell me otherwise.  The simple truth of the matter is that you are not going to get her back, regardless of how much you straighten your life up.  You need to grow accustomed to that fact and learn how to move on; more importantly, you need to learn how to be happy.  Happy with yourself.  I know that is something you haven't been in a long time and it is something that I know you want.

"How am I going to do that?"

Well my friend I really don't know, but what I do know is that if you don't try then you will never succeed.  Just try, OK?  You don't need to worry about everything that will happen in the future, you just need to worry about today.  I'm not saying that you should just give up trying to better yourself, I'm just saying you need to take it slowly.  Remember, you are home now.  You are with your family and your friends, the people who REALLY care about you, not just SAY that they do.  It is OK to lean on them a little, they love you. 

Look, all I want is for you to be the brilliant person you know that you are.  Someday, if you learn to be happy with yourself, you will make some woman happier than she ever has been.  If you are ready she will make you happier than you ever have been.  If you are ready, that is the key, you have to be ready.  Just keep fighting, I know you will. 

Sincerely,
You

The Blue Notebook: Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

An important discovery has seemingly placed itself on me this past weekend.  As I have been wrestling with the two sides to every argument idea, it seems like this is the last position anyone wants to see.  Jake is the master at this, he is the most opinionated and ridiculous know it all that I have ever met.

I am reminded of that class lecture Dr. Larson taught about how to support a false argument like denying the Holocaust.  Jake makes some of the same obscene comments about life that he supports with useless facts and misleading argumentative tactics.  When he claims to think that it is a good idea to wear a swastika or something, he thinks he is being a rule changer when in all actuality he is just acting like an idiot.

I found some sort of peace there for that night in Chicago.  I took a shit on a statue of Shakespeare while tripping on mushrooms.  It seemed so modernist at the time, however it was still hugely unnecessary.  Me, Dave and Dan came back and saw it the next morning.  Funny, but totally unnecessary.  People are too quick to reject the past and they do it in the name of progress.  The problem is that too many people are not being taught how to advance a society these days.

People are too busy and caught up in the new modern life that they don't spend nearly as much time respecting the past as they used to.  One shouldn't live in the past, but one should respect its rules and then bend them and add to them where they were lacking in order to create a vastly new society.  This doesn't just happen lightly, as the last time it happened was WWI and WWII.  Hopefully we learned how to advance with the, "destroy and rebuild anew" philisophy that was formulated after the wars.

Today if one looks at the worlds political, cultural and economic situations, one would realize that this world greatly resembles the world that was parent to the restless years from WWI to WWII.  Hopefully we learned, but like I said, I think it will not be such a nice outcome.  Remember who you were and know who you are, but don't let who you were define who you are and who you should be. 

1:15 AM 5/30/05

You must have been drunk when you wrote this, it makes very little sense.

The Blue Notebook: Chapter Ten and Eleven

Chapter Ten

The more I think about it the more I realize that my sadness is always (almost) caused by my own mind.  I am in love with my sadness, but then I have these moments of clairvoyance that remind me that I really don't have reason to bitch.  While I am lonely, and it does hurt, I have to realize that I can't let this shit run my life and I can't let it stop me from having fun and being the real me.  Sad might define me, but only in my own mind.

10:54 PM 5/24/05

Chapter Eleven

It seems important for me to note the fact that most people don't see things from both sides.  They don't approach problems the right way.  I increasingly find myself hanging out with these kids.  Does that mean I am becoming one of them?

1:12 AM 5/28/05

The Blue Notebook: Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

I must have been wasted last night but I guess I wonder why I think that my problems are anymore unique than any other fucker's.  I whine a lot, but I don't know if I am really sad like other people.  I am just lonely.  Sure I could have stayed Lauren but I lied to her enough.  I just really don't know what to write, or what to do with myself.

I want to see Amanda but I know it is exactly the last thing I need.  I do give thanks for some damn good friends.  Without Dan and Annie and Sarah and so on I wouldn't probably be able to function.  I only wonder why they put up with my shit so much.  I guess I don't exactly know what's wrong with me.  I feel insignificant and it hurts.  A lot.  

Like I said, I know something is wrong with me, I just need someone to hold me.  I mean is that really so much to ask?  Just someone who will say, "Yeah I feel like that too," and actually mean it.  I just don't know what to write.

11:41 AM 5/22/05

Wheels

Here I am again, sitting alone at my fucking computer spinning the same damn wheels I have spun for the past month.  You'd think that sooner or later I would get sick of writing about you, but since you're all I fucking think about...well.

I honestly wish that I could just hate you.  I tried really hard to convince myself that I did, even wrote it down a few times.  They feel fake and that pisses me off.  If I could just hate you this would be so much easier, but I don't.  No matter how much I want to curse you I cannot. 

I can't tell if you have so much control over me still because I let you or because I am just that broken.  I guess it really doesn't matter, pretty soon I'll have written about this enough that the few readers I have will give up and it will just be me talking to myself like it was in the beginning.  Maybe it would be better that way, maybe not.

Now I don't mean to let you slide on how badly you hurt me, but I know why you did it.  At least I think I do.  You sure did open my eyes to everything I was doing wrong, I just wish you could have done it in a way that didn't completely destroy my life.  Oh well I guess.  It's funny because normally I would just run into the arms of someone else, but this time I can't.  Or maybe it is that I won't.  In some sick way I feel like I deserve this pain, like it is my punishment for hurting you by not giving my all to battling my illnesses.  I guess that is why I can't hate you; I know how much pain I have caused you.

I know how you operate, when things are over you would just prefer to go about life as if I had never existed.  That really hurts because you know I am the exact opposite.  I think the lack of closure is eating away at me even worse than it did before.  Maybe I'm just not in shock anymore or maybe the cloud of pot smoke has finally cleared from my head and I can finally feel pain the way it was meant to be felt.  One way or another I cannot describe to you the pain I feel when I find myself thinking about you even when I try so hard not to.  It is slowly eating my soul.  I know that if I do relapse that the pain of losing you will be the reason.

I guess for that reason I wish that I could hate you, so that I could propel my recovery forward out of spite but that just isn't me.  I love you too much and I would prefer that the fading memory I have of you be a good one. 

They tell me that this stage of grief is one of the most painful.  Depression.  I should really stop writing about this, I really should.  I honestly wish that I could, but I write what I am thinking and feeling.  It hurts but I don't know what else to say.  I don't know if I actually have anything left to say.  I guess it strikes me as odd that I met you because of this blog.  This blog that made me so happy and now completely depresses the fuck out of me. 

I wish I would have never started it but unfortunately there is nothing I can do about the past anymore. 

The damage is done.  I'll just be here spinning my wheels, trying to heal and wondering if I will ever love like this again.  I almost hope I never do.  Such great love has brought me such great pain.  I don't know if I ever want either again.

Surrender

When I look back at my life I realize that I have spent much, if not most, of it fighting.  Fighting people, feelings, fears or failures.  It cannot be mistaken that all of this fighting has gotten me absolutely nowhere.  All I have to show for my years of struggle are scars, bad memories and a series of failures.  I cannot do this anymore.  I give up.  Fighting is not going to get me anywhere, so I surrender.

Do you hear that?  I give up.  I surrender.

For so long I thought that surrendering was a sign of weakness.  I would take any fight that came my way, regardless of the size of the opponent.  Even if I lost, at least I put up a fight.  At least I could look at my black eye or my broken knuckles and know that I did not give up.  The trouble is that in the end all I had was my pride and a fucked up face or hands.  Pride, ah pride, what a long and dysfunctional relationship we have had.

Too many fucking times I let my pride drive my decisions, I would take any beating or face any foe...at least I had my pride.  Now the problem is that my pride has been stolen from me.  I have nothing to be proud of anymore.  Maybe that isn't the worst thing in the world.  All I really have is today, it is the only guarantee I can make. 

So again, I surrender.

I cannot go back and fix the errors of my ways and I cannot go forward and set up my future, all I have is today.  I have a single choice each day and it is very simple.  I can choose to get fucked up and push all this shit inside of me back down, or I can choose to stay clean and face my pain like a man.  I surrender to the fact that I am an addict.  I surrender to the fact that I cannot change my past.  I surrender to the fact that I cannot guarantee my future.  I give up.

I can't fix this shit excuse for a life that I have been living, so I give up.  All I can do is stay clean and face my demons today.  Not tomorrow, not yesterday and not next week...just today.  All I can do is say, "fuck it."  That is the healthiest thing I have said all week.  Fuck it.  I give that up to you, God, or whoever the hell you are.  I am not strong enough to survive a fight with all the shit that has been laid on my table, so I won't.  I can worry about one thing and one thing alone: staying clean.

Listen to me, a few weeks clean and a few meetings under my belt and I am beginning to sound like a NA bible thumper.  Right now though, clean time is the only thing that I have and I must protect it at all costs.  If I don't I will continue in the same vicious cycle that I have been living the majority of my life in.  If I keep that up, someday I will meet another woman I love and someday she will rip my still beating heart from my chest and stomp on it, just like the last one did.  If that happens again I can make one guarantee.  I will take my own life.

I tried my hardest to fight this battle for the love of my life, but she rejected me because I was not doing it for myself.  I did everything for her and tried as hard as I possibly could, but in the end that was not enough.  It hurts so much to say but it is the simple fact of the matter.  My best wasn't good enough for her and as a result she has left my broken heart behind her.  I lost my whole life and came so very close to extinguishing my own breath.  I have come to terms with the fact that I cannot win this fight against myself, against my addiction and against the pain that she caused me.  So...I give up.  Fuck it, I surrender.

I leave this all up to you God or higher power or whatever I'll call you.  You can fix all this shit.  You have much bigger guns in your arsenal than I do in mine, so you fight this fucking war because I am not doing it anymore.  You fix this shit and I will fight the only battle that I know I can win: the battle of today.  Today I stayed clean and I will fight that battle again when I wake up tomorrow, but I'm not going to worry about tomorrow until I wake up. 

Fuck it.  You hear me?  Fuck it.  Tomorrow is your problem and the past is your problem.  I am going to leave that all up to you.  I cannot control any of that shit and I certainly can't fix it, so fuck it.  I can control one...no two things.  I can control whether I stay clean or not and I can control whether I do the next good thing or not.  I can only do those two things today.  So on every other day but today, I surrender. 

Fuck it, what else could I possibly have to lose.

The Delicate Balance

I have been on a binge of sadness lately and I cannot seem to get over this hump.  They tell me in therapy that it is going to take a long time, well that's just fucking great.  I constantly find myself swinging back and forth between anger directed at two people.  One week I am angry as hell at her for leaving me in my darkest hour, the next I cannot even look myself in the mirror because I know that I caused all of the problems that led her to do so.  I am not rational right now, I am not seeing things as they truly are.  I see only the negatives, even though I know there are some positives.

I am told that I need to find a balance between these emotions that I am feeling because today I am in full self-crucifying mode and it is wholly detrimental to my battle with addiction.  I could go back and cite countless examples of when I went out and got fucked up when I was feeling down on myself and not a single one of those times would be more painful than this one.  I guess that is the trick, isn't it?  I'm not fucked up all the time so I am feeling the pain in a much stronger dose than I ever have before.  There is no escape from this now, I have to face it head on...balls forward, as they say.

The deck was stacked against me from the start when I moved to New York.  I had no family, no friends and in the end no real support network to help me when I needed it.  I had only her to rely on, far too much to ask of one person.  Or was it?  I know that what happened was caused mostly by my actions, or lack thereof, but I was the one who took all the risk.  I was the one who moved.  I was the one who changed jobs.  I was the one who left his friends and family.  I was the one who lost the money I put into the ring.  Was unconditional support really that much to ask?  I know that I did not work as hard as I should have to fix my problems, but I did work.  I fucking tried, I just did not know how bad it really was. 

It doesn't matter anymore.  I am just so sick of this pain.  I honestly have no idea what propels me to wake up each day.  I have no fucking closure at all.  Just a raw ending and speculation as to why it happened.  I truly wonder if I will ever recover from this pain, I know it will be nearly impossible with no forgiveness from the woman I loved...and still love so much.  I hate saying that, it makes me feel so weak.  Honestly though, I am so tired of being strong.  It has gotten me nowhere. 

I get that this is a wake-up call to change my life, but why does it have to be so fucking painful?  Had I truly become so wicked that I deserved to be hurt in this fashion to have my eyes opened?  I am so tired of this.  I see so little in my future, regardless of how many fucking people tell me otherwise.  Why did she have to leave me when I was fighting the battle for my life?  I understand that she left because she did not feel that I was putting in the effort to get better, but my God, why did I not get a sterner warning?  Why do all these questions have to stay unanswered?

She said not to contact her so that we could both heal, but this is doing nothing but making it worse for me.  I honestly do not know how to press on anymore.  I am quite unsure of what good will come of me fighting this anymore.  I am so tired of waking up each day and having all of these questions, this guilt, this anger and this pain crushing my throat.  I guess the pain is how I know I am still alive, it is defining my life so much more than it ever has. 

So I guess this is the delicate balance, a combination of anger and sadness over how she left and anger and sadness over what I did to cause her to leave.  It feels so much worse than directing my anger solely at her or solely at myself, but at least it is real.  Real fucking painful.  I need a reprieve from this, I honestly do not know how much more I can take.  I just need some closure.  I need to be forgiven and to forgive.  I need to forget.  I can only hope I get one of those, it would relieve so much of the sadness.  I, however, have a very real fear that I will never get to feel that reprieve.  I fear that I will live in this pain for a long long time.  That makes me wonder why I continue, and that is a thought that truly scares me.