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Saying goodbye to sense of control. (WARNING: LONG and not for faint of heart.)

Rating:
5/5,
  1. MisMonroe
    Remember the feeling of loss of control, when you were young, after spinning in circles until you could barely stand?
    The excitement of taking the passenger seat, just for a moment, when every action is so meticulously planned.
    I've sat there and wondered how I ever came from there to here. How do you get back to innocence when you've exposed yourself to a life of pain, regret, tortured thoughts, minds, bodies, and souls? This loss of control was not explained thoroughly enough when you signed the dotted line immediately after submission of life before addiction.
    Little girl didn't make it long in her stand against the man that was helping her mold her lifestyle and choices into regret. She thought she was doing great until a friendly request to hang out was accepted after days of silence.
    She arrived at his home to find that he had decided to finally end all contact and relations with his ex. Little girl was happy, ecstatic, but still questioning of his motives and reasoning. When he returned to her after meeting with the ex, he was completely different. Little girl was hooked again; mainline to the vein, his love her poison.
    It was only a matter of time before he was back to his usual self, suggesting she look at his balled fists when he was angry or annoyed at her, telling her that he couldn't give a fuck less if she left, but yelling at her to "get back in the fucking corner" when she attempted to do so. Of course, you stupid girl, this couldn't last forever, it never does.
    By the end of the night, little girl was alone, the man had left to be with his ex again, this time claiming for good. The hurt she felt, it was overwhelming, a dull scalpel sawing away at her emotions. She wasn't going to panic, though, she knew he wasn't her happiness, could never be, but she had suggested to her husband that she was unhappy and separation was the answer to her problems already. All because this man had planted into her mind that the only way they could be together was for her to leave her husband.
    She had done that, so why didn't she feel any better when she was next to him? Why were the kisses, hugs, touches, and I love you's he fed her just as empty as the ones she returned full?
    Little girl decided the best defense against a broken heart, drug induced or not, was to hurt him where he would bleed the deepest shade of red. This man had confided in little girl about something so dark in his past that he couldn't have anyone knowing, his life would be the cost of public knowledge.
    The text she sent received no reply, but she knew what she had done, and she was ready, eagerly awaiting the reaction he was trying to form. Little girl, still managing to fend off the pain she could feel brimming up inside, positioned herself in his roommates bed (everyone that came to their home and smoked did so on this bed), and slept an amazing sleep.
    She had done something evil, and yet she felt so good about it. She'd never been like this, never one to spill the secrets of the lost souls she'd loved.
    It was 6 hours later when little girl awoke. His roommate had placed a blanket over her and brought in a chair at the end of the bed, respecting little girl so much that he wouldn't sit at the foot of the bed while she slept. How lovely it felt to be respected again.
    The evil man, though, was quick to walk in on this scenario, little girl in another mans bed, fully clothed but crossing the line with the combination of this and her threatening text to ruin his life, spill his locked away whispers from long ago, before their complicated relationship gripped her by the heart and threatened to squeeze out her very last beat.
    After hours of hurtful words, little girl and this man decided to attempt a simple friendship, the one excluding the long glances, tearing heart, and spreading dread of feeling loss that she was trying to keep inside.
    Little girl was always a strong one, you'd never know what she was thinking by her poker face, unless she was happy. She glows. While applying a make up cover to this mans picked at spots on his face ( he has a problem with a few spots on both sides of his chin, just under the lips), she was attempting to make him look in the mirror, his eyes, though, wouldn't leave her face. The silly smiling she was doing made him wonder aloud why she never acted like this before.
    She managed to reply that she had, but her thoughts were screaming questions. Before what? Before he had broken her heart? Before he had chosen the ex over her? Before he had forced himself to stop caring the little bit that he did about her? Before he had ended their story before it really had a beginning?
    Little girl found solace in another bowl. She couldn't remember what number this was, couldn't even remember what day she had begun this time. This man had drained her and her checking account to purchase the dope that he was hoping would mask his own regrets of past relationships left unfinished.
    Little girl was soon to find that no matter how she tried, she could never smoke enough, at that point in time, to fully comprehend what she was about to be told, though. The pipe was being passed along the edge of the bed, occupied by her, this man and his roommate. The man says that he spoke to a VA doctor, and was informed that the pickings he had created, those deep, cherry black holes of hatred and regrets, were probably not healing well because of the Hepatitis C that this man had contracted while stationed in Thailand, and receiving a tattoo with a dirty needle.
    Little girl was lost at Hep C. She had had unprotected sex numerous times with him. While high, the need to feel far outweighing the consequences, condoms were a passing thought.
    She began to read up on Hep C, sure her life was over. She was assured by the man that sexual contact was very unlikely in leading to her positive diagnosis. She was feeling slightly better, though a doctors appointment was promptly made. Until she read that if either or both partners were bleeding at the time of intercourse, chances of contracting Hep C were greatly increased.
    The first few times, the man had been too rough, too big, and gone too fast, tearing her, the evidence of her infidelities always left on the white toilet paper in shades of red from the tear that should have never happened. The man, also, had not walked away without battle wounds.
    A morning spent in a hotel bed, both dehydrated and coming down, left little girl very willing but very dry, and the man unwilling to give up. After tearing into her, he found that little girl had been dry enough that she had ripped him open also. The blood was more than expected, the dope they had gone through thinning their blood.
    Because of her size, and his girth, the blood mixture was experienced a couple of times, probably cured with time, but who has time when they've smoked their last bowl and need to feel something again?
    Little girl had not only had her heart broken by this man, but he had never cared enough about her health and well being to inform her of his illness? What was happening to her, little else was in her head other than this short sentence of wonder and disappointment.
    Little girl remembers when she was abstaining from dope, when she cared enough to limit her partners, and always using protection.
    She remembers when she knew the kind of treatment she deserved, and never settled for less than.
    She remembers when bills were paid, money moved to savings, and the rest dwindling away slowly on luxuries of her own delight.
    Now, she'd possibly contracted a blood borne virus due to her lack of concern for her own health.
    Now, she was wondering often what she needed to do to keep him happy, to keep him from exploding and taking it out on her, to keep him interested in her. His outbursts and threats merely in response to her nagging, or her overbearing nature.
    Now, she had sped through her and her husbands checking account, and had begun chipping at their savings, leaving it nearly a 1000 dollars less than when she was sober and leaving it alone.
    Little girl was always good at giving advice, but what was she to do when she'd given it all away, leaving little energy left to answer her own questions?
    When had her life ever slipped away from her?
    She was an addict, she knew that from her teenage years, starting with X, but she thought she was a functioning one. Her family and friends who did not participate in her infatuation with dope could assure you otherwise.
    When did this spinning little girl spin off into the clouds, the air currents from her flight destroying everything in it's path?
    Was this where she said goodbye to her sense of control, or had she secretly done that long ago, when she first took that pipe into her hands and dedicated her being to it?
    Little girl's spinning again, she's laughing at herself as she trips over her feet before taking off. Skinned knees and torn jeans signal the end of her passenger seat ride, but she doesn't want to stop yet.
    The flights always let her know that she doesn't have to think for a moment, the thoughts she keep all but eat her alive.
    <3
    Well, I know the feeling
    Of finding yourself stuck out on the ledge
    And there ain't no healing
    From cutting yourself with the jagged edge
    I'm telling you that, it's never that bad
    Take it from someone who's been where you're at
    Laid out on the floor
    And you're not sure you can take this anymore

Comments

  1. beentheredonethatagain
    it takes courage to post this, and to realize the truth. I am sending you my best wishes and thoughts. Please stay strong and dont get in deeper with losers.

    you are much too precious. take good care of yourself..:vibes:
  2. Eeeee Dub!!!
    I think id chose a hard core drug addiction over a person addiction any day! Keep your chin up...and for the love of pete get away from mr crazy. I'm sure a wonderful, intelligent gal like you can do much better than that. I for one excpect you to!

    Anyway good luck at the dr and even if it isn't good news, your life isn't over.

    After all, you've still got us. Ok, sorry about that last bit...didn't mean to depress you more.:)
  3. beentheredonethatagain
    with this being said,With love, You are not a little girl! the mistakes you are making are at someone elses expense as well as your own. You are a woman and a wife.

    take pride in yourself, dont act like an addict, just because we like to use a little speed, we can still do whats right, so that we can hold our head up high.

    If you wanted to get high that's one thing, but to get high in another man's bed, well that's quite another.

    we get into trouble with our spouses when we try to hide our desire to use, if we are to be stand-up people then we must be honest with our partner. It's better than having to get high elsewhere.

    You have a husband that is a real man, just be faithful and honest with him. He Loves you and will try to help you , but I am sure he would rather you do your partying at home.

    Its not too late, try a new path, the one you are on is heading south.

    You know I am just trying to be a friend. I want your next blog to read like a fairytale, you husband is your prince charming.

    best wishes always. btdta
  4. Synesthesiac
    "Now, she was wondering often what she needed to do to keep him happy, to keep him from exploding and taking it out on her, to keep him interested in her."

    Life activities, hobbies other than drugs, sports, and generally doing more stuff will work.

    but from what you've said this guys a douche, I'd not even bother telling him, save it for someone who doesn't yell at you to "get back in the fucking corner"

    thanks for sharing, im detecting an implication of being high whilst writing, yes? :p reminds me of the long personal posts I used to write on mephedrone here (similar to meth in many regards)
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