I wanna new drug

It is almost March 31st. The first day of Spring has passed and the days of discomfort and ambiguity that surrounds the first and last week of a season seem to have dissipated. I am sitting in my front porch, smoking cigarettes at my computer. Hunched over at a make shift work space that allows me a corner where I do not feel guilty encroaching my increasingly determined behavior of getting some of these words down. The Bowflex looms in front of me like a Transformer that has been frozen in another video clip of my life. My dread mill that I have pounded out hundreds of miles on; has a soft sided cooler on the platform along with, school uniforms from last semester that need to be returned and a basket of odd clothes that should be in a bag next to the other donation bags directly in front of me. I haven’t put that box of Christmas decorations away yet because I have two strings of lights still in the yard to be added.

The feeling of Spring has set in enough that I am noticing these obstacles to organization – I am not committed to jumping out of my seat to do anything about them yet.

I recently started actively participating in regular treatment. While chronicling my memoirs is a lofty idea on its own. I started it without regular, every week therapy. I was also on a medication that didn’t help with any of the behaviors or feelings I struggle with. I have been self-medicating for years. It hit me like a dud bottle rocket after noticing a pattern of mania/depression/physical tics and chronic apathy that I was unable to reel in.

That was in January. Since that mild bleak month this winter, I have been seeing my Therapist Steve, whom I respect and trust, weekly. Monthly, I am seeing a Psycho Pharmacologist, Dr. Mustache. He is very articulate, patient and to the point. We have met four times and are trying things slowly. I am only committed to so much and we really have to decide which symptoms and side effects I will tolerate. I have allowed him to see me in full break down sobbing and shaking and clawing at my skin. He has witnessed me walk into his office as a confident, stylish and aloof woman in sunglasses seemingly afraid of nothing and confident in her voice. Once seeing me generically, at my normal; a little stoned, confident but awkward, with boundaries and a wall that is visible to anybody who can correctly spell addiction. And yes, he is aware of my self-medicating and that I do not booze anymore.

So here I sit, committed to consumption of a drug that makes me see things a bit slower. I don’t feel physically like my authentic self. I am aware of my eating disorder, my depression, my mania, my tics and self-injury, my obsession with creativity and feeling productive. I am more conscious of my relationships with others, the losses I have suffered and squandered. I assume my family; which includes my first husband and Miss Carry are a little relieved to not have been witness to some recent behaviors. Whether its, curled up on a bathroom floor full of laundry pulling my hair out, swiping tables full of craft supplies, homework and snacks onto the floor with one forearm. An insatiable need for sex, that is on hold yet again. Or lastly, incessant pacing and physical movements.

{I walk around a lot anyway because I am always fucking looking for something}

Everything gets lost if I let go of it. It is so frustrating that even a very stable person would be driven crazy, in my humble opinion. I find it a little depressing to have all of my, “even when they are out of control”, powers taken away. They are sitting in wooden slat back chairs in a circle watching me shuffle and try to do the next right thing.

This week was the first time in a while I thought to myself, “Maybe hanging myself wouldn’t be such a bad idea?”

I would rather run away for days on end and have my kids think I am sick, than for them to know that I am dead. That idea isn’t something I can afford or even want to entertain. I wasn’t pleased when during my only small fit of frustration and tears this week resulted in that being a thought within the first five minutes.  I took a break and made some egg salad and did a load of laundry. Good enough.

{I am tired of doing all that right stuff}

Happily, I have been talking to lots of strangers this week; at the market, the park and Twitter. I even stopped a meter-maid to discuss her week of splendor in the sunshine. Mentioning her joints were not aching as much and she had a lighter step, I hoped she had written less tickets as a result. I asked how people were and I was pleased to be myself. When prompted by anybody I told them of my writing, my website and my Blog. I spoke of this project and of my brilliant business partner. I made them laugh with anecdotes and having them identify with the challenges of life and womanhood.

This week I made a new friend. She is warm, attractive and full of more life than I would be, unless I was hopped up on amphetamines impersonating June Cleaver. She walks with grace and speaks to you while looking in your eyes with acceptance. Interestingly, she is married to a childhood neighbor of mine and I met her this year in my son’s classroom. My boy adores her son and the look on the boys faces when they are together is priceless. I had met her a few times and was immediately attracted to her aura. It took until this week to sit down beside her and engage. She turned out to be exactly the adorable hot shit I knew she would be. I am fascinated by her. She has terminal cancer.

Speaking with another school mom I trust and adore (there are not many) I asked if the other moms talk about me. She replied with a big wide smile, and said, “No! Never. They think you are really nice and pretty and funny and mysterious.”

Not the weird anti social girl over there – as I perceive myself. We ended up in a lengthy discussion about families and husbands and womanhood and mothering. Those are the experiences I live for.

{Engaging and hopeful, compassionate and friendly, without motives or walls – there is nothing to lose}

These past several weeks culminated in the realization that I am in love with what I am doing. That is a side effect I welcome. Dr. Mustache said it would be easier if we could identify THE problem. Following much discussion we decided that would require more than either of us are willing to prescribe or consume. For now, I am taking only the risks I am willing to pay consequences for. Humph. Yet another good effect…  I am toying with my weed consumption and various other pills always seeking that gentle easy feeling that allows me to not only feel myself and my surroundings but to interact or enjoy them.

{I am always seeking more}

This week I will see both Dr. Mustache and Steve and I will be whoever I wake up as that day. I trust that by being authentic with the world and the professionals who I pay to assist me, I will have accomplished something of use.

Copyright © 2011-2012. Eggs.Smoke.Sex. All rights reserved.

Words and images on this blog are copyrighted and not to be reproduced in any way without my express permission in writing. Please contact me with any queries at cognitive-ly@live.com

3 thoughts on “I wanna new drug

  1. I have read this post several times over trying to think of a “perfect” comment, yet I still haven’t found it (not even close). All I know is I admire your honesty and writing style, and I very much look forward to reading more.

  2. I feel like the more walls you put up the harder it is to remember who the person is that they expect to see. . .

    You seem pretty. . . wall-less. When I’m open and lay it all out there, I’m typically much happier. When people still like you despite all your perceived flaws and problems. . . it’s a really nice feeling.

    Good post.

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