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the fight of my life
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whorella mundane
Oct 2, 2016, 1:34:16 PM10/2/16
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all this time ... i've been blaming myself for this.
i got sucked in ... i saw leo blissfully passed out and my sister just died and i had just had surgery and tim had booted me and betty was dead and my friends were gone. be it my fault or not ...
even now - at first i say "hey i answer my phone now" and i get a few calls but already the phone has gone dead. okay ... okay.
i was always jagging around about drugs.
about my arrest ... and timmy's heartbreaking murder. in prison.
i was always able to drop into the war and come out, seemingly unscathed, to tell the story.
i am a drug war correspondent of sorts but it wasn't like i picked this assignment. it's my life.
and all of these years of not publishing ... these are my years in the desert. jesus lived 33 years. we only hear about the last 3.
all these years i've felt like a fucking failure.
i blamed myself for all of this and everyone got on board with that.
i should be tough.
i should let them go.
addiction is a disease defined by the afflicted's inability to stop using drugs or alchyhol ... and what is the cure? tell the afflicted to stop.
DOES NO ONE ELSE SEE HOW FUCKED UP THAT IS? and the NA literature says "there is no shame in being an addiction once you stop using" yet the definition of the disease is that THEY CAN'T.
a problem as old as man ... and weakness, we will not tolerate. we seek to kill it in others to deflect it in ourselves but we all have them. whether it's women, money, wine, whatever. we all have our excuses but usually our weaknesses (food, laziness, smokes) do not bring us to our knees as they are not illegal.
and the solution for the family of the addicted, the diseased, is to corner them and expect them to cower instead of attack.
what if insulin was illegal? or zoloft? and what is the difference between a patient and an addict? a fucking prescription.
I HAVE REACHED THE BREAKING POINT ... i am ANGRY and that is the work of the ego but i can't help but feel this is not just of the ego. it is love, cornered.
all this time i have blamed myself.
i dumped poison into my body to block it out ... how could i have failed these kids after everything i did?
but all i think about is the times i didn't do ... there's three instances that i regret. and the ego erases the hills i walked and the buses i road to get that kid help and how he made the honor roll in 8th grade. how i fought the teachers. how we left the house each morning at 6 am to ride two buses to get him help. and how i'd go to the cmu campus and sit in on classes i didn't even need to take.
how well dressed he was ... how he had everything the other kids did.
how me and my sister found rich symbols on sale.
how i bought defective clothes for a dollar and sewed them into perfection.
the voice in my head dogging me is the voice of my family.
judging me. if only i'd do what they do.
throw them out of the nest.
but these kids can't fly - not yet.
what if we really treated them like they were sick?
all of the dark behavior is driven by laws.
no one begs for insulin (if insured, i know this is subject to argument but for argument's sake i'm going to assume everyone has insurance although there is no "everyone" in any argument).
if we gave them the drugs, after the deprivation, how long before they could stop lying? how long before they felt safe again? how long before they felt safe enough to deal with their dependence?
it took so long for me to wean myself off zoloft and omg if i was out of it for a few days, it was horrific. never before had i been so dependent on a drug. ever. ever. and it scared the shit out of me. but it's cheap and plentiful but still ...
so they will prescribe you shit ... it may kill your liver but your toenails will be beautiful! all the new mental health drugs ... when i went into rehab in 1980, we all had to see a shrink but there were no prescriptions written.
the only gauge we use to determine the good from the bad drugs is tolerance. and yet, after my sister died, my doctor tripled my zoloft. but it was her idea. i didn't ask.
i can't help but think the tolerance ... the need for more and more of the drug, is incited my the stress of the dependency. "i know the dr is not going to keep giving me this" or "i'm out of money and shit to sell" ... and always the haunting "how will i get more" leading directly into "i need more."
yes these are my theories after having LIVED IT.
if leo had two bags a day, one in the morning, one after dinner, he's fine. i can't afford that, of course. and the suboxone does nothing to him. he hasn't eaten or slept right in a month. it's like he's in constant withdrawal. i've never seen it hit someone like it does him.
i watched my son gripping the foot of the bed, bent over, his entire body shaking and he held on so hard ... bent over and in horrible pain. he stood that way for hours and hours ...
NO. it's just like when he was getting in trouble in school and i got him help and then suddenly he's on the honor roll. i don't care how old he is. or lolo. i will get them through this.
i got sucked in ... i saw leo blissfully passed out and my sister just died and i had just had surgery and tim had booted me and betty was dead and my friends were gone. be it my fault or not ...
even now - at first i say "hey i answer my phone now" and i get a few calls but already the phone has gone dead. okay ... okay.
i was always jagging around about drugs.
about my arrest ... and timmy's heartbreaking murder. in prison.
i was always able to drop into the war and come out, seemingly unscathed, to tell the story.
i am a drug war correspondent of sorts but it wasn't like i picked this assignment. it's my life.
and all of these years of not publishing ... these are my years in the desert. jesus lived 33 years. we only hear about the last 3.
all these years i've felt like a fucking failure.
i blamed myself for all of this and everyone got on board with that.
i should be tough.
i should let them go.
addiction is a disease defined by the afflicted's inability to stop using drugs or alchyhol ... and what is the cure? tell the afflicted to stop.
DOES NO ONE ELSE SEE HOW FUCKED UP THAT IS? and the NA literature says "there is no shame in being an addiction once you stop using" yet the definition of the disease is that THEY CAN'T.
a problem as old as man ... and weakness, we will not tolerate. we seek to kill it in others to deflect it in ourselves but we all have them. whether it's women, money, wine, whatever. we all have our excuses but usually our weaknesses (food, laziness, smokes) do not bring us to our knees as they are not illegal.
and the solution for the family of the addicted, the diseased, is to corner them and expect them to cower instead of attack.
what if insulin was illegal? or zoloft? and what is the difference between a patient and an addict? a fucking prescription.
I HAVE REACHED THE BREAKING POINT ... i am ANGRY and that is the work of the ego but i can't help but feel this is not just of the ego. it is love, cornered.
all this time i have blamed myself.
i dumped poison into my body to block it out ... how could i have failed these kids after everything i did?
but all i think about is the times i didn't do ... there's three instances that i regret. and the ego erases the hills i walked and the buses i road to get that kid help and how he made the honor roll in 8th grade. how i fought the teachers. how we left the house each morning at 6 am to ride two buses to get him help. and how i'd go to the cmu campus and sit in on classes i didn't even need to take.
how well dressed he was ... how he had everything the other kids did.
how me and my sister found rich symbols on sale.
how i bought defective clothes for a dollar and sewed them into perfection.
the voice in my head dogging me is the voice of my family.
judging me. if only i'd do what they do.
throw them out of the nest.
but these kids can't fly - not yet.
what if we really treated them like they were sick?
all of the dark behavior is driven by laws.
no one begs for insulin (if insured, i know this is subject to argument but for argument's sake i'm going to assume everyone has insurance although there is no "everyone" in any argument).
if we gave them the drugs, after the deprivation, how long before they could stop lying? how long before they felt safe again? how long before they felt safe enough to deal with their dependence?
it took so long for me to wean myself off zoloft and omg if i was out of it for a few days, it was horrific. never before had i been so dependent on a drug. ever. ever. and it scared the shit out of me. but it's cheap and plentiful but still ...
so they will prescribe you shit ... it may kill your liver but your toenails will be beautiful! all the new mental health drugs ... when i went into rehab in 1980, we all had to see a shrink but there were no prescriptions written.
the only gauge we use to determine the good from the bad drugs is tolerance. and yet, after my sister died, my doctor tripled my zoloft. but it was her idea. i didn't ask.
i can't help but think the tolerance ... the need for more and more of the drug, is incited my the stress of the dependency. "i know the dr is not going to keep giving me this" or "i'm out of money and shit to sell" ... and always the haunting "how will i get more" leading directly into "i need more."
yes these are my theories after having LIVED IT.
if leo had two bags a day, one in the morning, one after dinner, he's fine. i can't afford that, of course. and the suboxone does nothing to him. he hasn't eaten or slept right in a month. it's like he's in constant withdrawal. i've never seen it hit someone like it does him.
i watched my son gripping the foot of the bed, bent over, his entire body shaking and he held on so hard ... bent over and in horrible pain. he stood that way for hours and hours ...
NO. it's just like when he was getting in trouble in school and i got him help and then suddenly he's on the honor roll. i don't care how old he is. or lolo. i will get them through this.
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