TWEEKERLAND – Meth Speed Bumps

More Gratitude

I found this little flower walking along a local reservoir a few months ago. We took my mom up to go see the flowers, the lake, the mountain views, and the huge waterfall.

Along our way we found this just growing there. As we looked closely, there were more and more and more – and a variety of different flowers that we had missed too. We overlooked the little things that can make a day so beautiful – just for a little while, though – because we were so focused on the negative dark cloud that came to the reservoir with us (My Mom has lung cancer.)  After we started to focus on the beauty, soon we began to actively seek out the beauty purposefully, and what a great day we had.

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Pretty Dumb.

Well, after all the morning drama, I went off to work. The cool thing was, the Sheriff’s dispatcher kept calling me to see where I was, how I was doing… and if I was going home after work (Since they were going to keep hubby behind bars, it was safe.) I thought to myself (And probably told people, too,) “How cool is that? The sheriff’s department keeps calling me and keeping me advised of “His” status, he isn’t getting out… and they asked how I was doing, too.” I wasn’t really doing all that great, though, and went to a friends house to drink (Since she was, in my world, a “Normie” since she didn’t use meth or smoke weed or any of THAT sort of thing.) Work let me out of there early, so I went over to my friends house and cried into some kind of Vodka or something. Vodka. That’s harsh (For me it is.)

See, here’s the thing. The Dispatcher wanted me to let her know where I was “Just in Case” anything changed, which I thought was so nice… so I called them up and let them know where I was, and when I’d go home. I did go home, I was depressed, and had mixed feelings about all of this stuff. I let the dispatcher know I was home now and she told me he would not be released and was going to be going to be leaving on some out of county warrants. 

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Back to the “Drugalog…”

Keeping this brief, I’m going to jump to the part where the police have taken my husband away from my cute little cabin. I’m gonna jump ahead to the part where people at work suspect there is something not quite right about me – but, as usual, I do a pretty good job, so they watch and wait.

So during one of our usual loud, obnoxious arugments (This had become routine for hubby and me, with visits from the sheriff becoming more and more regular,) I asked a local womens agency for help.. and someone at my job called the sheriff one last time. I went off to work, and before he could get to work himself, hubby went to jail. He had warrants…

…and I had meth stashed (Where else?) in my underwear drawer! The sheriff found it, charged him with possession, and I went to work.

The rest of this story is so stupid on my part – ADDICT stupid – I’m not gonna say what happened next – yet.

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Gratitude

I don’t have a lot of time today.

Be grateful for what you do have. Be grateful today, even though today is a hard day for all of us (I think every day presents challenges and gifts – be grateful for both.)

Share what you have – it will come back to you ten fold in time. It might not come back tomorrow, or next week, or next year – and you may find yourself resentful of that.

Expecatations are premeditated resentments.

Expect nothing, hope with all your heart, and just be grateful for what you have.

Crushed Ice?

You know, since last August or so, Life has been fairly PRESSURED for me. Pressured in that my Mother has cancer and the prognosis is poor. Pressured in that finances have been cut down considerably, in that one adult (Stoner) child finally moved out so that the older one could move immediately in behind him. Presured in that layoffs where I work are an expectation, not a suprise.

My dog Daizy – she died.

And, for me, the worse kind of pressure, what appears to be the loss of SOMETHING in the relationship at home. There seems to be a “Dry Drunk” in my house – he isn’t using, he isn’t doing any of that. He has just returned to a state of mind that implies that there is an addict in the house.

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“Clean.”

  So today, I don’t feel like getting high.

Does that mean that I am cured – that I am not an addict anymore because I haven’t used meth (Or, as a matter of fact, gotten high on ANYTHING) for more than six years?

Some people think “Yes,” this means I am recovered.

I do not believe that at all. I believe that I am an addict, and that I have made a choice every day for more than six years to refrain from getting high. At first, it wasn’t like “Making a choice.” At first, it was like this agonizing cruelty that I was forcing on myself every minute for hours and days and weeks… and months at a time.

I couldn’t stay clean. I couldn’t accept that “Clean” for me was going to have to mean “Not getting high.” Period.

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Dry Ice – Living Clean

I’m going to do some writing about living clean – living without being high – about living life without having to use dope to deal with my life.

Life throws us all some curve balls. Life isn’t easy – recovery does NOT promise us an easier life, just a better way to cope with the problems that every life WILL come accross. Recovery provides us with the tools to get through the good times with a smile, and the tough times with determination and some tools that don’t destroy everything else about our lives.

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Wherever I go, there I am.

We shared a condo with a lady and her baby.  Paul, my dog Moe, and  I lived in the upstairs portion, and we all shared the kitchen.  I had a new job at a local hospital, no one there knew about my history, what I had done, or much else except my name.  At the time I figured that in this small rural community, I was well hidden and could start my life all over.  It only took about a week – maybe ten days – before Meth came to the front door.

We know each other by sight. A meth addict can spot another tweeker most of the time, and we weren’t fooling anyone in the neighborhood. A friend of our roommate’s came over and introduced himself, and offered us some “Shit.”

It took about a week – maybe two. My addiction travels with me. Other addicts can see that about me.

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The “Geographical Cure”

I had lost my career, and with that a large part of my identity. My friends were in and out of the house constantly, we had band practice in our garage at least twice a week which brought with it a lot of people, drinking, and a constant “Party” atmosphere. My kids were young, the children of all of my friends were always there too. The “Moms” had our own thing going on; remember I had the 3 bedroom house with the picket fence, swing set, green grass in the backyard, etc.  So in spite of the motorcycles and musicians in front of the house, the kids had it pretty good inside, too. I wasn’t working and I wanted to be a mom for a while.

A mom, but still, an addict. Still using, still with a house full of bikers, loud music, and the lifestyle that goes with being an addict.

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“Functional Addict”

I finished college. I got a job with the State, I got married, the house with the picket fence, 2 kids, a dog, and and a drug problem.  The only way I was able to stay off the meth and cocaine and other “Hard” drugs was to be pregnant; this, of course, means that in the beginning of both of my pregnancies, I was using and that’s something that is hard to talk about.  It is what it is, though, and this is my story.  I decided I would be as honest as I can, and as I am an addict, there will be things – lots of them – that I am not proud of.

When my children were young I remember life being fairly stable. Eventually, though, I began to invite people, places and things back into my life that led right back to “Old Behavior.”

I think it is important to note that I have stated that “I Invited” the chaos back into my life. Drugs didn’t walk in off the street, nothing forced itself up my nose, into a pipe and somehow smoked by me without my consent, and the people I associated with were people I chose to associate with.

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