Trapped On The Inside

Does everyone have a soulmate?

Is that why I feel so alone?  This emptiness is heavy. How can a feeling of nothingness feel so full that my heart just might fall through me onto the floor?  I cannot recall a time when I physically felt my heart hurt.  Not like the interpretation of ‘heartache’ expressed in cinema, or the word we attach to a feeling so carelessly at times, but an actual affliction of soreness and throbbing.  The discomfort that not even a handfull of percocet can relieve. 

Alone and heavy hearted.

Why does everyone die?

Literally and figuratively.

On the bathroom floor and in my mind.

There is no one to talk to.  Only this paper carries my burden. I can see it, but I can’t do it.  I’m so tired.

Is it the end or just the beginning?

Either way it’s going to hurt.

Your voice was the only voice I could bear to hear screaming.  Because it was beautiful.

How do I put the million little pieces together to tell my story?

You need to know.

My mind is so undone I cannot form the words.  Is that what breeds the pain?  The inability to form words the heart is trying to scream, but they remain trapped.  Is that why the lyrics of a song have the power to unravel me into a puddle where the million litte pieces seem impossible to reassemble?  A puddle I’ve been trying not to drown in as long as I’ve been alive. This is where I live.  A house overflowing with words because I cannot get them out for a normal person to decode. 

The house where the locks are on the inside. 

At least I can write all over the walls.

And my words no one can paint over.

Getting High Getting Low

She loves getting high

Always have always will

Doesn’t mean she’ll keep crushin’ up or throwing back those wretched little pills

But she probably will

Love the feeling

Hate the life

Prey on weakness

Overflowin’ with strife

Let the girl be

She’s coming into her own

But now’s the time to take her

She’s stripped and alone

She knows the devil so well

You’d think she’d see him comin’

So wrapped up in the bottle

She can’t ever get to runnin’

Paralyzed and cornered

He chases her down

His partners know her hiding places too

There’s not one more to be found

She’s danced here so long

Hell ain’t nothin new

He tricks her with the wind

It blows a new direction

A better high to chase

But it only lasts a minute

It’s worth it though, ain’t it?

Just in case this time is different.


90 days sober

I wish my insides matched my outsides.

Then I could more than halfway feel pretty.

Then when that creep gives the animal call,

Then when that man gives the nod,

Then I could muster up

The look in my eyes that matches the pain in my heart to say“fuck you”

Oh why can’t I, oh God?

Still Not Sober

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For those who read my last post, as I expected, I failed in my attempt to stay sober.

I am not sure I can do this.

When it rains it pours. My family is toxic. Something I have known most of my life. After having to drag my 2 kids out of my moms house because she was high on meds and her house was so torn apart there was nowhere for the kids to sit or sleep. I threw cut up straws I found in her direction and told her I will not watch her die. Once again, my son is traumatized by addiction. My daughter is a little tougher. She actually started to help clean up while Nana screamed at me for calling her out on her billshit. I offered to help as well, but there was no where to start. She is in a wheel chair, attempting to manuever her way through piles of crap. I can’t watch anymore. She has been doing this for 15 years. I took the kids over to spend the night. There was no way I would leave there. We left. My son, with tears in his eyes, told that I should be there helping her the whole drive home.

In my son’s mind, it is just like I am to blame for his father being on the street smoking crack, in and out of jail. Because we should be together in his eyes. He doesn’t understand I had to pull them and myself away after years of drug abuse, in addition to physical, emotional, financial, sexual, and psychological abuse as well.

Later that night after the episode at my moms which I was pretty torn up about, (no one should see their mother that way), my cousin came over. I cried in her arms over our fucked up family. She consoled me about my mother by handing me 6 vicodin. My drug of choice. I woke up this morning wishing I had saved one. I knew better yesterday. I had drank a bottle of wine, so my judgement was altered and I just didn’t want to feel. That’s what addicts do. I am sitting here in pain. All kinds of pain. No vicodin and a house void of alcohol.

I am depleted of energy. I am done with my mom. I am done with my ex. I am done with cousin. I am done with this pain.

I have to make a better attempt at sobriety instead of using my painful past and my screwed up family as an excuse to drink and use.

It’s Sunday. I always drink when I watch football. Always. I will sit and bear it as long as I can. I can already envision myself going to the mini mart for one beer. I use the excuse of not wanting to withdrawl. I know it’s more psychological than physical. I am so disappointed in myself.

I have to do this. I want to do this. Let’s try again.

#GOHAWKS

Bottoms Up, My Struggle With Alcohol

whiskey

The first night was easy. I was still hungover from the night before, New Year’s Eve.  I wasn’t planning on drinking any more than a glass of wine, well maybe a bottle, at home and just watch TV until I was tired.  I have never been a big fan of staying up too late and getting less than 7 hours of sleep.  Not since college anyway.  And now the bags under my eyes in the morning are enough to get me in bed by 10pm. As if the alcohol didn’t do enough damage. I would rather have my alcohol and go to bed early than stay sober and stay up too late.  As if I had a choice. I am an alcoholic.  Every morning, I walk across the hallway into the bathroom, begrudgingly turn on the light, and am either relieved at my reflection or absolutely mortified at the bags under my eyes.  They are so puffy, it appears as though I was socked in both eyes.  At first, I lean into the mirror as if I were a man trying to find that last nose hair he just can’t grab. Then I turn away as if I had just witnessed a horrible murder and try not to look again. Then comes the shame. And the frozen spoons.  And whatever miracle product I have discovered that says it cures morning bags and dark circles.

 

The second night?   That’s tonight. Not so easy.  You see, I have never made it past the second night in my attempt at sobriety.  It is just too hard.  I give in too early.   I told my daughter my New Year’s Resolution was to stop drinking.  That may have been a huge mistake.  I guess I was looking for a little more accountability.  If I make a promise to a 13 year old, maybe I will be less inclined to destroy it. .  

I detest New Year’s Resolutions. They are a major set up to fail.  Let’s take the one thing we love the most, but is most likely killing us, put it on a pedestal, and tell the world you will never do it again. Crazy stupid!  Yes, the good intentions are in your heart.  But it’s a way out for when we fail.  And usually we do. So I can say when my daughter sees me with a glass of wine or a beer, “Oh honey, New Year’s Resolutions are just attempts with good intentions. They rarely come to fruition.”

 

My alcoholism is to the point of no return.  I don’t think I can ever be a normal drinker.  Alcoholics don’t drink like everybody else.  I can’t have just one.  What is the point?  It doesn’t change how I feel.  And isn’t that the point?  I hate to feel.  Always have.  I suppose that is why I am in this predicament.

 

I am taking my kids to their Nana’s house tonight.  Christmas break is almost over. She wants them to spend a couple nights as she claims she never gets to see them.  For myself, I will be walking into a household pharmacy. I will have a nice selection of morphine and dilaudid, muscle relaxers and valium.  She doesn’t keep much alcohol around anymore, but there will be some.  All I have to do is ask with my puppy dog eyes.  Another quality of an addict…  Manipulation.  Now you know where some of these issues I have originated. At least ninety percent of my family are addicts. Most of them still using.  I am the youngest.  I am 40.  

bottoms up

 

So tonight will be a huge test.  The odds are stacked against me.  I usually fail.  I have always failed at this.  I have been to treatment twice.  Once 15 years ago and the other 8 years ago. I am afraid. I wish I could just be a normal person and go out and have a good time.  I used to be able to have a drink or two without blacking out or becoming obnoxious.  I could handle a bottle of wine at home in the evening without yelling at the kids. My body is changing and so is my ability to handle my liquor.  In other words, my alcoholism is progressing and I am afraid I cannot beat it.

 

People’s secrets keep them sick.  I have close to a hundred, I am sure.  And I will fight til the death to keep it that way.  I can never work the steps of AA, because the 9th step is righting all the wrongs you have done in your addiction. In person! There is just no way.  Maybe that is the root of my drinking.  I am killing pain I do not want to feel.  I can’t bear the thought of having all of those secrets rush to the front of my head. I have worked too hard to suppress them.  What in the hell do I do with them?  It’s easier just to stay sick and keep the mess buried in the dark places in my head.

 

I’ll keep you posted about tonight. Happy New Year.

 

Remember Me

fatherless-chalkboard

She was phenomenal in every way,

Yet unsure of how to accept a compliment.

Her beauty was captivating.

However, her shame blinded her from seeing her true reflection.

She wrestled with her obsession to scrub and organize her surroundings,

Always in an attempt to face her own neurosis.

Her thoughts are what killed her, you know.

She grappled with them through every second of daylight.

And she bantered with them not to lead her into the darkness at night when she closed her eyes.

Like a babe in the woods, she latched onto her thoughts as they became vultures with talons, not realizing their intention to ruin and deprave her soul.

With severed legs, she could not run.

With a torn and fragmented heart, she could not feel.

This extraordinary woman, lost in her own despair, sincerely could not find her way out.

She had become so addicted to wandering into the desolate closets of her mind, she knew that leaving bread crumbs would help her come back…

But the vultures pulled and tugged at the small thread of lucidity she held onto until she could not feel at all…

All of the small things mattered a bit too much.

The distractions of her worried mind.

Sadness disabled her heavy eyes from searching around to see the beauty of the world.

Just as often, she failed to look around to notice the charm of her little ones.

From time to time she caught glimpses of their joy, and at times their afflictions.

These moments were when the urgency to stay alive kicked in.

This rare and remarkable woman travailed until she grew weary.

Her body never gave up, but the venomous thoughts caused her mind to wither away.

This woman prevailed exquisite and admirable.

Yet, she did not know this to be true of herself.

This woman loved you enough to stay alive as long as she could.

She had to let go.

This phenomenal woman was your mother.

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DRUNK

alcoholism

Let’s get really drunk.

Let’s get fucked up.

I don’t want to feel how much I hate myself.

Let’s wait until morning, shall we ?

So I can yell and scream about how fat I am because I drink too much.

About how miserable I feel because I want to write my memoir,

But I can’t because I work all the time.

And when I an not working, I am with you and the kids.

I want to drink until I can no longer feel.

I do it nearly every night.

I have to work tomorrow.

I know I will wake up a mess,

I will care when I see the bags under my eyes.

I will hate myelf.

Something I am used to though.

Right now, I have  a beer and a shot in front of me.

Been drinking since the AM,

I don’t give a fuck right now.

I am a tortured soul.

If it weren’t for my 2 children, I would die right now.

I hurt,

I will hurt tomorrow.

I was once a homeless crack addict,

This should not be as bad as it feels,

As horrible as the past,

But it is.

My name is Melisa.

I am an alchoholic.

And no one understands me..

So here’s to another day of drunkesness,gaining weight, and forgetting I am a parent of 2 beautiful children,

Fucking miserable.

I just wanna be high all the time….

Help me.

Please.