“How do you like it? How do you like it? More, more, more!”
That is the song I woke up with in my head this morning. I shouldn’t say woke up actually – in fact I rolled off the couch and stumbled to pee while dodging questions from the boy about when we could go to the movies. I solved the movie problem – by later buying him three used awesome movies and apologized that I needed to work and I cannot under any circumstances tolerate sitting in a movie theatre. He said he loved me and went back to his P90X.
In the haze that has become a normal wake up lately, I pushed GO, on the espresso machine and stuck a butt in my mouth. I continued fucking around with a beverage routine for fifteen minutes before I went out and lit the cigarette that had been screaming at me from in front of my puffy eyes. I needed to start a pot of tea for the sweet iced tea I can’t stop throwing back. I finally broke down and purchased a whole set up of gear and various teas from Teavana. My point in short is that I cannot do anything a little.
There is never just one. I cannot ingest, purchase, marry or otherwise – just one.
Having recently started being frank about my addictions and tools to tolerate the universe I am often hyper aware of my behaviors. Good and all those other adjectives. Addictive behaviors and compulsions for all kinds of nonsense smack me in the face like Jack would smack Karen for threatening poverty. I have a very addictive personality. Personality disorder if you want to call it that. That seems like an appropriate affliction.
I can’t help but think about the last time I took blotter acid. Living in my first apartment, I was seventeen. A shabby studio in a rooming house on the busy side of town. It was the summer I graduated from high school and I was working at the florist and had also started working at the diner. TripleEx and I were in the throws of young love – in the form of drunken brawls, mad make up sex and who could up the other. I was very docile sober and a complete maniac when I drank.
Needless to say I was still open to hallucinogens and was happy; I could enjoy them in my own place. I say them because on that last night I polluted my brain with those ingredients I insisted I needed more than one hit. TripleEx is very protective of me, for all his ridiculous thoughts and insane ways of making his point he has always had my best interest in mind. Very quickly he dismissed my request for a double dose and I put the single dose on my tongue and pouted around the crowded little white trash palace. Having listened to me squawk and bitch for what seemed to me at least a couple of hours a young and unscathed TripleEx gave me the second; I greedily popped it in my mouth and went to take a shower.
It was still light out. Must’ve been a Friday night, I vaguely remember some parties happening and I had work the next day. At any given point when I am influenced by self-medicating drugs – you will find me in the Tub.
There I stood in the beige shower staring at my hand. For a long time. It was so big. It was also flexible, my fingers grew with each action of opening and closing my fist; which by now I had done like a million times because it was so amazing. That was pretty much the best part of the night. The next thing I knew I was cold and trying to focus on Hill Street Blues that was on the little tv at the end of the shotty pull out couch. The only problem with the crime drama on the screen was they were all cowboys. Tall, strapping, chap wearing cowboys. Maybe that was when I started shaking my head back and forth, because for the life of my I could not fix the image on the screen that I knew was wrong. I shook my head and decided I had taken one too many and this wasnt anything at all like the last times I had taken one hit.
More, more, more…. Hopping around the couch bed and wringing my hands I tried to convince him to take me to the hospital for a while to make it go away. Thank God he went outside for a bit while I lay down to take a load off my worried mind. I calmed down and settled into the long night when I heard the Pink Floyd helicopters outside the window and I tripped with the imaginary sound of my favorite soundtrack humming with the chopper flying violently close to my weeping brain cells.
The night went by with small interruptions and at one point TripleEx came to get a weapon of some sort. It didn’t matter to me because I stayed on my right side, laying horizontal until 4 am when the head of the cigarette I had been watching so closely burnt my two fingers. Oh dear, that’s hot, I thought. What is that red ball I am staring at – this is not my beautiful house and my brain feels very thick. But the red-hot head of this cigarette is clearly the definition of divinity right now. I’ll keep looking at it for an hour or so before I have to shower and go to work.
He was sleeping beside me and that’s what I did slowly coming back from another lost night from the rancid theory of more is better. I made it to work, I wore a flouncey miniskirt with cropped leggings underneath. My hair was in a messy ponytail on the top of my head. I wore very little makeup at that time in my life so my face was fresh and young although probably dehydrated. Who knows why I can remember how I looked so clearly, maybe because in hindsight I was so young, so beat up, and still a true optimist at heart.
Brain chemistry and recovery took a few days. I was reasonably worried that my brain would never come back to function the same. Maybe it never did, whatever. I never took Acid again. I did however continue to dose up on everything else. It was another eight years before I got clean and sober in 1998. I am not claiming that title any longer, obviously.
I decided to write in my car today. I have three beverages, multiple packs of cigarettes and varieties of herb. My work bag contains at least four different kinds of candy only one being chocolate because the rest needs to be gummy in nature.
I am listening to Sirius, my iPod and a local station. Lastly my dashboard is decorated with lots of colored magical markers. They make me happy. It’s all good, I am flecked with mindfulness about my true self and I am learning to identify and accept, as I begin to heal my soul and laugh at a lot of my defects and stories along the way. More laughing is always better.