June has been a particularly hard month. I thought it may be because of something to do with Cris, as it was his birthday, on the 11th, and I thought this fuelled the constant thoughts of him, and the crystal meth. I must confess to giving him far more headspace than he was technically due, and it hurt, a lot.
I made a promise to myself, though, that when I am hurting, I won’t gloss over the pain, at least not in private, but that – as painful as it may be – I would explore the cause of the pain, fundamentally deconstruct it, realise the lesson, heed the lesson, grow and eradicate the symptoms for later life by doing so. I would take accountability, I would assume the blame, I would reason where reason had failed before, I would take the unselfish look, and I would accept the past as done, and the route taken to clear the way ahead. That meant that every time I thought about Cris I couldn’t just wallow in a crystal meth funk, or lie back in a dreamy sensorium, imagining that Things Were Better. It meant a lot of thinking about him.
But June is also the anniversary of my mum’s birth, and her death, and these weigh in on me, too.
Work as also been emotionally intense, as they are putting together a documentary for me, about me and my addiciton, and I have taken the director through the 18 years of hell. This is in preparation for the shoot, which happens in the first week of July. It’s going to be an emotional ride, but I hope it will be a cathartic one, too! With each retelling, I have to scratch at old wounds, and there, the promise I made myself comes to bear, again, because I am not building callouses, I am rebuilding myself.
My flat is nice, because it is mine – well, I only rent it, but I pay that rent out of money I earned, and this is a good feeling. But the flat is empty, and bare, it has a bed, an air mattress and a camper chair, and nothing else. It gets cold, and there are no creature comforts at all. This is depressing, because I used to have all these things, these furnishings, these trappings of a comfortable life, but now I have nothing, because last year, I sold everything, so I could have drugs, instead.
I have skipped out on the meetings, in June, too, and these are the only organised barrier between me and the meth. Oh, so many excuses: too busy, too cold, too far to walk…and slowly, the cravings came back. At first. First they were slow ebbs, night and day, but then they swept in and drowned me, and thank God I took measures beforehand to stop me buying meth, because it was that close!
I took flack for my lax attitude, from Mo, and that is another conversation, once he and I have sorted our shit. But be that as it may, Mo has every right to shout, to scream, to question, to instruct – he’s been there, and he’s been there, because of me. God’s mercy means Mo is trying to help, not to blame, or seek revenge. Mo is one of my bastions, and though he hits the nerve at times, it’s only because he’s right.
I haven’t been speaking to James as often as I used to – and that’s not good, because this journey was kicked off by his comment, and though I owe no one except myself the responsibility of healing, out of respect and gratitude, I owe it to James – and to others, like Mary, Sheldon and my family, to Millicent – oh, hell, let me not list the world here again – but to a whole gang of people who care, and who matter, to me – I owe them this journey.
People, it’s tough, and I’m grateful for your help, and really humbled by it.
I won’t let you down.
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