Scary

So what I think is that if I am to continue to be honest with myself, and to stay mentally healthy, I need to write. And I need to write the not-so-great things, too, because pretending that everything is hunky-dory is a really bad thing to do, especially when you have a past like mine. And yet, I do tend to do that way more than I should. Well, I either put on a happy face or just drop out of sight entirely. And neither is a good thing. For me, at least.

As you saw yesterday, I am a tiny bit overextended lately. And tired. After working all day with Satan, I went in for another RL shift, which kept me running my ass off until almost 10:30 p.m. Soooo... start the day job at 8:30, leave RL at 10:30 - you do the math. Yes, kiddies, 14 hours of work, then it's back home, shower, go to bed and back up at 6 a.m. to do the whole thing all over again today. Last night I was a bit more on edge than usual. Lexie called at like 9:30 to inform me that the toilet was about to overflow, the cat just puked, and "when are you coming home??" And I still had two tables sitting, and I still had sidework to do, and I was tired, and crabby, and depressed, and I really wanted to just cry. I started wondering if it all was worth it, you know? I mean, here I was, busting my ass, while my daughter sits home all day by herself. What kind of mother am I, anyway? Do I really need the extra money? Well, the short answer is 'yes,' but I started trying to figure out how I would manage if I did quit. And the bottom line is, I probably would, but I would never get out of debt or get that new car or be able to actually have a savings account.

So I'm sitting in one of the booths, doing some sidework and waiting for my tables to leave and worrying about Lexie, when Dani asks if I would like to join some of the other servers for a drink after work. And I really wanted to say, "Definitely! I'm there!" but instead I shake my head and smile. Because I am a responsible person now, and I have a daughter who needs me, and a cat who puked, and a toilet on the verge of overflowing, and I have to save my money and get up at 6:00 am to work for Satan. But my brain is still going 100 mph since I am now exhausted and crabby and depressed, and it wasn't until I finally left the restaurant and got in the car that it happened.

I'm guessing it was a combination of my mental state and watching "Intervention" the night before and the fact that the song playing on my radio was seducing me with its mellow lyrics:
Hello? Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me...
Is there anyone at home?
Come on, come on now,
I hear you're feeling down.
Well, I can ease your pain
Get you on your feet again.
Relax -
I need some information first.
Just the basic facts -
Can you show me where it hurts?
There is no pain, you are receding...
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon...
You are only coming through in waves...
Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying...
When I was a child, I had a fever,
My hands felt just like two ballons.
Now I've got that feeling once again -
I can't explain, you would not understand -
This is not how I am...
I have become comfortably numb.

I wanted to get high.

I wanted to go back to Kenny's apartment with the balcony door open and the summer breeze blowing the curtains towards us as we partied. I wanted to let Kevin fill my pipe and light it for me and inhale the smoke and let it take me away to where I was comfortably numb. Back to before the paranoia, before the end stages of addiction - when I had no job, no daughter, no responsibilities except for making sure the test tube was dry enough to cook up a new batch of crack.

When I could've cared less how late it was, because the days and nights all bled together, anyway, and you slept when you felt like it. When collection agencies made me laugh, because they couldn't get blood from a stone. When nothing mattered - nothing - except for that feeling you got when the drugs took over your body and soul...

For the first time in I can't even remember how long, I actually felt the physical nausea I used to feel before I partied. My head had that buzzing sensation and I could feel myself starting to grind my teeth. I closed my eyes at the stoplight before my complex, and took a deep breath. when the light turned green, I continued on my drive with my stomach churning and pulled into my driveway a few short minutes later.

I turned off the car and the music stopped. And I felt like I wanted to cry. Because I had never had a jones like this since the previous millennium. And it scared me.

And I walked into my house, and I saw Lexie's smile, and Ginger was practically falling over from the force of her tail-wagging, and it all stopped. Because all the stress, all the responsibility, all the hard work... this was what it had accomplished for me. My own home, my wonderful daughter, my psycho pets, everyone who loved me and who I loved back. Trust, and the knowledge that I am a good person. The ability to take care of not only myself, but a child and my menagerie. The security of having money in the bank, and not having to depend on anyone else for that. The strength to have those feelings, and to overcome them instead of giving in to the old temptations.

Because it is so not worth it. I may be going through some tough times, but I need to keep my focus on the most important things in my life. I don't ever want to lose them, especially not for 'one more hit.' Which I am too smart to think would end with 'just one hit.' I refuse to go down that road again - ever.

And I think writing all this down and having some cyber-support really helps, too. So thank you all for being here, listening, and not judging. I promise when those feelings resurface, as I'm sure they probably will, I'll keep my focus and write it out again. Things may suck at times, but at least I know they'll always get better.