Alive and chilling

I was on suicide watch before Christmas and have spent the days after it seeing family and psychologists. I will post before the new year, and I've been in much better spirits. Check my twitter if you've been curious about what I've been up to.
Love you all,
Lucy

Winter Time

"You need them." He snapped.
Anger began boiling in my stomach, 'don't tell me what I need or don't need, I've been handling my own use just fine for six years thanks, I got it down,' so I said "No, I just want them. I want them for today." I'm waiting for my usual source to arrive for Oz, so I gotta go to get some expensive shit. There are some other morfiends in the area who are also always on the hunt, so sometimes stock can get pretty low.

I don't feel guilty... or at least I try to push it down as much as possible.

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The comedown, so sickeningly long and inevitable, it reminds me why I cling to my small bits of normalcy. But everything will get better, it always does. And one day I will too.

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Sunday mornings and Sunday nights are so melancholy for me, knowing the weekend will soon be over and back to all the troubles of work and bills and life. It's funny because I work when I want, so I will have to work later; it's something I've held on to since being in grade school (my mom called it the "Sunday blues").

I haven't done coke in over a month and I've stopped the tea for the past few days (because there isn't anymore). But this speed is picking me back up, and I don't feel as drained as I did a few minutes ago. All that remains is my headache and my picking up energy levels. The TV is showing some movie with Bill Murray--playing every camp counselor I ever looked up to. I try and pretend I don't feel guilty about anything because I have nothing to feel bad about. I remind myself we've done it for millions of years, and that's why our brain responds to it and that life is merely a state of being. The past few weeks have been mostly focused on staying afloat and getting ready for the holidays. I hope that they are fun and that it is a nice break from reality.

I feel my age the way someone double my age might, or is that my actions weigh heavier than those of my peers. Is this what I'm supposed to be doing? It's like I'm trying to prove to everyone I'm an adult, but really want to be treated like a child because I don't know what to do. I guess it all falls into place and everyone gets used to it as time goes on or something.

If life is a state of being, and I intend to fill it with pleasure as much as possible (because I prefer pleasure to pain as I experience it), and so isn't that what's most worth while? I mean, that's not to say I don't enjoy being able to keep a roof over my head and food in my belly, or a warm place to sleep, or somewhere to call my own, I am fortunate to have kept it going this long, even though I know it will all evaporate eventually. But no matter what, we live and die all the same, aren't we both so lucky to be alive at all?


Lucy

Pushing

All the feelings
down the hole they go
with the pills
and the tea
and the weed
and the speed
and anything
that will keep me from dealing with any of the shit that bubbles up from my guts when the memories sprout up like weeds between my pretty poppies, the only thing to do is to nourish the garden with more seeds
and pretzels? No, they're for my stomach virus, so I can keep some food in my gut.

------2am unable to sleep, smoke heavy air----------

R is asleep, snoring rhythmically in the other room while I watch "Naked and Afraid" and puff on a bowl. He might be fired tomorrow because they don't care that he has a stomach virus, but blame him for missing 3 days of work even though he is simply very sick. His boss has basically been trying to get him to quit by making his work-life miserable, so him getting fired would be a  good thing. My parents think so too, and would help support us--thank Jesus for denial. I feel like I might vomit, which would be funny since earlier I cheered on R vomiting; congratulations on his first opiate induced vommiting fun, or maybe the virus, but who can tell. oh oh oh oh my stomach hates me, but the weed and the Bentyl keep it bay. Who knows for how long, but at least one more night right, 6 more hours please that's what I need, just a little more....why is there never enough of everything?

This show is fucking ridiculous. Every time I watch (okay, so only like 2 or 3 times late at night) I question why anyone would agree to do this. I guess everyone tests themselves in some ways, and for them it is as close to dying as they can get, I do the same thing but use a different method.

It's all the same in the end,

Life keeps going.
Time continues.

Baby, it's alright!

-Lucy

Back on the Yellow Brick Road

I've spent almost a week off of the tea (let's call it Oz, like the Wizard of Oz, my friends and I have decided this is good slang that we should propagate). The bottle is so hot, the contents like coffee grounds and animal piss heated together, at least I hope it'll keep the tears at bay. Our apartment is hot like an oven, or maybe it's my fever, R and I are both battling off a stomach virus for now. At first I vomited last Wednesday night, sitting on the toilet unsuspecting that I had guessed the wrong end and finding myself and floor of my parent's bathroom violently soiled. As with any illness at a parent's home, my mother and father  cleaned it up, ushering me off to bed with a washcloth and glass of water. It had caught me off guard, I felt bad but too sick to do anything more than fall into a instant, overheated sleep.

By now, I'm finally comfortable full of Oz, green, and Bentyl--a stomach medicine for the virus. I sink back into the futon and stare off at the TV. This whole week I've been having crying spells uncontrollably because of multiple changes to my daily antidepressants. My face shriveling and turning red, as loops of horrible thoughts go through my brain and my mouth spills out "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry" between crying and hyperventilating. My only respite was sleep. Even my mother patting my head and comforting me or R holding me and reminding me it would be alright, nothing could quell my sense of hopeless despair.

Despair at who I am, who I could be, and the guilt of putting my family and boyfriend through this when we should be enjoying Thanksgiving and Chanukah. At least we lit the candles most of the nights, which made me happy with memories of childhood Channukah's spent at my grandparents' house with my great-grand parents there as well as my parents and my aunt. I was the only child, but in the darkness of that dining room I felt the magic of those glowing candles and the words sounded out in a language I have still never learned. It connects me to what feels like old world magic.

--------back to real life---------

The toilet just overflowed. Diarrhea and urine and bile and water spilling out across the fake marble towards us. R standing in the bathtub, attempting to break the clog with a metal stick, I imagined him a fisherman before B.C.E. in some fertile valley among reeds. I tried to stem the flow with towels and bath mats and paper towels, each of us with one glove on fighting off this battle of the black water. Our dance away from the streaming tides made me chuckle, like I hadn't chuckled in days.

Sometimes life is ridiculous.

-Lucy