Tears, White Chocolate, and Magazines

Oh my God, I have truly missed writing, it truly is unhealthy holding everything inside. I miss my girl Mina, I feel like I have abandoned you or something because you ALWAYS make me feel better when I get down in this transitional and lonely time in my life. Also, welcome to my blog Gledwood, I have been checking your blog out for quite awhile now and you surely are an interesting character, to say the least.

Well, I FINALLY got my hair done and I've always felt like such a goddess in blonde hair, even though I'm not skinny minny anymore. I've become addicted to expensive white chocolate bars, Lindt(I don't know if that's the correct spelling). They went on sale a few weeks ago and I pretty much cleaned out the section they were in. Whenever something feels good, I just can't stop. It's like this switch goes on in my brain and I have to take it ALL THE DAMN WAY..............

I haven't been doing much but my best friend and I have come to the conclusion that I would make a great real estate agent so I've been researching that because I REALLY need to get out there, I feel almost ready.

It's still hard living with my mom, she's like major Miz Ice Queen, heaven forbid I should cry and express an ounce of feeling, she'll brow beat me into submission just by looking at me like I have two heads! Frustrating as hell. I am going to take your advice Mina and just WRITE, I feel better already and lighter. After all, it's just life and the tide will soon turn. I just fucking wish it wasn't so bloody hot, I feel like I'm melting, like candle wax. If I had a fan I would just lie in front of it for hours until the temp went down. Perhaps I should just go to the corner Starbucks with my laptop, there's an idea. Maybe I can even flirt with some random cute guy but I'm SOOOO fucking lazy, I know I'll just end up calling up a taxi and going to Shopper's for some white chocolate and a magazine.

I shall be writing alot more, perhaps even later on. I feel better already. Expressing myself and doing what I love and adore(writing)ALWAYS makes me feel much, much better. Looking forward to comments, as always and news.

Kisses.................

I Will Survive

Oh my, I haven't written in awhile and it feels TERRIBLE keeping everything inside, just awful. That's 'cause I don't want to burden anyone with my grief and moodiness and blah, blah, blah but it gets MUCH WORSE when kept inside! I've bottling everything up but at least I'm not resorting to drugs, methadone has truly saved me.

I feel so stuck but at the same time, I know I can achieve things, it's a pitiful place to be. You know I can never relax 100% because I live with my mother and her words can be so callous sometimes. I just don't know anymore.

So I've been pretty much doing the same thing. I wake up, take my methadone,go on the computer and catch up on the news and then to Perez Hilton for celebrity gossip. I drink about 7 cups of warm milk with sugar and a pinch of instant coffee throughout the day and contemplate my life. I don't go out much because I am self-conscious about my hair (I know, how shallow but still....). Actually, I am insecure about everything and I just want to hibernate. The only time I feel twinges of happiness is when I talk to my son and also when my niece and nephews come over. Children have the knack of really taking you outside of yourself. But I HATE complaining and not finding a solution so I've decided to write ALOT more on my blogs. In addition to that, I want to turn this blog into something more fun while still keeping its main spirit, which is a blog about facing life's problems while on methadone. I'm also thinking about taking a writing class because I'm pretty much ready to venture out, even though I have a touch of agoraphobia. Oh well, I must be strong, what choice do I have?

I MUST turn my life around but I feel soooo damn weak sometimes, all's I wanna do is cry, get under my comforter and screw the world. Depression? Perhaps a touch but it's the type that one must have in order to act and change for the better. I wish I knew more people going through the same thing as I am. Having said that, perhaps I'll join something on the Internet. I'm just not that into going to meetings throughout the city, I've tried it more that a dozen times.

Tomorrow I am going to start FRESH. I've had a whole week to figure things out and frankly, what's there to figure out except to keep on living, find something that you are passionate about and to endure hardship through strength and patience.

It's Raining, it's Pouring

I've been super-depressed these past few days and real antsy. I've been getting some pretty nasty dreams too. It's bad enough that I wake up damning the sun and the day sometimes but to have my brain filled with images from bad dreams doesn't help, either. At least I finally took a nice, hot shower last night and shaved my legs. I love the way my legs feel against each other when they're freshly de-fuzzed, it makes sleeping all the better.

It's been raining outside and it's windy, perfect for hiding out and not feeling guilty about it. I mean when it's a beautiful day I feel like a freak stuck in my room, like some sort of eccentric people-hater but that's not how it is at all. I get really scared, really, PROFOUNDLY terrified. I want to do things right this time. I want to pursue a legitimate writing job and I also want to be my own boss. I'm going to write a letter to the editors of newspapers with samples of my writing and my interests. Frankly, I'm willing to do anything as long as I get my foot in the door. Our papers here in Winnipeg need something unique, something light, something like a writer who conducts social experiments, for example or something Carrie Bradshawish. But original. Gotta try doing it. It's now or never and anyways how long before someone actually goes crazy by not living an authentic life? I know I will if I don't and I don't know how I even maintained my sanity (or most of it) by living otherwise. I guess that's where the drug part comes in.

Super-bored tonight. Wish I had someone to play Scrabble with. Oh, God Angela stop feeling sorry for yourself and go watch some TV................

The Pathetic and the Profound

Today I came across two incredible you tube videos. I guess I'm gonna have to learn how to actually put them on the blog and make things easier. My dearest readers, if you're out there, tell me what you think about these two clips. One is a two year old smoking and I did not know whether to laugh, cry, or start swearing at the people watching this kid. I must admit, though, IT'S FUCKING HILARIOUS!!!!! The other is a clip from the Pretty Reckless (yeah, yeah, that chick from Gossip Girl--I never watched that show but this girl's got PASSION and what a voice on her!). The song is called "Make Me Wanna Die" and it's the acoustic version and it's YUMMY.

Anjelah Johnson

I found this really funny comedienne TOTALLY by accident on the internet and her name is Anjelah Johnson. She is hilarious and her imitations are perfection. Check her out and enjoy.............

Self-preservation

I woke up super early this morning as I have been sleeping a lot. Needless to say, I am very much caught up on my sleep and for the first time in a long time, I feel refreshed and (almost) ready to take on the world. I shall try my HARDEST to get through this hurdle because I know through past experience this is when my negative thinking takes over and I just give up. I staunchly refuse to do that this time. It's MORE than time for me to live authentically and to make the most of my gifts. It's time for me to stop doubting myself. Sylvia Plath even quoted that sef-doubt destroys creativity and how true her words are.

It was my little niece's birthday party on Sunday but I didn't attend. I apologized to my sister but I can't be around people, I feel so self-conscious. Being around kids freaks me out too because I miss my son so much. Truth be told, I've always had an anti-social side to me and it just seems to be getting worse. People really bore me sometimes, especially "mainstreamers". I have always felt like a total misfit and the only time I have felt comfortabe around people was when my boy and I used to go to functions together, probably because I was doing it for him and I knew that he'd enjoy himself because he's such an extrovert. I do have a very sociable side to me, too and I just LOVE meeting new people, but my trust in them has totally disappeared in the last few years. I refuse, however to become bitter, just a little bit cautious. Lastly, I simply cannot be around my mother under these types of circumstances. I know that she's not exactly proud of me and I could just see/feel her cringing when her friends approach me and ask me what I've been up to: "Oh, nothing much, just having a nervous breakdown for the last four (or has it been five
?) years, worked at a strip club for awhile before attempting to grab on to the pole and giving it a whirl myself while high on cocaine and jagshots, which led to my collapse because of severe anemia, resulting in my entering the methadone maintenance program. So, I've been stuck at my mom's, living off of disability checks from which my mother takes a chunk of because she loves money and makes me feel guilty for flushing the toilet too much because it wastes water. Yeah, I've also gained quite a bit of weight because I sleep a lot so I don't have to think about my life. So, how's Johnny's Master's program going at McGill and Anna's PHd in the States going? Congratulations also on Anna's engagement to a successful, educated Greek man with a beach house in Santorini............" You get the picture. The picture that never seems to change and it's ALWAYS about image, image, image and desperately trying to keep up with the Jonesopoulos'. I've been wary of this ever since I was a young girl and noticed the number of women fainting during Easter services because they were too vain to take off their fur coats. I realized that I could NEVER live under that pressure so in a way I hid from the church which looking back was a little immature because I'm sure not EVERYONE was like that. But growing up with a narcissistic mother, I wasn't about to take any chances.

Longing

I have had this TERRIBLE cold/flu for the last few days so alls I've been doing is drinking hot milk with sugar (of course) and sleeping--long, blissful sleep, the kind where when you wake up you're like a kid staring around, disoriented. At least my sleep has been nightmare--free and I haven't been waking up with the thought of hoping the day would go by quickly so I can go back to sleep again. For me, the night is comforting especially now that I'm on methadone and I can finally sleep. That's what I loved about opiates: the deep sleep they brought on, the blissful, trouble-free sleep. But, inevitably the sleep slowly became troubled until I couldn't sleep at all, no matter how many or what type of pills I took. The very comfort that I had been seeking all my life turned on me. But now, I sleep, soundly and like a child and hopefully not in vain. Hopefully, my body and my mind is restoring itself and I can bounce back, better than ever.

My ex-husband graced me with a phone call earlier on today, DRUNK of course, asking me OF ALL THINGS for Burton Cumming's phone number. Yeah, Burton from The Guess Who is from Winnipeg and a lot of people hang out with him here (Winnipeg's quite small) but as if he'd have his number listed and as if he'd go visit my ex-husband while on tour with his band there. Of course, stranger things have happened. Thankfully, he didn't call me back.

Now that I feel better I want to work on my blog full-force and begin my other one as well. That will take up a lot of my time as I have a lot of stories in my head that I am eager to share. I got a comment from this wonderful girl that writes about methadone too and it was exactly what I needed to get the ball rolling big time. Total encouragement. Plus, I found her blog to be interesting and very well written so I'm happy to add her on to my blog list. It's amazing to find others who are going through similar situations as me. For instance Mina writes about experiencing restless leg syndrome like it's the worst thing she's EVER experienced and you know what? It's the worst thing I've ever experienced and it's such a relief to get rid of it on methadone. Who has a year (if you could wait that long drug-free) to wait and see if the leg shakes/pains subside, if your sleep improves and if the days will go by any faster with less anxiety? Who wants to wake up every morning depressed, damning the day and yet feeling guilty at the same time because God has given you this life and you just can't handle it? Methadone is certainly a step in the right direction.

Also, people will tell you how zoned out you feel and how fat you get on it, etc., etc. but I feel as close to normal as I've ever had. Besides that, I highly doubt my brain would ever NOT need opiates after taking them for so many years. Yes, the brain heals but once you've tasted the sweetness of escape, of another way to live, I don't think your brain will ever allow you to forget it. It's almost like having a billion dollars and then losing it. Sad but true. Drugs became my saviour, my sanctuary. I definitely do not want to romanticize its use because it screws you at the end but I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that it makes life easier, especially at the beginning.

Apology

I am so sorry if anyone has tried to comment, I had the settings screwed up!!!!!!!!!! Hopefully now anyone who visits can make a comment as this would be GREATLY APPRECIATED. I am also starting a new blog, a little lighter, more entertaining but still substantial (I would hope--my dearest readers can only be the judge). I feel really sick, I am off to the drugstore and even though it's a beautiful summer day, I really want to organize my blogs as to make them more reader friendly and for me to not feel so alone as I get my shit together...............

My Heart, My Soul, My Life

I had such a TERRIBLE day--so glad I didn't take the first four or five months of being zoned out for granted. Now I have to decide what I want to do and what I really want to do is WRITE. I also want to get out in the world and experience a bit but I feel so very self-conscious right now and all's I want to do is hide out. Which is making me depressed. Plus I miss my little boy, it's like a knife to the heart, even when (not IF) I'm eventually with him, I'll never forget the pain, the pain, the never-ending excruciating pain.

I guess the time has come where, dearest readers, I must tell you the whole story..................

My Wreckage

It's 4 a.m. and I can't sleep. All's I do is cry and examine the wreckage that is my life. Nothing changes with me because I don't know how to change it. I need a miracle, a small one, not asking for much. I need validation and I need my son. I need to be my best self and I need my son. I need total independence and I need my son. Is anybody out there? I am so alone. I don't seek or ask for unreasonable pleasures, just to be independent and to be with my son. I need to take a chance and take this writing all the way because what else do I have left? I realize that we all have our struggles but mine seem so never-ending and I wonder what I am doing to stand in my own way. I guess I'll go drink some hot milk and try to get back to sleep, a sleep that is filled with confusion and the inevitable waking up and facing the wreckage that is my life................

Ready to Trip and Fall

I slipped a few days ago and I truly felt like crap. Alas, I forced myself to forgive the devil inside of me because I should actually feel proud of myself for how I have been doing since December. I highly doubt that I will ever do this again. As long as the methadone keeps working for me, I really see no way that I should screw up, because it's the opiates that ultimately give me the thrill and state of mind that I seek, all of that other junk is disgusting. I mean I really don't want to feel all wired up and on edge with a stomacheache and headache and a fucked up brain pushing me for "more". Also, if you're getting it free there's also a price to pay and that's one game I have never been good at. What am I left with at the end? A feeling of desperation and disappointment, a wildly beating heart, and a bad case of insomnia. NOT WORTH IT!!!!!

I haven't been getting along with my mother lately. She went straight for the jugular the other day just because I asked her to drive me to Shopper's for maxi pads. That woman is nuts. I've also had to deal with my ex-husband who was surely dropped on his head when he was a baby because I cannot explain this guy's behaviour otherwise. Drunk or not, the man's got deep problems. After being married, I can understand how people can hire someone to "off" the other person, especially if they don't fear the consequences.

At least I can skype my little boy now and I am in heaven because of this, it's truly been joyous! I cannot WAIT to parent him from up close once again (sounds kinda funny)--I love being a mommy. My heart still hurts being away from him but it's a teeny bit better now.

I'm supposed to go out with D this weekend. he's actually been calling me lately, except for the week he forgot he was to go to court and ended up in jail (I know, I know). I just don't know what to make of this guy. He owns his own roofing company and has a little boy but he still seems a tad immature. Right this moment, I really don't feel like starting to see anyone but I get so lonely. What would really make me happy (besided the obvious of having my son with me) is to have a writing career. I really need to have some sort of encouragement such as an editor saying they like my work or something like that. My heart just hurts so badly that I haven't done all of the creative things that I have always craved to do from a young age and it's really bringing me down lately. The last thing I want to do is get depressed. I JUST WANT SOMETHING GOOD TO HAPPEN TO ME!!!!! I know only I have the power to make it happen but I just get so down on myself and overwhelmed and then just tired, so exhausted.

Irony

I was looking through the paper, like I do each morning and apparently all of those people/gang members that they arrested before Christmas are starting to come before the courts. Very scary because I know some of them from waitressing at the strip club and not only did I used to buy from them, I used to sell, too. For example, if someone at the club felt comfortable asking me then I would "middleman" for him, go to the dealer and get him the stuff. This way, I could get some extra stuff for myself from the dealer if I helped him enough times throughout the night. Also, I would charge the customer a little more for "stuff" and keep the extra money for myself if I was running low on tips. No one complained or seemed to notice because they were so spaced out anyway. It really wasn't me to a) be involved in shit like that and b) to rip people off but seeing as I had a little habit to maintain myself I needed to do something to have some cash at the end of the night. Plus, I hate to admit this but I felt so badass being involved, it was like a little experience/experiment of mine. Thank God I didn't get caught. I always used my instincts when dealing with strangers and thankfully understood that being high didn't entitle me to be so overly confident. At the end, I was one of those girls that I swore I'd never be, going home at the end of the night super high but just barely making my float. I knew my days at the club were numbered but I didn't give a shit, it was as if my whole time working there was an F-YOU to the whole world, I could do whatever I want, so ha ha. But alas, the joke was on me as I was fired from my job and it was downhill from there. A few months later, all those guys were arrested and I was at home recovering, after a lengthy detox. It was the first time my mom honestly came through for me and I will never forget that. She saved my life just as I blame her for ruining it.

Modern Technology, Old-Fashioned Tears

It's been awhile, my dearest readers but I was in serious "thinking mode", trying to figure out my next step and planning for the near future. My mother and I got into a terrible fight, the kind where she lets loose and insults me to the bone. When she gets this way, I'm pretty certain that I have post-traumatic stress syndrome because I get "locked" into what seems to be an invisible "cell" and all's I can think about is how trapped I am, like a caged animal. I get this voice inside of my head screaming for me to run as far as I can away from her and to never return. It's a terrible way to feel and it never ceases to devastate me whenever it happens. I feel such hatred toward my mother at that moment but the only thing I can think of is causing harm and destruction to myself.

I bought a webcam and I have been able to communicate with my son. It was really sad at first and I couldn't stop crying but then those tears turned to joy as I realized how lucky I am to be able to communicate with my son this way. I have never felt closer to him, EVER. The other day, though, my useless ass of an ex-husband gets drunk and starts telling my little boy how I receive a monthly child tax credit in Canada for him and spend it all on myself. What a tool this guy is, what a lowlife. Many times I have felt guilty talking badly about him because he is, after all, my son's father but this person is the epitome of the word useless. Of course my little boy was upset too and he informed me that if I didn't come to Greece and stay with him in two weeks he'll never talk to me again. Man, I gotta get a grip. I need to get this situation under control. I NEVER want to cause this child any pain if I could help it.

It's raining outside and it just won't let up. At least I'm feeling loads better, much more energetic and hopeful for the future. I do have my moments of frustration and fucking boredom because frankly, I want to be independent, have money and ultimately this will lead me to reunite with my son. I feel safe in my room, my little "bubble" but I need to figure out a way to be my own person, once and for all.

I missed a counselling session I had this afternoon but I think I'll reschedule for next week. Every time I talk to someone outside of my situation I always feel better and they don't look at me like I have three heads, like my mother does. Am I lazy? Maybe down deep inside I think that I don't deserve to be understood, that I don't deserve happiness. Maybe I'm so afraid of failure and rejection and that is why I merely "dip my toes" into whatever excites me, because why bother, I'll fail anyways. Sad, really. To live your life in fear and to avoid risks, to play it safe and be miserable, to be super-creative and bursting with energy but to purposely calm yourself into a semi-catatonic state for fear of looking stupid, for wasting your time, for having others tell you "I told you so". I must stop hurting myself NOW. What kind of an example am I going to be to my son, who I am teaching to be brave and full of expression?

Shreddies and Sunflower Seeds

FINALLY, last night I managed to get into the shower and totally defuzz myself and shampoo my scalp until it throbbed, as if thanking me. It felt absolutely wonderful having the super-hot water run through my hair and my entire body. I used a hard brush to really get clean and get my circulation going all through my body, from my head to my toes. I felt reborn and in a great mood since I had talked to my little boy earlier that day.

So I got out of the shower and found that my undies and nightie barely fit me and when I glanced at myself in the mirror, I almost didn't recognize myself--I've really gained a lot of weight. I need to cut down on the milk and become more active. I'm sure I'll look better once I get my hair done but still.......

Oh, vanity--where has it gotten me anyways? I'm not with my son and that to me is the most important thing EVER!!!! I still have a few weeks to get my dieting going. I mean, I'm by no means fat but I can feel my thighs rubbing together when I walk and my legs are super-skinny (or were for that matter). I seriously have no control over my Shreddies and sunflower seed intake. And it certainly shows.

The last few days I've been reading other blogs and boy, do us addicts ever have a lot in common. Holy. I am determined to avoid all other drugs but what "normal, non-addicted" people don't realize is that there's always that devil on your shoulder telling you to try it "one more time", to "reward" yourself for doing so well, to "prove" to yourself that it wasn't that fabulous after all. All sorts of rationalizations to convince yourself to get into another state of mind. Luckily, I try and focus on the headaches I used to get from the coke, the bitterness that used to drip down my throat, and the waste of money that could have gone to better things. I don't think I should go off of the Clonazepam because even if the effect is a placebo, it seems to help me overcome the cravings. My opiate cravings are nil, still by the way, thank God.

I am going to my sister's this Saturday to spend the night since my mom is having a dinner party. The last thing I want to do is be with my mom and a bunch of her judgemental friends brag about their "overachieving" children and there's me, little pathetic old me. I'll get a chance to spend some time with my niece whom I adore but I will need to get back ASAP because something always goes wrong there and I end up being the scapegoat. I mean my nephew ends up stealing my fake ponytail hairpiece (an expensive, Rachel Welch one, no less) and a beautiful black leather ring from Israel and I get called "paranoid" of all things. The last time I was there he erased ten hour's worth of writing on the computer and I get called incompetent PLUS the kid threatens to shoot me as soon as he ca get his hands on a gun (he's 14 so I'd better stear clear!). Also, there's always tension and fights there and whenever I make suggestions like"uh, there's no food or milk should we go to the supermarket", my sister accuses me of being selfish and immature because I never "catch on"" that her and her husband are having "problems". First of all, I'm not psychic and secondly, there's still no fucking food in the house! And besides that, they're ALWAYS fighting anyways, so what else is fucking new? Sheesh. It's like being a kid all over again, except there's nothing to eat!

I think I'll go and have another bowl of Shreddies and from now on, NO MORE SHREDDIES!!!! I seriously look pregnant.

Cinderella

I have been having a TERRIBLE time with my moods and haven't felt like writing at all but I must force myself because I know that it makes me feel much better. I'm just so confused about my future and scared about what the outcome will be. I need some sort of indication that something positive will happen because right now I feel STUCK and helpless, the way I always have and it's getting old,VERY old.

I've decided to do some research into clothing and design and fabrics so that should keep my brain entertained and off of other things that bring me down. I'm just so angry and so afraid of having the whole situation with my solely on my shoulders, no one wants to help, no one gives a shit. Meanwhile, I'm dying a little more each day. I try to keep my strength up and I scared that I'm running out of stength.

I've been talking to "D" these last few weeks. The bond I feel between us is amazing but we're taking it slow right now--the last thing I need is another hassle in my life, another fucking mistake to bring me down even further in my already pathetic life.

I am looking forward to my "make-over" at the end of the month. I'm starting to do some defuzzing today because, I've really allowed myself to become wolf-like! I want to start feeling like a woman again, attractive and feminine, soft. My sister has also promised to sell me the top-of-the-line straightening iron called the Sedu because she's getting a newer version. It's funny, actually pathetic, that the last curling iron I had I traded it for a flap of coke, and junky coke at that.

My nephew is over right now and for me, I cannot stress how therapeutic it is to be with children and animals when one is going through a hard time. I've even heard in The States there's a jail where they give hardened criminals puppies to nurse back to health and this gives them a chance to bond and to be able to feel empathy which does wonders for their mental health. I think that it's a brilliant idea towards rehabilitation and it was miraculous to see murderers fight to keep back their tears when the animals are sent back again.

My sister brought me back some heavy-duty razors so I'm really looking forward to deep, comfortable stubble-free sleep. I have also made a dentist's appointment at the end of the month, hopefully my teeth are salvageable. At least they're still there!

Mom is Just a Three Letter Word

First time since I've been on methadone that I woke up at 4am with the worst migraine in the world!!! Had an awful fight with my mother yesterday over the most idiotic thing: she was talking to this lady on the phone that she had bumped into church the day before and the lady began pumping her for information about my sisters and I (as most Greek woman do or perhaps all, I really don't know). So, Mother gets off the phone and informs me that I need to get a job right away and how this lady's son was interested in me before I got married and how I didn't "go for it" and how embarassed she when people bring me up, etc. Well, call me weak, call me what you want but my self-esteem shattered right before my very eyes!! How awful for me to have to endure this woman's attitude. She doesn't care about anything but her "image" and how I've spoiled it for her. Oh well, that's fucking tough and not my problem. I told her not to take her insecurities out on me and I went even further and advised her to make up an occupation for me. Tell her friends that I'm a nurse or something, they'll never know and it would take the pressure off of her. I've totally lost respect for her. Isn't a mother suppossed to protect their children at all costs???!!! It's really hard for me to go back now. My trust in her is nil. Yes, she did help me this winter but what good is that? I've had to walk on eggshells the entire time. And this woman has got heaps and heaps of hostility inside of her. How can I not let it get to me?

Shine

Spoke with my best friend first thing in the morning and I must say, the girl is a gem. I would be EMPTY without her support, the girl has been so good to me, even when I have gone through periods of just wanting to be alone. Let's just say that she doesn't make me feel like a freak, the way my mom or other people do and I really need that or I would not be able to go through this process. I just wish I could make her understand about my issues surrounding employment and my need to express myself through creative avenues. I just cannot stand "normal" jobs. I feel like I will surely go crazy if I ever get one again. I would much rather be on disability FOREVER and live in a dive. It drives me crazy when I go to Shopper's or wherever and they ask me for additional information, it's so repetitive. I mean I worked at the Bay once too and I had to try to convince people to sign up for credit cards and ask them for their "points" cards and all that kind of fucking bullshit that drains the creativity from one's brains. It's simply companies desperately attempting to make even more money from their customers while they should instead concentrate on hiring bright people instead of dimwits who don't have a clue about customer service or company culture. They just want "parrots" and "sheep" who can become their slaves/robots, to erase everyone's personality and individuality. They even fucking tell you how to style your hair!!!! I have never experienced dealing with so many clueless people which made me wonder how they are able to feed themselves on a daily basis. No wonder there is so much fraud going on in companies, I can't imagine these fools who run companies or own businesses making money the right way: great customer service, treating their employees properly, and actually being blessed with a teeny bit of business acumen or perhaps reading up on it or observing and learning from others. Too much ego and too little brains. It just makes me want to branch out on my own even more and the less people I have to deal with, the better because I really want to deal with those I can learn something from. That's what it is: I need to be constantly learning and my brain needs constant stimulation. Hopefully, I can entertain others with my writing or I can make them feel better if they are going through the same things that I am.

I set up my anti-virus up today (yes, I consider that an accomplishment since I am still kind of intimidated by computers) and I am still struggling with getting my facebook set up so that I can send my little guy messages every day instead of stalking him through the phone.

It's a beautiful Sunday afternoon but I refuse to go out in public until I am presentable. This may sound silly to most but looking good is part of my identity, not a huge one any more but it still provides me with a sort of armor to deal with the world. If I can only get my intellectual abilities organized then there is nothing that can stop me!!!! I really think that I can do it.

I think back to when I was 19 and I didn't want to face myself and what I needed to do for my future and it was just easier to get all dolled up and go drinking and dancing with my girls. Male attention was all I needed to feel whole and the fact that time was on my side kept me patient to a certain degree. But whenever the question of what I would like to do came creeping up into my brain, I would pop a pill and all doubts and insecurities would go away and turning on the TV and opening up a freshly purchased magazine or book would placate me and I would escape into my own little world where nothing mattered. Mom could rant and rave for hours on end, insulting me and damning the day that I was born but I couldn't hear her over the sounds of blissful waves the pills provided me with. It was a viscious cycle which included codeine, sleeping pills, anti-anxiety wafers put under the tongue for maximum and lightning-quick absorption. I lost my sex drive so going out and flirting didn't excite me in the least and frankly, I found the bar scene rather boring. My friends worried about me, worried that I would look back and not have enough memories of being young but I much prefered the warm blanket the opiates wrapped me in, reaasuring me that everything with the world was well.

Sometimes, I would make an honest effort to quit but dope sickness is not for the meek. It would begin with terrible aches throughout my legs and then the dull pain would travel throughout all of my joints. But before I could diagnose myself as having arthritis, I would stay up all night kicking (hence the phrase "kicking the habit") and drenched in sweat, I already knew it was too late and that I would need to get to a drugstore fast. A handful of over the counter codeine tablets mixed with gravol would certainly bring back to normal. When I would feel that oh so subtle warmth pass throughout my entire body, I knew that I would be set for the next four or five hours.

Going to the doctor was an event for me. I treated going to walk-in clinics the way others would treat going on a picnic. Exciting but tiring. It was an all day event and it knocked the wind out of me because for one, I'm a shitty actress and secondly, I have a conscience. I was so excited to what I would be prescribed. Tylenol#3's were the easiest to get but good stuff like Valium needed more of a production: I needed to come up with a story to validate "extreme anxiety and nightmares" and to also draw out sympathy from the doctor. I felt so much shame when I once told a doctor that I was sexually assaulted, I definitely did not treat these little ventures as something to be proud of but I knew that Valium mixed with a bit of alcohol would turn me into the life of the party that night or I'd even screw the going out and just float through life for the next few days. Many times I would feel like I couldn't breathe until I got those pills down my throat. I felt helpless, I felt ashamed, I felt invigorated, my need for more insatiable. So many emotions at once with the goal being to erase every single one of them. Feeling was for wimps, not for cool girls like me. Sure, I was fucked up but who wasn't? I'd figure it out, I had time.

So what did I learn through desentizing myself all these years that I can pass on to others? Trust me, I am not the ultimate authority on recovery but I think that we can all learn things from each other. What I have learned is to find a passion, something that will get those" feel-good" chemicals in your brain moving so that you won't need to go elsewhere for a "fix". For the most part I believe that those of us who abuse drugs have some sort of emotional issues left over from childhood so getting into some sort of counselling would benefit. I know that it has done wonders for me. The first time I told a counsellor how I felt and felt a flicker of empathy in her eyes and the way she nodded her head to indicate understanding, my whole life changed. It was as if a miracle had occured right before my very eyes! Before that I had always felt like a freak but if you take a chance and share your insecurities with a trained professional, great things can happen to your life. For those who need to socialize more and want to stay away from people who are "using" joining an AA or NA group and grabbing yourself a sponsor is a suggestion. Many friendships have been forged this way and getting together with people who share common goals is beneficial . Also, the more sober time you have, the more you can extend your helping hand to others which is very self confidence boosting. A little less "me,me,me" can do wonders for the soul.

Personally, I just want to keep on writing, branch out into other areas of writing, and just keep myself barricaded in my room for awhile. I've never been much of a follower, to my detriment at times, but I really need this time to become strong and to become the person and mom, and friend, and sister that I have always wanted to be. Everyone's recovery is different but as human beings we all want and need to SHINE........................................

Birds, Children, and Patios

Lovely to wake up to the birds chirping, HEAVEN!!!!! Yesterday I went to see my methadone doc and I am not going to see her as much because I'm right on track: I'll be going to the pharmacy once a week to obtain my juice for the week, seeing a counsellor at least a few times a month, and staying clean and creative. I envision myself on a patio somewhere writing, with the sun hugging me and keeping my creativity flowing, in a way that only the sun can do. I'm so excited about summer, maybe, just maybe I can really make things happen this time.

My goals this weekend are easy: I want to send my son the Easter things that I bought for him, get a facebook account started so that I can write to him every day, and to begin writing about my experiences at the strip club where I worked last year. Something with a little bit more humor than my blog--how humorous can writing about staying clean really be?! I am also thinking about starting another blog or perhaps an ebay project that relates to fashion and beauty and all of that shallow stuff that makes being a girl SO MUCH FUN!!! I also wouldn't mind recruiting my sisters as models to put my make-up skills to use--God, that would be so much fun. ANTYHING is possible with methadone, an imagination just ITCHING to express itself, and a computer. I also have to remember to spend some time grooming this weekend. I'm beginning to look like Sasquatch's kid sister (or brother!). It'll be refreshing to go out in public again and having the guys give me the "once-over". Putting vanity aside has been interesting but the last thing you want to think about while recovering and attempting to strengthen your mental and physical self is vanity.

I love writing with my bedroom window open, hearing the children laugh and squeal and splash around in their little pools. How I wish I could fall and bang my head on a corner REAL HARD and wake up and be seven years old again (problems=0). Even better what about twelve or thirteen when everything is so new and exciting and the world is such a fascinating place!! Oh, what I wouldn't give to go with my friends to 7-11 and be whistled at by the boys that you will be going to high school with in the Fall? Who on Earth would have guessed that those same boys would become your admirers and that you would end up having a relationship with one of them that would last for years? Oh my I get butterflies in my stomach thinking about the mysteries of teenagehood, of high school. Where the hell are those mysteries now? Are there any to figure out, to explore? Dear readers, I will keep you posted, if you keep me posted on yours. One thing I have figured out though: I NEVER want to get "old" and by that I mean I never want to stop creating, I never want to become bored of life. I consider myself super-lucky because through my writing I can keep my life fresh by writing about others' lives, by becoming any character I want to be, and by exploring. It's going to be an interesting summer, I have this feeling.....................

Choose Life

Woke up from the deepest slumber, it's like I gave up on life yesterday and fell into my bed for salvation. But did I wake up any better? No, I woke up crying with my stupid hair all matted. I can't STAND looking at myself in the mirror but then in the midst of my nervous breakdown, I can't help but giggle because things cannot get any worse. I just have to give my head a shake, keep writing, keep developing my relationship with my son, and something should come up in terms of creative development and cash. And I'm also FED UP with the way I've allowed myself to become physically. I mean, it's easily fixable because I think I've got the raw goods some where there but I shouldn't take it for granted as my ponytail is becoming thinner and coarser by the day. If I allow my neglect to go on, surely I'll end up with a bald spot at the back of my head. If my hair could talk it would scream for me to slather loads of deep conditioner and hot olive oil on it. I LOVE the way my scalps feels all healthy and tingly whenever I give it one of my "treatments" and the same goes for my skin, which I've forgotten about too. If I were ever trapped on a desert island at least now I know what I would look like and it's bad, but not as bad as I thought it would be. I'm actually looking forward to the day where my hair is blond and healthy (or at least gives the impression of being through a good blow-out) and I start wearing some make-up. I have missed my "glamorous" self but in the midst of avoiding all mirrors, toothbrushes, and hairdressers, I have found myself through my writing and this has given me hope and strength. Perhaps, it's my turn to shine, I know I keep saying this and what does it really mean? I mean, as "God's children" aren't we all special in our own way, what is it that we must prove to ourselves and to others in order to be accepted by society and our own families?


Because I am not popping pills to ease or optimally to erase my insecurities these questions keep coming up, questions that I have no answers to. But do I? I mean, if I think about it for a second, I am happiest when I am writing (besides being with my son which goes without saying, obviously) and to be able to make a living out of this would be sheer heaven. And I don't mean only the blog. I have ideas for many other avenues. Perhaps that is what those of us who are in recovery need, a replacement for the pill, powder, needle,etc. We need something productive and resourceful to get the brain chemicals up there moving and filling our hearts with joy, healthy joy that leads to having a productive life, not the type that leads to going insane or dying. Oh, the fine line. When will I ever figure it out?

Show Me the Money

Got up early and mom drove me to the drugstore to gulp down my methadone. It's so gorgeous out today but I still insist on hibernating because I feel like an ugly, fat mess. Sort of pathetic insulting myself this way but oh well, that's precisely how I view myself. Tomorrow I have an appointment to see my methadone doctor and I'm really looking forward to it because she makes me feel so motivated and her positive thinking really rubs off on me. When I relay my concerns to her she makes me feel normal, not like some sort of freak. Of course I'm going to be scared (actually terrified is a better word) about my future. My nightmare is to be stuck doing yet another "joe job", stuck and positively dreading to wake up in the morning. But who says I have to? My best friend doesn't understand me and she seems to think that I'm acting like a spoiled brat but only I know what I want or don't want. I just don't know how some people do it. My friend, for example, has been working at the deli department at Safeway for decades and I'm assuming that's where she's planning on staying until she retires. I guess she thinks that I am insulting her because I want something more in my life. I'm fucking done trying to please other people, DONE. I have to figure out my own path or else there's no way I can continue living without drugs.

I think that I am going to start on my other writing project today. How exciting! I mean, I have a lot of free time on my hands and man, do I ever enjoy expressing myself on paper. I so want to be able to connect with others through this medium and at the very least people can enjoy reading my stuff. My dream would be to actually help people who have gone through similar things.

I don't know if it's the anemia or if I'm lazy or perhaps a touch depressed but even showering is a major chore for me these days. My hair is matted and the only way I can wear it is in a ponytail. I avoid taking the elastic out because every time I do another chunk falls off. I also haven't brushed my teeth in awhile and my gums bleed when I do, surely a sign of poor dental hygeine. In a way, I'm rebelling against beauty and the rituals associated with it. You could say I was a slave to them before but I actually enjoyed taking care of myself and then it got to the point of "fuck it, being attractive got me nowhere in life except noticed by the opposite sex so now I don't even want to look in the mirror, so there!" Silly, as personal grooming and hygeine are important but I tend to do things in extremes. Perhaps getting my hair done at the end of the month will motivate me more because I am starting to get the itch to be with people. What I want more than anything, however is to start making money by making the most of my talents and the gifts God has given me. See, this is when things begin to get "sticky". I will attempt to do everything possible to better myself but what if something goes wrong, then what? That's where the true test lies of whether I will go back to drugs again. Truthfully, I am so angry and confused and I just want and need a helping hand. I am sick of waiting for something good to happen in my life, to discover a path where I can be an independent woman and be able to support my son, and to be proud of myself. I just don't think I can handle any more hurt and disapointments. I am so very exhausted and I don't even have the energy to cry any more. If so many shitty things have happened and I've taken full responsibility then why can't one good thing happen where I am just blown away? That's precisely what I need in order to keep going on the right track.

For sure I have many things to be grateful for but why is it cosidered ungrateful and greedy to admit that life has let you down and that it just SUCKS to be me? I'm tired of being patient and waiting for something good to happen. Then why don't I go and get it, you ask? I'm trying, first of all and secondly, why is everyone so scared of admitting that being broke is like virtually not existing but wait of course I'm alive if I wasn't then I wouldn't feel so lost and helpless. Oh, dear God help me find my way PLEASE. I am so tired.

Just Breathe

Woke up way too late which caused me a bit of anxiety, the "you're useless and lazy, and you'll never amount to anything" sort of stress. Luckily, my two nephews came over and I spent the next few hours chasing them around and pinching their chubby bums and giving them lots of kisses which made them squeal in disgust but I just didn't care--they're so irresistable! I talked to my little boy today and he was in the mood for a nice chat so that was sooooo great since I had spent the day before crying from missing him so much. I also talked to his father because I figure that I have to stay on good terms with him because my plan is to eventually get both of them back here.

I spent the rest of the day on the computer catching up on new clothing and make-up trends since I have allowed my interest in all things beauty fall by the wayside. It's a little pathetic, if you ask me, I can't even go anywhere I'm such a bloody mess. I feel like Cinderella stuck in this room planning my future and only a mini make-over away from going out and finding Prince Charming! Oh, how fun the fantasies of youth but a small part of me refuses to grow up fully. Remaining youthful and fresh and producing new ideas is what makes life and I refuse to become old and bitter and tired through life's trials and tribulations. It's just too easy to give up sometimes.

Bedtime is my favorite part of the day because I sleep so soundly and deeply now. I also feel hopeful for the future and I am giving myself lots of time to become strong and healthy once again. I want to build on that strength when it finally becomes reality and not deny my creative forces and turn to self-destructive behaviours again.

Mom tried to zero in on me today and guilt trip me for not being a success and all that other stuff that she expected from me but I took a deep breath and did not retaliate. I have learned that the things you keep to yourself, cutting others slack is what makes us stronger: not buying into the bullshit of others, just smiling and keep moving along, letting them stew in their own juices.

Not having to go to work each day is such a relief for me. I've had to put up with the most immature of personalities, I've had to nod my head in agreement to the most asinine of comments from managers with shit for brains, and I've had to endure the pettiness of female jealousy run amok. I have yet to work somewhere where people are supportive and helpful to one another. I refused each time to stoop down to their level and these experiences taught me the value of becoming my own boss. There's no way I can work with or "below" any more twits.

I would love to work either on my own or with like-minded people who are mature enough to realize their strengths and weaknesses in themselves and others. Some day I would love to write a book about my experiences at work. I've worked at Greek restaurants, I've taught English overseas, I've worked at cosmetics counters, at high-end fashion boutiques, and low-end strip clubs. It has been enlightening, exhausting, and really bad on the nerves but boy, what a great education on the nature of human beings.

Me, Myself, and I

I woke up later than usual today really missing my little man but I couldn't get a hold of him because he is always out playing with his friends. Children in Greece practically live outside in warm weather, breaking only to go home for a meal. I don't have to worry, though because the little town where he lives is safe and everyone in the neighbourhood watches out for one another. His grandparents watch out for him too so that eases my mind because as a mother I cannot stop the worrying. I just hope he's not exposed to his father's antics, those very antics I protected him from for a good seven years.

It's a beautiful Spring day but I can't see myself venturing out because I look like crap and my period is on full force. Eventually, I would love to take my laptop and head out to the neighbourhood Starbucks but I am not ready yet. I've decided to also start writing about my experiences at the strip club because even though I was high most of the time, I perceived my time there as sort of investigative journalism. Having been raised in an area in the city where pretty much everyone was well off, I'd always wondered how the other half lived. I always thought that the tough, gangster type boys would be a lot more passionate and exciting than the polite, vanilla type ones that I had gone to high school with. But exciting, my ass. It seemed that everyone in that damn club was on drugs, and we're not talking pot, we're talking cocaine and oxycontin mixed with lots and lots of alcohol. Also, it seemed that everyone swore endlessly and talked about sex incessantly. Holy crap, my face was always red with embarassment as I would get fed information that I deemed unecessary and deeply personal. Who on earth would admit to being in a porn movie at the age of sixteen in detail?

I feel lazy today and guilty because all's I want to do is lie around, watch TV and feel sorry for myself. But what good would that do? People around me don't understand that I am happiest at home, reading, writing, and enjoying the pleasure of my own company. When I start to get lonely, there's always the phone. I just feel that I haven't grown a thick enough skin to venture out yet but when I do, watch out! I will be wholly prepared to take the world by storm! It's not like I'm asking for anything totally unrealistic, I just want to be able to make a living through writing and to be with my little boy. Writing brings me such joy in my life and the thought of making a career out of beyond excites me.

On Thursday I have an appointment with my doctor at the methadone clinic and I am looking forward to telling her how I've started writing. I don't think I would have been able to do this without her encouragement. Actually, I am so grateful to everyone who has come through for me this winter: my sisters, my mom, my best friend. When I was working at the club, I almost got kicked out because even during my non-working hours I would get tons of calls, prompting the gossips (including the owners) to come to the conclusion that I was dealing drugs. They even thought I had the pizza guy on my payroll as I would order pizza every night. But where are those people who used to call me now? It's funny that, at least in my case, the very people who almost destroyed me, came through for me at the end: my family. Especially my mom. Who knows where I would have ended up? And for this I will be forever grateful.

I often question if it's me who has changed or my mom. I am definitely a lot less combative now whereas before I was hypersensitive and raw to anything and everything my family used to say. I really don't know exactly what it is but I feel more at peace with myself. Being closer to my niece and nephews has greatly improved my life as well and they have also served as a source of therapy since my son is not with me right now. How can someone feel down when there's a little creature staring up at you smiling with their arms outstretched, expecting nothing but love?

Easter Sunday

Stayed home as usual today. Besides the fact that I am still recuperating, I feel so fat and unkempt and am pretty much in hiding. It seems strange that less than a year ago I had a job that depended mainly on my physical appearance. You see, my mother was raised in a village in Greece, poverty-stricken and the only way out was to be born into a family that owned acres and acres of cotton fields or to be a winner of the genetic lottery and be able to snag a wealthy man through your beauty.

Before she began placing such a huge emphasis on my looks, I concentrated on school a lot but nothing compared to the rush I got from my mother finally paying attention to me (as everyone else did for that matter) at the age of fourteen. That kind of attention can screw anyone up because even though I played it up and made the most of my looks, down deep inside I felt like the biggest phoney ever. But oh to be told how pretty you are and to have people stare at you or sneer at you, depending on the sex of the person. This both gave me a sort of balance and sanity but destroyed my self-worth at the same time. And man, did I ever overstay my welcome (Vaseline has done wonders for my skin!) but I didn't know how to acquire personal power in any other way.

This is the first time in my 42 years that I am not concentrating on my appearance but that's not to say that I am not looking forward to the little make-over I have planned for myself later on this month, complete with lightening my hair and cleaning my teeth professionally. But alas, I am giving the inner me the chance to show itself, and hopefully to shine brighter than ever by using my intelligence. I feel that I have so much to give to myself and others and what a pity that I allowed myself to be objectified in such horrible ways, as subtle as they may have been there are so many chips in my soul as a result. I am a human being dammit, don't I fucking deserve to be respected and cherished? No wonder I ended up on a stage holding on to a pole for dear life, too drunk and high to realize the severity of the damage this could have caused me in the long run. I deserve happiness, I deserve to live my life with dignity. I deserve to hold my son in my arms once again and revel in the true joy of it. No one will ever be able to put me down again and be able to make me question my self-worth ever, ever again. I can see right through them now and I will never trust like a child ever again.

My Son, My Life

I truly feel like my whole life has changed ever since I started writing this blog. Even my sleep has gotten less restless and my dreams are alot less dark and confusing. I also have been waking up without that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach and that horrible tension band around my head which makes me feel like my brains are about to explode. I have come to the conclusion that I deserve happiness as much as the next person and I also have the right to live my life the way that I see fit. Writing this blog has completely changed my perspective on things and the "poor me" attitude has vanished. Why can't I write for a living? My worst fear has always been to be "forced" to do a job that I detest until retirement, just like I observed my parents do. To me, that is not living. Of course, I am not so naive that I would ignore the need for a Plan B, something that I can do until the writing thing comes through. Getting punched in the stomach endless times throughout my life has taught me to take nothing for granted.


It's been such a long since I have felt excited about the future. What if this writing thing does go through? What if I am able to become financially independent and in total and complete charge of my life? I would love to be able to provide my son (who is presently living in Greece with his father--more on that later) with a stress-free life and give him whatever he desires. Most importantly, I want to raise my son on my own terms. Being away from him almost destroyed me and I never thought that I would ever come to the point where I didn't see living as a huge burden. Also, it would be fabulous to gain the respect of my family and peers and to leave my "mark" in this world. This feeling that I have feels almost too good to be true, but after so many years of feeling downright crappy I think that I deserve a little bit of optimism in my heart. If I am able to help people through my writing that would be a huge bonus. There would be nothing as gratifying as knowing that I have helped someone beat this terrible thing called addiction. Noone understands the strenuous and constant ups and downs that accompany this affliction but another fellow addict. It would be my pleasure to help somehow and if I am able to accomplish this through my writing, then even better.


Today is Good Friday and I woke up late, to rainy and windy weather. Fortunately, I absolutely ADORE this kind of weather, as long as it doesn't appear often. I find it inspiring and romantic and it appeals to the dreamy side of me. Weather like this makes me want to crawl into my bed, under my fluffy comforter and read and watch TV all day. It makes me want to dream, dream, dream. I am finishing reading the harcover "House of Versace" after indulging in the April issue of Harper's Bazaar. I have consumed three bowls of Shreddies sprinkled with lots of sugar and munching on sunflower seeds in between. If I wasn't so vain, I would surely have been obese, for I view food as immensely pleasureable and can certainly understand why for many people it ends up becoming an enormous problem. I mean nothing is better, especially when you're down than a spongy, chocolately cupcake with a creamy topping. Yum.


Another Easter spent without my little guy. Oh how I suffer but the way things are going for me right now, I feel hopeful. I am suffering from a slight case of agoraphobia at the moment and actually seeing mothers out with their children has the potential of sending me into quite the crying fit but I must be strong. Nothing can ever make up for the last few years of being without my little boy, but I am sure that we will be together soon. For now, the telephone must suffice and the little gifts that I send him. I am also thinking about setting up a facebook account and only having him as a "friend" (I am not really a fan of the facebook community but I'm not exactly against it either) but I'm scared that I'll end up fighting with his friends if they write anything negative to him. Relax, honey, these are only ten year olds! The last time I saw my son was two years ago when I went to Greece and witnessed him bang his little head against a table because he got in the middle of a scrap with his grandparents and his drunken father. I packed up all of our things and took off to Athens and I planned to take him out of the country but things didn't turn out that way. It was the single most devastating event in my life. That was when my drug use spiralled out of control and I ended up loathing myself. And self-loathing and drugs do not mix too well together. Add to that my father being diagnosed with leukemia and me having access to the most powerful opiates in medicine: Fentanyl patches, hydromorphone, and an endless supply of refills. I OD'ed a few times and I was well on my way to going full-blown crazy. The ironic thing was that everything had stopped working, I wasn't getting high anymore. My pain was so strong that I had come to the conclusion that only death could put an and to all of this. Plus NOONE was there for me as I brought my family shame after ending an abusive marriage. How I survived that period, I'll never know.


During that period, I decided to get help for a drug problem that started at 19 when I was prescribed codeine for excruciating migraines and I ended up on a stage stripping to earn coke money twenty years later. Luckily, that stint only lasted two weeks. Anyways, for the last few years I had started educating myself on drug addiction and had tried detox and rehab enough times to realize that methadone wouldn't hurt. Going through withdrawal for up to a year seemed impossible to me--the insomnia, the mood swings, the cravings. What choice did I have anyway? The only thing that stopped me from jumping off a bridge was that I had a little boy that I loved beyond belief, a little boy who needed a mommy. So far, so good.

Just One Last Time

Yesterday my sister came to pick me up and we headed down to the methadone clinic for my weekly urine test. I've aquired five days worth of carries so far, no small feat for someone with such a long history of drug use. I hadn't been out for awhile and the spring air against my skin was a much needed comfort, actually feeling it not short of a miracle. It was nice to see the nurses again. It always amazes me how quickly and easily I bond with people especially after being in hibernation for so long, especially after having had come face to face with the ugly nature of human behaviour in the last few years. I am not the shyest of people and I could tell that others respond to me positively. I am not fooled by their laughter, however, not for even a second for I have learned not to trust. For a moment I feel normal and not like some sort of misfit trying to navigate through life with the least amount of discomfort possible. But discomfort is putting it mildly: I truly think that there are some of us that are too sensitive to deal with the world, whether this comes from childhood trauma or observing and ultimately refusing to deal with the cruelties of life or a combination of a number of things. I've asked myself a number of times before who wouldn't take drugs to escape if only for awhile? Attempting to make sense of everything is truly a taxing task, especially if you don't have the proper emotional "equipment" to deal with life's ups and downs.


After finishing up at the clinic, my sister drove me back home and I fell asleep at around 4:30 with a pounding headache. I never thought in a million years that I would deal with a migraine by taking a nap, no painkillers involved. Then again, any excuse to pop pills would have done back then, never mind a valid reason. I don't know if this is due to my anemia or the fact that I am allowing myself to rest after experiencing a number of traumatic events these past few years but I find that for every day that I have an energetic, productive day, I need two days to pretty much sleep. I do not allow myself to feel guilty, especially since I've talked to my doctor about this and finding out that this is normal for a person who is recovering plus getting used to the methadone. For once--and this has been nothing short of a miracle--my mother is being understanding and supportive. I guess it had to come to me almost dying for her to finally step up, and step up she did. I will forever be grateful for her being there for me and I forgive her for everything. I just want to feel free and light and go on with my life and hopefully live up to my potential.


I rarely get any cravings these days and the methadone seems to be working wonders with my sleep and keeping my moods stable. I was under the impression that time would go by slowly without drugs but the opposite seems to be true. Ocassionally, I wonder how much fun it would be to snort a line or two while I write on the computer or watch TV, but then I think about the bitterness dripping down my throat, the pounding of my heart which at times resembled panic and the inevitable insomnia for which I would need a downer. The more drugs you do, the more you need. What comes up must come down. The phone calls, the chasing, the guilt, the rush, having to scrounge money together, running out, and then having to do it all over again. Personally, I am a lazy addict that's why it worked so well for me to work at a strip club: the tips were there, the dealers feet away, my room upstairs ready for me to crash. There was no going to dangerous neighbourhoods, hustling with strangers, putting myself in harm's way even more. Being an addict is full time work, especially when you cross over to the hard stuff. I would need to go "searching" for a dealer, I would need cash. The whole viscious cycle would start all over again and the end result would be the same, but much worse this time. It always gets worse. Why would I want to end up helpless and sick, weak from vomitting, regretful about the past, confused about the present, and having to rethink the future ALL OVER AGAIN? But that's what addicts are: gluttons for punishment just to experience that perfect moment of being far, far away in a world where you don't hurt, in a land where anything is possible and your dreams are not so far beyond your reach.


A few times, it had passed through my mind to sneak a swig from the next day's methadone drink, which I keep in my bedroom, always within reach along with the other bottles filled with methadone and Tang and my prescription of Clonazepam from which I am slowly weaning under the doctor's supervision. Fortunately, the urge leaves me quickly and I am wise and experienced enough to know that one swig would surely lead to another the next time until one day I would be left with nothing but withdrawal and endless prayers for the next day to arrive quickly so that I could go to the drugstore to pick up my drinks. No matter how lonely I feel on a Saturday night, I resist. I even consider putting my carries in the fridge, farther away from reach but I know damn well that if I wanted to do it, nothing would stop me.

Regression

Every day seems to be the same: I wake up in my childhood bed after a night of strange dreams and then I spend the rest of the day watching TV , playing around on the computer, and talking on the phone. I try to avoid going out because I just would rather hide from the world and I look forward for evening to come so that I can go back to sleep and I don't have to think about anything. I am thankful that at least I could sleep through the night and don't have to wake up and pop whatever pills I happen to have on me. Even back then my sleep was short but at least it was deep, like I had died for a bit, forever never having to face the world again. I am such a dreamer at heart and nothing could have prepared me for the realities of life. I blame others for fucking me up but an important part of recovery is looking at how you've contributed to your own demise which for someone as stubborn as me is tough because to admit this is to have to take action and work through all the wreckage and somehow figure out a way to change. And that is terrifying because I would much rather crawl into bed, anemic and exhausted, slightly woozy after taking my methadone and fall in and out of sweet consciousness all day, breaking only to check out what is going on in the celebrity world of Perez Hilton.


But alas, there comes a time where the iron pills have finally kicked in and your energy is back, the methadone is working to stave off your opiate and benzo cravings and your mind is able to put your thoughts into some sort of order. This is when it gets scary: I'm 42 years old, living with my mom in the suburbs and undergoing methadone maintenance treatment. Seems surreal that only six months ago I was in rehab. Two weeks prior to graduation I took off with a guy there. I was 40 but looked younger than most 29 year olds and certainly played it up. I caused problems in the rehab by flirting and doing what I knew best: feeding my ego by attracting males. Everything fell apart two weeks later when the guy I was with robbed a Domo to feed his crack addiction and I was left in a scummy hotel without protection, my disability money already spent. So I got a job in a strip club and spent the next five months feeding my fragile ego, popping pills and and acquiring a 150 dollar a day cocaine habit. I was the classiest waitress there and refused from the beginning to do private shows in the back, even though I absolutely adored to be asked.


The owners put me on the payroll because I refused to sell private dances and I decided to take a room there as well. The room they rented me used to be where they stayed. It featured a mini-fridge and plush carpeting. The bed was huge with a luxurious mattress and above it was a black and white framed poster of Marilyn Moroe. I secretly called it my little call girl room. The owners were strange from the start. They also had a habit of getting pissed out of their faces and spying on the staff through cameras they had at home but at least they got to observe my work ethic first hand.


But it wasn't by accident that I got a job there. My fragile ego coupled with my unconscious desire to have easy access to drugs was certainly at work. Gone were the days where over the counter codeine mixed with benzos and gravol would cloak me in a soft blanket of sweet oblivion. No, I needed something more potent now and the money to buy it and what better place than a strip club?


I got hired on the spot and started making a load of cash, no hustling involved. My seduction was quiet, sexuality brimming barely below the surface. I was old enough to know exactly what I was doing and I knew that the guys loved it: hard-to-get but flirty, I'd spoil them with quick service, a touch on the shoulder, and leaning in a bit too close when putting their drinks down. I knew that men loved sweet smelling perfume as much as females found it offensive. I doused myself in marshmallow scented body spray every hour on the hour. The fact that I was thin with boobs, had smooth, young skin and blonde hair didn't hurt either. I looked different than the rest of the girls with my almost black eyes and Meditteranean lips, far from the white trash variety of girls the guys were used to at the club. I hid my desperation expertly as it gave me an edge on the other girls who mistakenly thought that acting like a porn star is attractive. I figured that at 41 this was going to be my last hurrah, the last time I would be able to compete with the younger girls and boy did I ever give them a run for their money: there is nothing more gratifying for a needy ego than having a twenty year old hating you because a customer is paying more attention to me than her.


But alas, that bubble had to burst, as all things without any substance do. Soon, I was spending all of my tips on coke. Soon, once I got one line up my nose, my addictive brain took over and I needed more and more. I would be running up and down in my room or into the public bathroom instead of doing my job. If it looked like I wasn't going home without any tips (or not even making my float money in order to pay back the bar at the end of the night) I would attempt to find a drunk and high guy (not the most difficult of tasks in there) and ask him for "some". Most would happily oblige. But I knew I couldn't go back a second time, I didn't want to obligate myself to anyone . Soon, I got the rep as being just another "cokehead" at the bar and inevitably, I got fired.

Health Sciences Detox

"I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being." (source unknown)


After having spent two weeks in detox, I found the above quote scribbled on a piece of paper in one of my bags when I got home. Of course, I broke out in tears because I couldn't believe that someone cared enough to write this and slip it into my bag. I kinda had an idea who it was but that was not the point. I felt deeply touched and vowed to look at it every morning when I awoke. Why? To remind myself that I exist, that I am actually human because many times I have this deep sense of depersonalization, that I am just not "there" and that is when I have to look in the mirror and peer at my reflection, to make certain that I do, indeed share space with every one else in the universe and that we all breathe the same air. I reckon that after being told so many times in your life that you are useless, a burden, a dirty creature that doesn't deserve to live, you start to wonder if you are actually visible, even to yourself. You begin to question your very existence, your sanity.


I love going to the hospital to detox. I adore the welcoming little sections with curtains for doors, like little cocoons ready to accept those of us who have felt rejection one too many times elsewhere. I love the way the nurses never refuse requests for more meds (unless, of course, you are over the limit and in danger of ODing), meds that will more than ensure a good night's sleep and a comfortably numb day. I like all the different people who happen to share the same disease and their willingness to share their stories for anyone who is interested in listening. I like the way the staff structures our days, little mini-breaks from the routine of sleeping, eating (blech!), and med dosing. AA or crocheting anyone? What about some finger painting? I feel so pampered when the nurse asks me to come over to the nurse's station to have my blood pressure taken and my pupils checked in order to determine how well I am doing. The best is when the doctor comes to visit you personally first thing in the morning and devotes some time to you. I get excited when they increase your dose of benzos and methadone when you convince them that you are suffering more than you really are. Yes, drug withdrawal is a bitch but succeeding in convincing a doctor to overmedicate you for the first few days makes things so much better. What do you expect from an addict,anyway, presumably one who has crashed and and is forced to get off the rollercoaster or die--what's a few more days of floating on a cloud?


Detox always makes me feel like a kid in summer camp with everyone sharing and trying to outdo one another with their "war stories" and playing Scrabble until bedtime. I wish I could stay forever but inevitably the day comes when you are drinking your no-name peach juice and asking the nurses for something to "take away the nausea" and you are called into the doctor's office, told how great you've done and that it's time to go in a few days. Go where? It's such a scary world out there but you vow that things will turn out differently this time: you'll find a job you really like, you'll find the perfect boyfriend. Never again will you come across people who try to drag you down and if you do, you will never allow them to succeed. The short time between detox and going home is a time of hope, hope that this will be the last time that you'll ever have to start all over again.