paralyzed

when something bad starts to go down, something comes over me, and i am unable to act. i run and hide and hope that it will just fade away, and i can go on with life like it never happened.

they finally caught up with me at work. monday, they called me into the office and said some of my coworkers said i was acting erradically, and falling asleep at the desk. the ironic thing is that this was one day out of many i was actually sober. i am just going through a lot of shit personally, and not sleeping so well. so my boss asked me if i would go down to employee assistance and see a counselor, and i said sure. they asked me to sign some confidentiality papers, and i did, not thinking much of it. then they drop this on me, i just consented to a random drug screen. i felt completely blindsided. they could have been straight with me, instead of coming in the back door like that. but i can’t really be mad, i have been getting high. i don’t think it has affected my proformance, but it’s still not kosher. so i went home that day, and i just havn’t been back. cc, my coworker called me and i talked to her for like an hour. i know i should go back, and at least talk to them.

but i will probably have to leave anyway. because a big part of the reason i haven’t been back is because i’ve been back home with my family. the past two days i have spent at my parents house, because my mom has been comitted. yes, you heard me, as in “one flew over the cookoo’s nest” after my cousin died, i knew my mom wasn’t gonna be able to handle it. the question was how bad was she going to lose it. the possiblities were anywhere from a severe depression to a full blown nervous breakdown. mom chose door number two. she isn’t sleeping, she’s lost 30 pounds, she’s crying all the time. so she had to check herself in. so i’ve been at home, with her, the days before she finally went in. just trying to keep her safe, protect her from herself. not only that, but dax has had a front row seat for all of this horror show. i feel so bad for him, he is such a good kid, and he is neck deep in all this insanity and sorrow. i just don’t know what to do. he keeps asking me how to make mom better, and i have to keep telling him there is nothing we can do. it sucks so much.

so i know it wasn’t the right thing to do, to just ignore my job and go home, but when shit goes down with my family, i get tunnel vision, and nothing else matters. i don’t know how it’s going to go down when i finally do talk to them. i mean, i would like to keep working there, on one hand. but on the other, i feel like they see me a certain way now, and i’ll never live that down. i don’t want to be the addict in the eyes of everyone. i dont’ want that hanging on me like that. part of me says “kaia, you can get a job anywhere” which is true. but it’s just a bummer that i will have one more job on the list of “fuct it up” another job i was really good at, where people liked me and i was really making a difference, and i just said fuck it. left everyone hanging, let everyone down. it leaves a bruise on my heart, knowing that i have such potential to be helpful and a productive member of a team, and i just choose not to because i can’t deal with real life. it’s not just the drugs that i’m running away from with this job. i’m running away from the embarrassment, and the feelings of shame. i don’t want to go back to a place where everyone looks at me and thinks, “that’s girl’s a drug addict” i’m so sick of that shit. it just seems easier to go someplace else and start over, where noone knows me, and i can try to do a better job this time.  i just feel like it didn’t have to be this way. but it is.

i still have a chance to explain myself to them. be honest. we’ll see how it goes. either way i know i’ll be okay. but i do think they deserve an explaination. they have been good to me. who knows, maybe they will give me some time to take care of my family and myself, and i can come back. because i am a good worker, and i  do my best everyday to contribute.

i just wish i could act when things get out of control. but i can’t. it’s like i’m paralyzed, i know what i should do, but i’m powerless to do it. i know i should be on the phone with my boss right now, but i’m scared to pick up the phone. i know i should’ve done alot of things.

all we can do today…

so i don’t have time to update right now, but jesse came home this weekend.  we got a hotel room and celebrated our reunion. it was an amazing time. we did spend quite a chunk of change on consumables. but you’ll be glad to know that’s where it ended. when the shit was gone it was gone, we went to my parents houss and had easter dinner with them, sober. we spent time w/ my brother dax. (we surprised him w/ tickets to see the biscuits in the city w/ us. he was super psyched) we haven’t gotten high since, and don’t have any immediate plans to.  this friday i want to bring him to my favorite cocaine annonymous group.  jesse’s never really done recovery as it’s laid out in the book. i feel lucky to be able to show him what i’ve learned.

so go ahead and hate. i’m not saying we are going  to change the world, or even stay clean, but i can tell you this. we do want a better life, we want that better life to be togehter, and we are going to do our damndest to make it happen. and for now, all there is to do is not get high today. and that’s the plan. not get high, just for today…..

and what!

who got paid today?

i did

who’s gonna party tonight?

this chick

isaac

isaac and i have a strange history together, and our friendship is hanging on by a thread….given the circumstances i’m not sure why it bothers me so much. but there is something about each call i make that goes unanswered that gets under my skin. i suppose it may just be time to let it go.

isaac and i met around this time last year, in a holding in the western part of the state.  for those of you unfamiliar with the term, a “holding is a state funded facility to live in while waiting to be placed in a halfway house or similar program. i was there for 30 days after i finished detox last year. about halfway through my stay there, isaac came through. i was two and a half weeks clean, feeling better every day….and i was in search of that lethal combination i love so much…..companionship and distraction.  i had broken up with casey only days before, over the phone, because i was trying to get clean and he was still running the streets.  there was alot more too it than that, but that was the catalyst that finally brought action on my part.

so, sitting in the blue room (if you are familiar with holding you’ll understand that one) it was nice to have someone to kill time with. if you’re unfamiliar with holding, i’ll give you the rundown. this is house it was @ my tss (temorary support service) program. it was three buildings, a detox/treatment building….housing the detox on the second and third floor, the cafeteria, nurses station, meeting rooms and the infamous blue room. the mens sleep house was up the hill, the women’s was down the hill. everyday we wake up at six and walk up the hill in our pajamas to eat breakfast, then go back to the bunkhouse, shower, change and come over to the blue room, where all thirty of us, men and women, would sit for the next 12 hours, save for meals and an hour break after lunch. we could go outside onto a patio, but no further. there were intermittent meetings on and off, but mostly time was spent playing cards or dice, listening to music and talking. we watched movies at night. it was blisteringly dull.

so you can understand why good company was imperative.

and isaac was good company.  we had more in common than i could comprehend with my puny human mind. we liked exactly the same movies, books and music. we laughed at the same jokes, had the same sarcastic, character-assasin sense of humor. we ever dressed the same. our whole friendship started because we were wearing the same pair of chucks, with matching argile socks. it was pathetic.

we were never at a loss for words and it was a great way to spend the endless days in the blue room. it was an interesting dynamic we had because drugs were not involved. any time i’ve ever become friends with, or dated anyone, drugs have been at the forefront. all of my serious boyfriends i have met through partying and or drugs. i’m not pround of that, it’s just a fact. so to meet a friend and not be waisted…it was a new experience for me. of course, we were both dope shooting junkies, but we wern’t high at that exact moment. so we had the history in common, but we had never gotten high together.

it was a good feeling for me, to know that i could be just kaia, not the party chick, not the hookup, not the jam-sammich i usually was, and someone could still find my company appealing. ( i know, low self esteem is so unnattractive, but i can’t help but hate myself sometimes) it was nice to know someone could like me for me, sober.

and he felt the same way. isaac’s story is unlike any i’ve ever heard before…..let me try to sum it up for you. he was born on the northshore, and lived a fairly normal childhood. he was into drugs, but never like i’ve been into drugs. he has some kind of heart defect, and he’s got a pacemaker. (yep, 26 year old kid w/ a pacemaker and a penchent for shooting drugs. ha) he’s an artist, musician and poet….an aires if you can believe that. he got into dope when he was 21, after his mother died suddenly….aneurism i think. he has a four year old son with a girl who doesn’t get high, who is now dating his old best friend. he’s been shooting up, doing the detox tour for the past six years. this last time out he picked up smoking crack, but has never shot coke ( i strongly advised him not to, pacemaker and all) he seemed serious about staying clean this time, and talking to him made me feel like it was an actual possiblity. we would talk for hours, drinking smuggled coffee from the cafeteria, music and books, mostly, family guy and life after death….it was a very nice time last spring.

when i got place in a halfway house in the city, we kept up our friendship through letters. now you know me enough to know that this is where i shine. i would send him page after page of stories and poems and little fantasy scenes. our friendship grew stronger. i liked him alot. we talked on the phone all the time…..

when he finally got placed in a house in his hometown, we made arrangements to meet up. i was excited it was going to be so different to see him outside of an institution. we met in the southend, and….it was very different. he was very much into a romantic aspect of our relationship. i thought i was catching feelings too, but when i saw him,  i had reservations.

then i got mad at myself, like hello kaia, you’ve been writing to this kid and talking to him on the phone everyday, you know how he feels, and now you are just going to change your mind? bitch.

it didn’t seem fair, to not even give him a shot. so i let him hold my hand, as we walked down to his friends house. i just didn’t feel right. i can’t put my finger on it. he kissed me and i just didn’t feel it. that spark…..you know what i mean?

that should have been enough of a sign for me, but you know that’s not the case. i don’t trust myself enough to believe my own instincts. so we continued to the friends house, where we went upstairs, into an abandoned bedroom (noone had lived in this house for years, it looked more like his friend was squatting, if you want the truth) and we had sex.

terrible, awful, empty sex.

i couldn’t get dressed fast enough, and he knew the second it was over, that in fact, IT was over.

he kept asking me what was wrong, what did he do? and i couldn’t answer him. because he didn’t do anything wrong. the scene just wasn’t right from jump, and i could have saved us both the pain, but i just don’t trust myself enough. it’s like getting high….i know it’s not right, but i’m just gonna try and see if it works out okay. um…no.

so a couple weeks went by and i was avoiding his calls like the plauge. it took me relapsing to finally get the (alcohol induced) balls to call him and tell him what was up. i would love to stay friends, but we can’t date. besides, i’m smoking crack right now and you are sober, it’s just not fair.

that was this time last year, and we have spoken a handful of times. we have each gone through 2 other relationships besides the one we almost shared, and we are both working on our third (codependent much?) we share small talk, but i haven’t seen him since that one day….and i still miss him.

the him i knew before all that went down. but who knows if that was even the real him?

so i know that next week is the anniversary of his mother’s death, and his birthday. i know it’s the hardest time of year for him, and last i heard his girl was back in detox. he should be coming up on a year clean…..i figured he might need some support.

so i’ve been calling.

like a stalker.

and texting.

to no avail

he texts me back with “i’m sooooo busy, i’ll call you in the near future”

i just want to make a connection, let him know i’m hear for him, not strung out, just looking to be his friend. it seems like such a waist, because we have so much in common and could really be good friends to each other. he introduced me to bright eyes and elliot smith, i will forever be grateful for that. music is catharsis for us both, something deep inside not many other peoople understand on this level.

i just wish he’d let me be there for him.

or maybe being a good friend would be letting it go. he’s clean and i’m not.

i don’t know. i’d like to think i can have clean friends even though i still struggle. isn’t that what friendship is, being there through good and bad.

who knows….i certainly dont.

romancing the needle

i am all alone at work today, my codefendant, ehem, coworker, is out today…so i’m just sitting here doing not much of anything….and my sick head is saturated with thoughts of getting high. mmmm…..just a few more days til i have money. and it will be the best high in a long time, becuase jesse will finally be home.

but it’s not just the feeling of getting high that i’m making love to in my mind….it’s the whole experience. i can sit for hours at work and just fantasize about a good blood register on a coke shot. the feeling when the needle hits your skin and goes so smooth. the taste of blood mixed with dope after i lick my arm clean. the bells and whistles after a good coke shot. the sweet silence of a good nod. its enough to make me drool.

and that my friends is the obsession. the obsession to use, the love affair with the ritual of sticking yourself. something i don’t think anyone else would ever understand, unless you are dope’s bitch too.

and that’s me, on my knees begging to be kicked just one more time. please, i fucking need it…..

and need it i do. but i can wait one or two more days. check comes anywhere between tomorrow and friday. i can drink my way through that like nothing. one good things that has come out of jesse going away was that i finally ditched that murderous habit i had. i was doing 500 dollars worth of coke and dope to my head a day, and so was he. that’s a lot of fucking hustling. so while he’s been gone, i’ve returned to a chipping state for the time being….suboxone has been helpful, and the drinking kills time inbetween miniruns.

but my first and true love is the needle…when i’m not high all i wanna do is get high, when i am high all i wanna do is stay that way. never ending love/hate relationship. i’ll just sit here a little longer and dream of that first sweet taste in the back of my throat. mmmmm……

life is one big question….

…..when you’re staring at the clock.

it has been 26 days since jesse got sectioned. it has been an interesting time, to put it plainly. i have mostly just been going through the motions….work, home, cop, sleep. i’ve been drinking alot on my off dope days…whatever will take me out of myself, i suppose.

i was a little aprehensive at first about how i was going to go about getting drugs without jesse around. this is not my city. i dont’ know anyone really. i have no car, and no connections. but when my back is against the wall, i am a resourceful little bitch. (like any good junky) i just grabbed jesse’s phone and started dialing numbers. its amazing how easy i made the trasition, from dependent girlfriend, to independent drugaddict. very nice. now i meet the guy whenever i need to, very convienent. a little bit too easy….probably.

but i don’t know what else to do. my life is on pause until this saturday, when jesse finally comes back. he insists that i have mass quantities of consumables ready for his triumphant return, and i will follow orders. it should be a fun ride up to the prison, me and his everloving parents, 45 minutes in the mercedes, reenacting the spanish inquisition. but i dont’ give a damn, they can grill me all they want, because after we get back to his house, they are giving him the keys to his car and all his money they’ve been holding, and we are off. like a fucking prom dress. yes. you heard me.  i don’t know when we’ll see them again, but i do know it wont be anytime soon.

i’m not really sure what happens next. i can’t seem to plan any further ahead than saturday morning…..that first kiss after 30 days. damn, god help us if we ever have to do any real time. ha. 

the serious girl that lives somewhere inside me really hopes things get better, really hopes some kind of good comes out of all this…but then her sarcastic bitch sister kicks her ass and i remember the humor of it all. life isn’t like this for everyone…its a special experience for the sick. junkylife. it is kinda funny, in a sad way.

subliminal messages from my subconcious

i had a dream the other night……

here i am, back in detox…when will this shit ever end. i had been in this particular detox for a few days now. i was getting restless, but i knew the cops were out looking for me so it was better to lay low. besides, the kids in here weren’t so bad, and the meetings were in this incredible place that defies descrption. but i’ll try anyway. the meetings at this particular detox took place on this amazing mountaintop, everything was alive and vibrant, psychadelic swirling colors…and while you were there there was this incredible feeling of peace and security. i liked it up there, and it was one of the only reasons i stayed as long as i did.

but after the meetings were over, we came back to the dingy underfunded detox floor, and i got restless all over again. i met these kids who said they had smuggled in some shit, did i wanna  get off? do i ever. i was in the bathroom trying my damndest to get the rig in right, (which is impossible in dreams, if you know what i mean. i can never get off in dreams, always missing or not hitting right.) but i didn’t even get to finish, cuz the cops were breaking down the door. great, they found me. i wasn’t even safe in the anonimity of detox. so i ran. i was bookin it down the stairs and was almost out the door into the freedom of the city streets, when i heard the voice of the man right at my back.

i was on the ground and in cuffs before i could exhale another breath. goddamnit. i had been doing so good, keeping a low profile. what went wrong? i was frustrated. not looking forward to being sick in jail. grrrr. i waited for them to put me in the car and haul me off to the station, but it didn’t happen.

the bigger of the two cops started feeling all over me. the second one just snickered, enjoying the show. oh no this shit is not going down like this. no fucking way. not gonna happen. the cop was getting more excited, breathing heavy, pawing all over me. i was about to puke. no no no.

my friendly neighborhood police officer couldn’t quite get me to assume the position he was looking for….so he took off my cuffs, for better access.  as soon as my wrists were free, i was off and running again.  i ran into the woods, conviently located across the street, and i disappeared into the darkness. i ran for what seems like years, and finally came out of the woods to an empty parking lot. standing in the lot was jesse  and a few other kids he had been hanging around with. i had a feeing i knew these kids, but i didn’t recognise their faces. even jesse didn’t look like himself. it was a strange feeling, but i was just glad to be amung friends again. of course, in a dream, time doesn’t exsist….we could have wandered for hours or days, but we were just walking and talking. i was really enjoying the company of these people, jesse and i held hands, the sun and the moon hung over us, too lazy to rise or set. i felt free.

some time later we came across what i’m guessing was a public restroom. one room, standing alone in the middle of an empty field. one of our friends went into to building, i don’t know why. what i do know is when he came out, he was transformed. he kept telling us how amazing it was in there, how it changed his whole way of thinking and feeling, how he could do anything now. the room was some portal to complete bliss. one after another the boys went inside. each came  out higher than the next. i begged jesse not to go, something wasn’t right. he didn’t go, and we watch as our friends came in and out over and over.  we didn’t wander the planet anymore, we camped out next to the building, each day the same as the one before. it. our friends studied the room, wanting to know everything about it. they discovered that it was not the room itself that was magical, but some strange gas that came out of the venting. they found away to capture the gas in little capsules, and then they could take the feeling with them whererever they went. becuase, of course, the feeling didn’t last, and you had to keep up a certain level of gas to keep the feeling in your heart.

the next thing i know jesse and i are walking into a hospital. we are going to visit some of our friends….something terrible has been going down. our friends that loved the gas the most had been suffering some dire side effects. we walked into the unit, and there was one of them. in a wheelchair, dead behind the eyes, half made of what looked like cornbread. yes, cornbread. it seems that habitual exposure to the gas would take away all your motor skills, and cognative thought, but not only that, it took away your humanity. it turned people into baked goods. muffins, cookies, cornbread. it was bizzare.

i felt this wave of relief rush over me. thank god jesse and i hadn’t touched that godforsaken room with its mystery gas of blissful destruction. it was devestating to see our friends like this though. i was sitting with one kid, stroking what was left of his hair. bits and pieces of him fell off onto the floor. he was drying out and the bread was going stale, soon he would be nothing but crumbs. swept up and tossed in the trash. it was only a matter of time.

there was a loud noise, i looked up, startled. it was the cops. those same cops i had escaped from before i ran into jesse.  i was instantly terrified. jesse looked up from what he was doing and grabbed my hand. we ran. wind whipping past us and we tried to escape. the cops were much faster this time than the last time, and i was afraid we weren’t going to get away this time. jesse stopped dead and told me to hold onto him, he’d get us out of here. i was confused, but i did as i was told. he pulled a capsule of the gas out of his pocket. i was so upset. he had promised me he wasn’t doing the gas like the rest of the boys. tears welled up in my eyes. how was this going to help us get away. just as the police were closing in on  us, he popped the cap, and grabbed onto me. suddenly we were airborne. we shot into the stratosphere, and i felt incredible. we were so high up i could barely make out the planet below us. no wonder they love this stuff so much. we can do anything up here. i understand now. i BELIEVE.

we came floting down back to earth, miles away from the cops, safe at last. i was elated, i turned to tell jesse how i finally understood the gas….and he was laying on the ground, half human half cornbread.  i fell to my knees, stricken with grief. a small group of our people circled around us, just watching as i ripped chunks of bread off of his face. he was in there somewhere, i just knew it. the bread was brittle and it came off easy in my hands. tears streamed down my face. i knew this shit was going to happen. stupid stupid. see what happems. see what fucking happens. 

i finally dug down to his face. he looked pale and empty inside.  he just kept telling me he loved me, and he needed help. i started screaming. someone help us. we need help someone help us please. the people around us just sat there, dumbly observing the scene like it was primetime tv. i just hung over his twitching body, crying and screaming for help…..but noone came. the sun and the moon hung over us forever. and noone came.

i had that dream about a week ago, and it still fucks me up.

here i am

just when i thought nothing else could be taken away from me….junkylife.com goes down the shitter. ha. the one thing  i thought was steady, goes to show how much i know. 

welll, i the endless drama that is my life…..there is many more a story to tell as of today.

i wonder how being on plain old wordpress will affect me, seeing as i was on junkylife for a very specific reason, that being my status as a junky rockstar. oh well. i said it last week, if you don’t like it, don’t fucking read it.

so here’s to a new chapter in my life, and a new chapter on this blog. welcome aboard readers…..lets take a trip together.

as i look the other way

here’s a good story for all you asshole that want to see me fail (all you supportive ppl, this is not aimed at you) a little sarcastic tourture on my part.)

yesterday was my first day back at work after my cousin john (god protect him) hung himself. i had it in my twisted mind that i was not under any circumstances going to get high today. not going to fucking happen.

needless to say, i was at the same place waiting for the same thing at the regular time. i can not explain to you why. i don’t fucking know why. there is no good reason. i’m just weak  and alone, and i dont know how to deal. but the entire time i’m thinking. kaia just go you don’t need this shit just go home and it will be okay/ be good to yourself. it’s okay. just go home.    obviously, that’s not what happened, and despite the guilt i felt in my stomach i went home with a bag of coke and two bags of dope.  like it was made for tv, the shit was garbage, and i spent the rest of the night rummaging through the trash for cottons to help me come down from this geeked out mess. ( if you ar a real addict, you know where i’m coming from) and now, for the grand finale…..i came down w/ the worst cotton fever you have seen since the days of andy warhol’s factory. (i just take me pokes) i was shaking and sweating the night away, knowing the whole time i brought it on myself, cuz i couldn’t curb my urge to use. i didn’t get high tonight. although i am a little drunk. and i won’t get high tomorrow. friday, well, that’s friday. i don’t give a fuck if it’s right or wrong, this is just me, as real as i can be, trying to give you a little something to read.

this is just another example of god puttting all the signs i can handle right in front of me, and me being to scared and settled in addiction to listen. and i pay…..i pay every time.

in my defense

i am aware that when i put my story on this blog, i put myself out there for any kind of reaction. i know everyone is entitled to their opinion.  but lateley i’ve been getting alot of comments on here (i don’t approve them because i’m not going to allow people to trash me on my own blog) accusing me of not caring about my family or anyone else.  saying i’d be better of dead, and i don’t deserve to be happy because i am the asshole that doesn’t get sober. telling my my life also known as thier entertainment, is getting old, and they don’t want to hear it anymore.i do take full responsibility for all of my actions, and i am aware that i keep making the same mistakes over and over. it doesn’t mean i don’t care. i find it hard to believe ppl that would tell me things like that have ever suffered from this disease. i’m not going to get into why i can’t seem get clean, my bottomless pit of issues of abuse and self deprication. (which are not excuses, i understand) the truth of the matter is i try to be as honest as possible on this site, with myself and my readers. and i get shit for that alot. maybe ppl don’t really want to hear the inner thoughts of an active addict still in the grips of self-centered thinking, a girl driven by fear and feelings of worthlessness. because that’s what the main idea is here. i can’t get clean because i truely don’t believe i’m worth the effort. i truely don’t believe i will ever have a good life. i’ve never seen it, i’m not sure it’s real. and i feel more often than not that it is out of my reach. so i stay stuck. like alot of sick people. so i say this. if you don’t want to hear it, or you are fed up with my active addict issues, please just don’t read anymore. this blog is one of my few outlets to vent my frustrations with myself and get the poison out of my head. don’t attack me here.  i do my best to be loving and understanding of all the people in my life. and if i’m not hurting you, i’d like you to try to be understanding of me.  i’m just trying to live this one day, right now. cut me some slack. thanks.