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Jett Superior laid this on you on || March 1, 2010 || 9:36 pm

FIENDING (just like that, in all-caps)

Look, I want to be high all the fucking time. I haven’t talked about that in a long, long while in this space, but I do. I don’t want to carve up my veins with blades, I want them to pulse with all manner of pharmacopeia, to winnow out my central nervous system with teensy little chemical hammers, the striking of which in various parts of my head would make delicious chiming noises of rainbow-hued pitches. PharmaCOPEia, get it?

Goddamnit (see there, how I Used The Lord’s Name In Vain, so that you would see just how foolishly serious I damnwell am?), I love drugs SO much. SO MUCH. Tick your eyes back in your noggin a little and think about the way you love the thing you love most passionately in all your life. Now multiply that by about thirty and meet my gaze again while I tell you that is how very much I want my brain to be the egg in the pan. Every day, all the time, my addiction stands, its bony hand in mine, as a constant. Most days, though, I have my head craned to the opposite direction, so that I can’t even catch it in my periphery. That is because when I shake out the crick in my neck I start wanting to look it dead in the face, and once I lock eyes with it Addiction becomes this beautiful and cocky thing, dangerously sexy and erasing everything else.

I feel no shame about my want of chemicals. Seriously. I feel fury at the deprivation of a want. I feel frustration at my emotional weakness. I feel sorrow that I ever did this to myself because had I not then I would not know the want of it. But not for one second am I ashamed that I desire to be fucked out of my gourd on the pills and powders that most people are too afraid to touch.

You see that? You see how I don’t view straights as noble or honorable or brave? I view you as cowards. I view you as weak, because you’ve never pounded your synapses into gruel and lived to foolgrin about it.

Likewise the twelve-steppers: I tried a meeting. Okay, two. “Really?” I thought, “Really??” I looked around me and knew I couldn’t sit there with people I both pitied and despised in turns. I’ll take ten gutterjunkies for one NA automaton. I don’t care if meetings work for you; the only thing they ever did for me was make me feel sorry for people. I don’t like to be pitied, and I somewhat vainly imagine that others feel the same. If I can’t give someone my empathy I would rather leave them where they sit for fear of my view on them turning to scorn.

Oh, what an asshole I am.

I’m not at peace with my sobriety. I’m angry at my mortality. I’m fucked in the head ten days out of thirty, easy. Once every six months or so I jones so hard for a protracted hit of something, anything, that I lock myself in my bedroom and crack clean in two, blubbering and shaking and feeling the faint shadow of my extremely messy kick crawl up my back and clutch at the base of my skull.

It’s a terrible thing to love something so merciless, something that promises infinity but doesn’t love you back in the least and always goes back on its word in the end. Drugs are my favorite bad boyfriend and that’s completely fucked but it’s absolutely true.

“God, grant me the freedom to sneer at things I cannot change, courage to bear the changes I have made and the wisdom to not live in denial of any of it.”

I’m not superstitious.

I’ve learned for myself

What you cannot face will follow you around.

9 worked it out »

  1. thestilettomom 3.1.2010

    Effing beautiful in it’s truthfulness. I had my issues in the 80’s. I felt lucky to walk away unscathed but never looked down on anyone that still craved that high. You are a brave woman to talk about it and face it head on. Amazing.

     
  2. Bejewell 3.2.2010

    I’m a coward who’s not afraid to tell you that I don’t sympathize at all. That doesn’t mean I don’t get it, because I do. But I don’t feel sorry for you in the least. We all have shit that we want but can’t have, for all kinds of different reasons, some more fucked up than others. You’re turning your head when you can and when you can’t, you’re facing it head on and I’ve just got nothing but ADMIRE for that.

     
  3. TwoBusy 3.2.2010

    Yeah, that whole “gorgeous, aching, angry beauty” thing?

    THIS is what I was talking about.

    Goddamn.

     
  4. Jason 3.2.2010

    Next time I hear somebody lavish praise upon another blogger for their “honest” or “brave” post, I’ll direct ‘em this way.

    (For some reason, Jim Carroll’s song “People Who Died” kicked in when I read this. Not that I think you’re gonna die – you and Jim both sneer at the ever-watching Chorus and give the finger to the Universe. Great post.)

     
  5. seeohel 3.2.2010

    amazing.

    “It’s a terrible thing to love something so merciless, something that promises infinity but doesn’t love you back in the least and always goes back on its word in the end. ”

    drugs are the abusive relationship i’ll always, at least in part, mourn the loss of. it’s not the bad things you miss, it’s the void they leave behind that’ll bowl your ass right over.

    beautiful, amazing, honest post. i’m glad i read this.

     
  6. A Vapid Blonde 3.2.2010

    Exactly how I feel about smoking cigarettes. Love them. But won’t go back (I hope)!

     
  7. Anonymous 3.9.2010

    SM: I’m not brave. Sometimes I just don’t have the wherewithal to tote it around anymore and have to explode a little bit. I’m always sorry (but not) if it gets on anyone. >:o)

    Beej: I’m so glad you ‘get’ it. The last thing I want is for anyone to feel sorry for me, because I did this to myself. You’re exactly right: Everyone has a Thing that tests their character and morality. I try not to lose sight of this when dealing with others, because ‘…there go I.’

    TB: I know. That e-mail? Helped enable me to get on the horse and riiiiide. I stand in my own way too much lately.

    Jason: I don’t know so much about brave, but it *is* honest. It’s interesting that you mentioned Jim Carroll in your comment to me…..

    When I first saw ‘Basketball Diaries’ I remember being horrified during that montage (if I remember correctly, it was a montage) when he is doing his quit. I felt that way because out of all the depictions of that sort of thing I’ve ever seen, that one was the most accurate and believable. It brought the whole thing right back to me and placed it at my feet. This gave me the willies for days, made me sort of physically sick.

    I think there should be more of that. Not necessarily in a ’scared straight’ sort of way, but very honest and grating, non-campy depictions of what it is like once you are past the honeymoon phase of addiction.

    see: Right. It’s a singular sort of grief, too, one that I can’t liken to anything else in my life. Like being told you can no longer be a part of the deepest, most intimate hug you’ve ever known. (?)

    AVB: Can’t tell you how many times I’ve quit, for extended (eighteen months!) lengths at a whack. Only smoke a couple a day, but still! They’re harrrrd.

     
  8. Jettomatika 3.9.2010

    I AM NOT ANONYMOUS. I AM JETT, HEAR ME ROAR.

    ahem.

     
  9. Christie 3.30.2010

    Oh how I get it. AA and NA not for me-too much bragging and holier than thou on their part.If it works for them great, but like you I feel more pity and disgust for them than anything. I’m a “recovering” addict. I love me drugs a lot, but oh how they were killing me. Plus I was pregnant and drugs aren’t conducive to that. But I miss them always and dream about them often. Exactly like a dead lover and praying for just one more day to be together while knowing one more day would never be enough. Struggle on and struggle on. I am proud of being clean for about 10 years or so but don’t talk about it because I miss it so much.

     

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