Friday, March 16, 2012

Panic at the disco 101.

I literally just made myself dopesick talking about the last year of my using with my buddies at the diner. I'm never one to sit around and "war story" the fuck out of people, but apparently I needed to get some shit out. It was like someone dropped a few ex~lax into the dormant volcano of a constipated asshole, and exploded all over the shellac of the table I was sitting at.
My heart started racing as I talked about my x-girlfriend finding me overdosed and bleeding from the ear on the floor of my old apartment, a light film of sweat appeared on my brow as I went into graphic detail about the last few days before I flew back to NY to finally kick, and before I knew it... that fucking pit in my stomach that had been filled with love and AA bullshit, was now a black hole of want. Want more. Want more of anything. I could almost feel the needle piercing my arm as I broke up pieces of white toast into my eggs over easy. I felt the rush of the cocaine from a speedball hitting the back of my throat while the heroin chased close behind, comforting my nose into a warm fuzzy blanket, relieving my heart from exploding as I shoveled slimy chicken abortion sopped up by soggy, starchy, white bread down my gullet. Trying to fill the black hole of a war~story with warming comfort food.
I felt my eyes popping out of my head as I got closer to the end of the story, and all I wanted to do was dive out the huge glass window onto Franklin, and jump into the first shitty Honda civic I saw with two no english speaking mexicans in the front seats....

The good thing about being sober and staying sober is... having some sort of choice when that insane wave comes over you and you almost feel like you've never made one meeting in your life, and it was all some weird dream. Like waking up from an insane drug dream, having to really check and make sure that you didn't get loaded the night before, I've had to do that on more than several occasions. So after my hour long rant at the table, and sending myself into what I thought might turn into and overwhelming craving frenzy... I took a deep breath, paid the check, drank my fucking water, and went outside and smoked a cigarette on the walk to the car. My heart slowed down as Danny drove me home and we laughed about what douchebags some people we know are... now I'm sitting here writing it, instead of actually having to live it.

To all the dickheads that were in my position 5 years ago, when I couldn't get an hour sober, let alone a day, all I have to give you is this...

It's a lot easier to stay sober, than it is to get sober. If that makes absolutely no sense at all, maybe re-read this little blog... and do the fucking steps.

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