Tuesday, January 18, 2011

My life in Recovery

Le Sigh.... day one.

In my new place out here in Custer, WA.

Only mere exits from my beloved Bellingham, but it feels endless miles away right now. I started crying into the food I was cooking (yes I actually got to cook, REAL food out here, that's a bonus), as I listened to my friend playing his saxophone over my cell, wistfully wishing to be in the parkade on Railroad Ave, downtown Bham. Wanting to be in the concrete there that picks his notes up and carries them up into the ears of so many lucky 'Hamsters, and it hit me tonight I think that I am all the way out here. I am 25, I am just shy of 90 days clean from heroin, and I have made a complete mockery of this lifetime. I don't know how I even got here, really. Surely heroin must be what comes to your mind as you read this, but alas, I hate to admit it it went south long before then.
My roomates here are plenty.... one has a huge swastika tattoo, former meth addict- surprise surprise... my bunkmate is a recovering.. who knows, Ron is amazing, he gave me a shit ton of food, so I made ranch garlic parmesan chicken with green beans and sweet potato casserole, along with cranberries (my own personal semi-thanksgiving it would seem), the others, well, nothing to report on that yet.

A few long-time-known "realizations" re-realized earlier by me tonight:

I love everyone I surround myself with way more than I probably should, and it all comes out of me, pouring out of me, too intense, too unstructured, too ramped and intrusive, love everywhere for anyone who will give me a sideways glance, and then there's none for me when I sit alone at night, hating who I am.
My life in theory, should be great. I surround myself with artists, musicians, christians, athiests, aficionados, purveyors, brilliant minds, stupid-yet-funny street kids, philosophers (in their own right), amazing loving, eccentricities of people.... i am just little trickles of these things, for I leech and copy and contort, but have never given myself enough credit or self-respect to stand up and BE one of these things in its' entirety.

I try to suck up their energy, sopping it up as you would the last of your eggs benedict with the last bite of the bread, but even though they taste great when they hit your tongue, you had to grab one with the other, it wasn't voluntary on the one's behalf, and they were only "1" in one aspect.... you tasted them as that for a mere fleeting second. Does that count for anything....

I talked to the children tonight. Always "I love yous" and "I miss yous" if only they knew I hear it and feel completely undeserving of it. God please help me find myself in this new place.

Another version of I-love-you-and-you're-scared-of-it happened to me today.
"I thought he was a man, but he was just a little boy. Hunger hurts, and I want him, so bad oh it kills- cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up, I got to fold cause these hands are too shaky to hold, hunger hurts, but starvin works, when it cost too much to love" - Paper Bag, F.A.
What am I to do, huh.


  1. If you wrote a novel, I would read it while I curled in a chair or drank tea on my porch. I would read it and weep for a woman who hurts so deeply, whom I love so much, and am afraid to reach for.

  2. Hey. I just found you back, and damn, I hope I get to read more. I love your writing.