8.5

I’ve lost all hope a thousand times before 

But with every fall, it’s a little more

No one knows just how deep these hooks go

But I do

I don’t know how to break these chains

Because I’ve tried and prayed everything

I am on my way down to the grave

So
God forgive me, for all that I am

And teach me, to be more than human

Cuz I am living at the end of my life

And I know that I am going to die
Was it always meant to be this way

I have wondered every single day

I tried so hard to right my mistakes

But I never thought that I’d pay

A price so high

With my life
I know I can’t break these chains

Tried a thousand times, there is no way

I’m on my way down to the grave 

I fought the war and washed the blood away each day

Just to find that there was no other way

You are the only one who knows my pain

So
God deliver me, from all that I all

And relieve me from being human

Cuz I am living in my last days

And without a miracle

I will fade away
I’m sorry that I would throw my life away

But all I want to find anymore is an escape

Never thought it could get so bad

That all I want is to forfeit all I have

Just know with this breath now

You’re not the only one that I’ve let down
God forgive me, for all that I am

And teach me, to be more than human

Cuz I am living the end of my life

And I know that I am going to die. 

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7.27 Free Write

Thousands of pages and they don’t say a thing

Just documented ages that never end in anything

All having gotten so far away from everything

That it doesn’t matter anymore what tomorrow brings

I’d throw it all away

Just to never have to wake and face another day

For so terribly much Nothing 

This is a war with no victor

No matter what I do

I’m the only one who’ll lose

A hundred pills and a steel self-will

You can try to tear apart every part before you kill

But in the end, I know I never will

We’re all working through our hells up this useless hill

Getting steeper still with every season

And I’m getting weaker because there’s no reason

To keep breathing just to suffer

Keep needing for another

Day that 

I throw it all away anyway

Just to make it through another day

I sacrifice all my flesh and vein

But I’d cut them all away

Just to get out of another day

I guess this is the way that I disappear

To get out of a play that I can’t see clear

But I don’t care 

For every bone I break

I may make it another inch

But stop and take a breath for just a fucking minute

And you lose all of it

So I would quit

Cuz I’m about to snap

Do something stupid that I can’t take back

But I can’t step back

Because Im trapped

There are no new words, only different faces

Only misheard in all the same old places

So I throw it all away just to make another day

Feeling alone cuz I can never seem break away or through

From the deepest part of me

The only thing that really seems true. 

P.6 the Red Letters

       One payphone was in a small cutout in the wall halfway down the hallway, and the other right outside the entrance of the day room (which was at the very end of the hall, in the darkest part of that windowless corridor)- so given the constantly pacing residents, neither gave you any privacy or means for a conversation that wasn’t being poorly eavesdropped. I picked up the call on the mid-hallway phone, and shooed someone away, who had come up to me to ask for a cigarette. It was my mother. Usually she stressed me the fuck out, but since being put here I was more desperate for a familiar voice than I ever thought my kind could be in a lifetime. 

        News that there was apparently nothing more I or anyone could legally do to get me out any time soon. I might be able to get a lawyer, but I was still stuck here for God knows how long. It only fanned the burning panic in my brain, because I couldn’t hold it together any longer. I very clearly knew the edge of psychosis and I was teetering again; and this place was about to push me over and I’d be stuck- even further down the crazy fucking rabbit hole and farther away from the dream of ever feeling the light of a new day again.

“Sherice couldn’t do anything at all?”

“Her hands are tied, she had no idea they could keep you for so long. If it makes you feel any better she says she’ll hold a bed for you and ‘gladly take you back.’ That is, if you can convince Dr. Cillian why it’s in your best interests to send you there, and not to another random hospital…”

      I would have never fucking agreed to let Sherice drive me to the ER. I should have just bled out. I was tired. No wait- otherwise she was going to call the police. Oh yeah. One look at the canvas of my skin and they could legally hold me against my will. Worst deal ever. How was I supposed to know they’d want a full body check just for a reintake assessment?

“Try to find a woman named Shayla this weekend. She’s working your case. You have to find *her*. They’re apparently not used to people trying to advocate for themselves and won’t bother finding you. Don’t let her leave for the weekend without talking to her.”

Of course that was her name. 

“Just stay calm and try not to piss anyone off for once. This is one time you really need to keep your head down and follow the rules,” she reminded me. Because telling someone to calm down always worked. 
“But that’s not why I called,” she continued, “We won’t be able to make it out there tonight, grandma isn’t doing well. The cardiologist today told her she’s in the beginning of heart failure…and she didn’t even care. She won’t do one thing that Doctor says, she’s killing herself!” her irritation was evident. “she’s doing this to herself.”

“Holy shit.. But I get it. She doesn’t want to try to fight anymore. but I’m sure she’ll go on for a long while more anyways. We have a way of just not dying remember?” 

I wasn’t trying to be facetious. I didn’t fault her for ignoring doctors instructions because I really did think I understood- at least projectedly- what was going on. She was tired. She was lonely, in pain, and life just kept endlessly adding bricks to seal her into the pain of an inalleviable weariness and isolation she couldn’t seem to get away from. She hardly got out of bed. She took practically every medication I’d ever heard of, together- even if it was harming more than anything, and she lived in environment that too was slowly draining her. Maybe I presumed too much, but I saw it because I felt it, because I lived it. 

       My own war for over the past decade with “major depression, anxiety disorder,” other unmentioned things, and numerous health problems had absolutely no history anywhere in any of our four family lineages- except her. I’ve never much believed genetics had anything to do with any of my shit, but I’d sure been asked it a thousand times enough. Even my later diagnoses of fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, and other similar cluster cop-outs, she too suffered through. Though the symptoms happened to me in a very real, yet unexplainable way everyday- there were no diagnoses because I see them as only symptoms of something deeper. Either that or I’m always living in denial or stubborn refusal to accept things that I don’t want in life. She was very much the opposite In her beliefs. 

       A rift had long been driven between the world and I, so Grandma and I hadn’t had a relationship since I was a child- but I still felt the silent understanding between us of suffering the weight of it all. I respected her even if she were to choose rest over vain striving. 

Suddenly there was crying on the other end of the phone. 

“Are you OK? I mean, this isn’t a surprise is it?” I was genuinely confused; Even I knew you could die of a broken heart, or one that’s given up. At some point the pain too far outweighs any increasingly scarce pleasures.

“That’s not why I called either.”

P.3

I felt a moment of relief, realizing I had finally slept at least a few hours, judging by the daylight outside the marred window. I realized everyone was gone; at check in, vitals, or daily intentions group.

Oh shit, I’m fucking late again.                                                                                                                    That’ll be another strike. I jumped up and dashed out into the hallway, but as soon as I got up and started to move, the spinning started again. I stopped and steadied myself against the wall just outside the door. I still couldn’t breathe right, the leaden weight on my chest, the pain in my neck, and the same familiar feeling of a drugged- out, irrational panic. Yet I hadn’t taken anything. I stopped just outside the door to steady myself against the wall. I guess the sleep didn’t help. I was still so distant, everything warped and my eyes registering in the same maddening slow motion that I laid awake trying to ignore. I righted myself and made my way to the dayroom, now filled with most every resident of the ward. The nurse glanced down as I walked in and I saw her make a mark on her clipboard. And I’m screwed again.

It was another small room- the one we all spent our meals, free time, and groups in either here or the hallway; unless granted behavior- based privilege to go out to the dining hall or the small, burgundy-carpeted room to exercise in whatever manner one can find. I always seemed to be losing my privileges however, because  I always managed to screw up somehow . There were no windows in any room but the bedrooms, of which was the beautiful view of the parking lot and a brick wall. If you didn’t know better, you could otherwise think the entire place was some underground bomb shelter.
I took my place next to my tattooed hallway buddy, tilted my head back against the wall, and closed my eyes to detract from the dizziness.

“Hey where ya been?” he whispered loudly in his California slur. I could tell he had already taken his benzos today.

I never could understand how anyone would want to intentionally feel drugged out of their minds. I always denied the sedatives no matter how I upset I was, or how bad the anxiety attack. Maybe I was arrogant, But I preferred strong-willed. OK, so I probably should confess to being a bit arrogant, but it was only because for so many years as a minor, usually what someone thought was “in my best interests” ended up fucking me over in the end. I didn’t open my eyes yet, lost in the all the directions my mind was spinning off into; each thought triggering ten others which in turn bred more.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? We had a deal; You know I couldn’t be late again.” I tried to blunt the tone of my frustration, but it was always fueled by the constant spinning, screaming static in my head.

“Oh….Sorry dude… I was out for smoke break.” I heard him give an exaggerated yawn.
I feigned a smile, “oh yeah, I missed that too huh.”

“Sunshine! You look like you’ve got something to say!” Mr. Illuminati was putting me on the spot, likely to convey that he hadn’t missed my tardy appearance. I opened my eyes, to see a roomful of eyes boring into me.

“Victor Frankl;” I countered, “when we can no longer change our circumstances, we are then challenged to change ourselves’,” I said.                                                                                  Oh how well I knew it; how I told it to myself a thousand times, and oh how I had consequentially grown to loathe it.

“A very apt reply, I guess you were listening,” he noted with his signature shrill laughter.
I blocked out the remainder of the high-pitch drone of the group therapy guy who was always apt to remind us that he was a member of the Illuminati and wore his superiority Over all of us “sick people”. I was so fucking tired of people using that word to describe me. I’d rather be called a bitch, a whore, or anything else- any day of the week. I honestly wished I was heartless enough to to be a whore. At least then I’d have an income for the first time in five years. I felt terrible but couldn’t help but laugh a little to myself. If I could change one part of me, I would be able to better control- or at least ignore- my emotions. They always got in the way. Maybe then I would quit smoking entirely, and look for dopamine somewhere else.

Diary of an Addict Out of Touch

      

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        I wish I could write about the things I’ve experienced over this past trying time, but I don’t even know where to begin. I want so badly to be able to capture a glimpse of something with these lifeless words. But everything is fluid, confusing, and indescribable.

The highs and lows of my emotions have only continued to grow in their erratic contrasts- and while those experiences enhance the appreciation of the other, I’m completely exhausted in more than two senses. So much has happened within myself- and continues- that I’m left with only an unsubstantiated tornado of emotion, and there are simply no words to describe them that I can grasp.  I’ve never said “I don’t know,” so much in my life.

I simply have no clue anymore.

             I’m home now, after 33 days in the treatment facility. I actually had another 1-3 months left of treatment- that I very well may have needed- but due to other unmentionable circumstances, insurance suddenly cut all coverage. I’m questioning whether I regret putting that request out into the universe the day before, because now I feel like I have some sort of unfinished business or feeling of being in the wrong place. Leaving was as sudden and unexpected as checking in, and I’m still in a state of shock, like a fish dumped into unacclimated water too quickly. Being home has felt so freakishly surreal and somewhat wrong, as though I shouldn’t be here-

because it doesn’t feel like home.

Nowhere, no one does.

         It’s becoming increasingly clear to me that I’ve been so fucking lonely all along, while wrestling other demons that are too strong for me. But I don’t know how to have energy for anything else, and I had only scratched the surface in those 33 days. 

I have no idea what I’m doing.
I never did.

         In that safe place, I realized that was OK, and that other humans could actually deal with me at my worst- or perhaps even like me (wtf?)- and I fucking love those people. I finally felt like I could speak a bit more of the truth when I wasn’t met with shame and condemnation- the likely cause of my knee-jerk aversion to being vulnerable with anyone. I didn’t expect to even make friends in my violent state, much less be given a name, a place, and a voice that anyone would even remotely desire to listen to.
        But it did happen, and in those interactions I realized how much has been missing from the relationships characterizing my life. I still often wonder why people “care,” because right now I’m looking at everything through dead- colored glasses. But there has to be something more than the impression I’ve gained throughout life of how humans interact at their core. Maybe they don’t all have agendas.
Maybe.

I’m hoping for some more clear signs from the universe, because I have no idea where I’m going next. I feel like I’ve only gained a fuller understanding of how many contradicting issues I have in my head.
Everything just feels so empty and wrong

Diary of an Addict- Shrooms and Coons

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I’m so fucking angry today but either can’t sit still because I’m so anxious, or I want to curl up into a ball and pretend to be invisible. I’m going crazy from being so sedentary and having to eat whatever is designated regardless, when I’m already crawling in my skin. I was able to go for a short relaxed walk yesterday, which was much welcomed, and the nurse took us down to the gas station to buy cigarettes- our now most anticipated pastime. I truly love the irony of that statement- But my energy just as quickly accumulates and it feels like I’m soon back to extremely agitated, and depressed. Even for me, my level of irritability feels intense. This is my issue, but I don’t want to be a noncompliant, indecisive client for these nice people.

I can’t deal with this, but I don’t really have any options that are logical.

Yes, I’m whining.

I know I need to figure out what it is I want and speak up, but I’m just so fucking emotional, mixed up, and overwhelmed. I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time articulating my needs and thoughts.

I honestly  have never wanted mass amounts of caffeine and a skipped meal so fucking badly, despite that I’ve never been one to skip a meal in my life. Stress is still preventing me from being able to articulate the way I would like, or need to. Or it could just be me being afraid to talk about what’s really going on in my head, as God knows there’s always plenty. But I still have long struggled with feeling like I’m being evaluated under a biased psychological diagnostic criteria anyways.

The past few days have been  fucking rough- given, I think most days have been, but that doesn’t seem to make it any easier. I actually have gone on most of the outings, but for a good number was holding back tears and a string of bitter, angry, sarcastic comments. My challenge for the day was for “Sunshine (my appropriately assigned nickname)” to be more positive. So, despite my murderous expression and desire to chuck the lamp stand across the room, I tried to check in as “positive and optimistic.” Can’t you tell? I’m not sure that they were buying it either.

The Director is my therapist – evidently upon meeting, she didn’t think that an intern would handle me? She’s kinda trippy. Even if I’m extremely pissed off and upset, I can’t help but feel slightly amused at the constant suspicious look in her eyes and expression on her face. But I can’t help but like her for her no bullshit approach and for usually catching right onto my schemes. I find it hilarious that- given the current lively bunch currently residing here- the program guidelines were today updated and extended from 2 pages to 7. Though I won’t flatter ourselves with the credit.

I’m not into most of the activities that we do here, but had contemplated suggesting a nice, non- exerting walk at Wildwood for some group by the waterfall. However, it would most likely be highly suspect if I were to suggest even doing anything. But it’s true- I have been itching to jump off that waterfall again. Apparently at this point, anyone who did would carry a permanent luminescence.

We went to an AA meeting last night, which I had been wanting to do in the past, so I minded less than the other activities planned. I previously had looked into implementing the 12 Steps in my life and definitely see how universally applicable they are to any other kinds of addictions-

and we’re all addicts here.

There were a couple peculiarly familiar looking faces there- of which I’m not sure why, as I’d never met them before. It was interesting to look around at each of their eyes and see the different reasons why they were there. I wondered if they could see my reasons.

On the most amusing note, I got chased out of the back patio around to the front door of the house by a big ass raccoon. It just randomly dropped from a tree in front of me out of nowhere- and I decided not to hang around to see if it was friendly. When staff opened the front door for me, I received an unsurpassably annoyed and disapproving glare, as though surprised I could get to the front yard, or didn’t believe me and thought it was some impulsive scheme. Upon verification that I wasn’t quite so creative, I had the pleasure of taking my smoke break in the dark of the front court, underneath the moon, stars, and two great old oak trees- And mushrooms, like damn are these mushrooms huge.

I thought it would be fun to build a little five pointed shrine out on the lower ground with lava rocks I had found. I set it out, marked everything in dark red marker, and piled the mushrooms in the middle. I’m not sure what was thought of it, but I had some fun at least. I’m really starting to notice this wierd- ass mushroom theme in my life as of late…

Aaaanyways.

On a serious, personal note- I’ve been here for 11 days and it still is a continually overwhelming battle to stay. Hour by hour, my anxiety still won’t shut the fuck up. But every once in a while, I just have to laugh at it all-

because I’m so fucking terrified and ready to admit that maybe I’m not ready.

But the tiniest, still small voice in the back of my mind keeps reminding me of how all the signs and synchronicities led me here, and continue to pop up everywhere. I just don’t know why, and the answer whispered back is still only a

some day.”

Diary of an Addict- Entry 1

            

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              So I’ve been here for over a week now. I’m fairly confident that I’m going through some stage of grief, pertaining to the 3-5 months of treatment ahead of me. I’ve perhaps  just passed from the denial I had been floating around in for some days into anger and bargaining. However, there’s nothing really to bargain with. I’m struggling minute by minute through a markedly difficult, confused, and angry time of my life, while trying in vain to conceal and restrain the fact that I’m still freaking the fuck out, feeling like I’m emotionally shutting down.

         I’m really not trying to be dramatic, but carrying through with my venture to write more about what’s actually going on. I’m not even sure what I’m writing- or even if I want to write right now. I’ve lost my motivation, inspiration, and all feeling that it even matters anyways- but I’ve been left with absolutely nothing else to do but sit week after week with these horrendous emotions, while watching my fears realize themselves. I’m ping-ponging back and forth between dissociation, aggression, and weepy, disarmed state.

My irritation is unprecedented, but so is my timidity and silence.

I’m supposed to be functioning as a day time person, but it’s not working yet.

       I’m fighting flashbacks in my head of the results of previous treatment centers and perpetually meet with the irrational desperation that evokes within me. I’ve had the intense urge countless times to simply walk out the door with no formalities, but feel disinclined to be hunted down by the police, placed in a psych ward, and then brought back here again. I was informed that if I acted up enough- I could potentially go through the same process as well, of which I eventually decided against as well. I honestly contemplated the offer, but determined the wards all too familiar with the “hide the antipsychotics under your tongue trick,” and I need my mind at least sane. Being an adult, I can check myself out, but don’t know anyone in the area to stay with, no plans after that, and have no financial means but bumming or prearranged prostitution (kidding- kind of).

              Don’t get me wrong- the staff and treatment team are mostly all very patient and kind, so I’m constantly apologizing after most things that I say or do in an impulsive flash of anger or sarcasm. However, anxiety and depression is only growing and always boiling just under my withered facade. I’m not sure that the other patients are having any more fun than I am, but are mostly all here voluntarily. I’m having inordinate difficulty engaging with any investment in my own therapy because I’m so shut down and distraught.

I’m actually quite fond of my therapist here, but it’s a shame I can’t seem to improve my disposition to really enjoy conversing regarding anything- much less myself in this state.

Because I’m not myself here. 

But who is?                                             It probably comes with the territory.

It’s so extremely difficult to show the real me- for any therapeutic benefits and purposes- because I’m so stressed out my blood pressure’s up 30-50 points and my hair is coming out more than I’ve ever seen. I feel guilty that they’re trying to make little accommodations for me, but I still feel miserable.

          It’s so indescribably frustrating having my whereabouts, physical activity,  food, water, coffee, vitamin, medication, restroom use, and smokes all monitored, controlled, restricted, or enforced right down to condiment use. The value of a Starbucks at this point is up at 40-50 dollars, and a long walk in the hills missed just as much.

          I feel like my concerns about my being here’s impact on the near future are often only met with mechanically calculated positive statements for the sake of therapeutic antonymy. I want to just fast forward one year, to when this whole painful ordeal is over. I know I need to try and make the best of this I can, and learn what I’m here for, but I’m not in that place right now.
I want to breathe without the gnawing, deadening misery growing any more. My mind feels slow , my senses dull, my intuition blunted, and my energy even more stagnant and dead than before.