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.