msjessica's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- but drinking cough syrup when you didn't have a cough is ironic, because in reality you're sicker than you thought this title. i've seen that quote on tumblr some time in the past, i don't exactly remember it, but it shows that i've 'hearted' it before, and the words are not completely foreign to me. - i guess just over a month now, i've been taking this "medicine", daily, not the way it is intended to be took. it is not making the thing better that it is intended to fix, if anything it's feeding it and making it worse. yesterday had a few low moments. left a friend in the middle of the city to jump on a tram and catch a chemist that i know sells fits before it closes, so i can have a shot before we go in to see a movie. made us late for the movie. when i finally got to a bathroom, with my precious fucking needles (honestly the first time i haven't had at least one in my bag in quite a while - i had all the other utensils), i didn't even have anything on me to take. all my logic to check, even all of my remembering that i PURPOSEFULLY had not brought anything with me to work, had had a dose in the morning before i left the house and thought that should be enough for the day, just vanished. the thought entered my head and from then until i was sitting on the floor of a disabled bathroom, with the entire contents of my wallet spilled on the ground, rifling through all those cards and receipts and at least 8 empty packets, scrounging through them, while my dutiful and beautiful friend (im)patiently waits outside, while all at once i am not at all unaware of how fucking sad and desperate this scene is but almost unaware of how i got here, all of that planning and sense from before just gets lost in mad, feverish need. i thought just once in the morning was enough. it's not. what was once a day is becoming twice, today it is three times. i am lowering the individual dose, so i tell myself thats why. what was just after work became around lunch time, in the toilets, then became as soon as i get there, then became as soon as i woke up. and the rest. i triumphed about not buying smack for a month but i've been sticking a needle in my arm at least once a day this whole time and in a way it feels better but i know it's really not. i was starting to think i could ween off, but then my money got stable again and so again, without even really putting up a fight (i do fight i think, a little, in silence to myself, i start to and then i wonder what for, remember that even for all it's potential horrors, this IS medicine, and this is me in recovery from myself. this is respite. and then i just go quiet again. and i know that all of that is equal parts lies to equal parts truth and how can i argue with that.) without even really putting up a fight, i went and got on. and of course it felt fucking amazing. of course it was great. of course i hardly even fucking remember it because thats what it's like but i didn't feel a thing so that's got to be good right? equal parts lies, to equal parts truth. living with amnesia is better than what i was living before. that is my truth, that is the truth that i try to ignore i tell myself but, i know that it's there. and i know it's a lie. or at least, i know it's only true for a time, is only a temporary measure, and that everything from before is like whats happening under my skin right now, the bruising that doesn't get so bad anymore, the abscesses that have not shrunk or dissipated, but retreated out of touch. this medicine is not a cure, it's a cover-all, it is hollywood worthy concealer. it is photoshop. - the other thing that happened is i went to the doctor, and turns out i am actually sick. not in a big way, not a big deal, it is easy treated. but the treatment is a strong anti-biotic that you absolutely can not mix alcohol with. has a similar effect to 'antabuse' she said, which someone else has said to me is 'something you can give to your worst boozehound enemy when you want to do them in'. i started to cry. out of nowhere. i told her i'm sorry, i can't take that. it is not physically possible for me to do that at the moment. which you know is pretty sad. - a few years ago, when i was at a peak of sorts, in terms of career focused, fiercely independent, driven, absolutely certain that i had this bright and amazing future ahead of me, i made all these goals, things i planned on achieving by my 28th birthday. i am now 28 years and 1 month old and i couldn't be further from the things i wanted for myself than i would have been able to comprehend when i wrote those things down, when i meditated on them, when i visualised them, when i walked through them, looked for the minutiae, convinced that would be enough to get me there. wanting it. planning for the future is futile, is fucking impossible, when you simply cannot front up to the present. i guess i've known that now for a while which is why i've basically stopped trying. i have not lost this fight, my fight, not by any means. and i don't believe that i will (but god, in light of what i just wrote, what the fuck good does believing do). there is a battle looming ahead of me though and i can't make out what i need to do. if it can be small steps or if it needs to be giant leaps. i have tried both, and just keep getting deeper in. not here for answers or battle plan today, just making note of the state of affairs. 9:32 p.m. - 2014-12-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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