I'm about to tear up watching Dr. Phil. It feels more pathetic than it sounds. All these people talking about getting molested as kids, and I keep thinking about when it happened to me. I wasn't a child anymore, but I had been just as vulnerable. My grandfather had died only months before it happened, and I was still reeling from that at the time when it happened. But I didn't really make the connection until years later when I reflected on the first time I popped pills.
Now, I pop handfuls of kratom, such inoncuous herbal capsules. They relieve my arthritis pain, which is joyous, and then they make me feel okay. Okay that I'm doing unimportant work, that I'm stagnating today having slept 12 hours, that I feel depressed and hopeless most of the time.
I feel like I'm spinning out daily because I'm doing nothing. Especially now that at 22, I'm the most experienced junkie within the friends that I keep, which always leads to my scoffing at their baby habits. "oh you were doing grams of Molly, hahahaa, but have you ever even shot up? Been in the hospital? Have you ever had to bold face lie to your parents when you were the only suspect? Riggle out of the clutches of well-meaning therapists? Lied to your friends so that they wouldn't drop you?" I admit it's a little cruel, but I shut up when my respect is due to some of my more experienced friends and don't pretend to know what they've been through.
I'm all discombobulated right now, so maybe I'll write more later when I'm a bit less sleepy and more coherent.
Hope you are all doing well!
- Lucy
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