Yeah, I know I’m way off of my usual time. However, my thoughts are on some other shit right now, and I need to own them right now.
So, as I mentioned, I went through a whole episode with The Marine pulling the fucking disappearing act again. I mean, ugly crying, laid up, legit didn’t work for like 20 hours, I mean the absolute dumb shit. I also mentioned I had to throw multiple pairs of shoes at the situation just to get out of bed.
What I didn’t say was, for the first time in a very long time, I was on the verge of relapse. It’s why I bought all the shoes. So I didn’t have any cash to go pick up pills from the hood, and I would have some serious fucking explaining to do if I went to the people that don’t require cash from me at pick up.
I spent all of my walking around money so I couldn’t fucking put it up my nose. Oxycodone was calling my name loudly. So loudly that I literally was afraid to have cash in my hands.
I have had a few times where I really thought about grabbing a couple of pills and just saying what I always used to say, “I’ll quit after I do these couple of pills”. This time, though, I didn’t even try to pull that bullshit. I literally said to myself, “I honestly don’t give a fuck today. I want to not hurt right now.”
That’s not a good place for a fucking junkie. That’s a place where you say fuck it and do the number of pills you have the cash for, and yesterday, that would have probably killed me.
I haven’t ever been so close to saying fuck this shit. I knew that if I didn’t immediately rid myself of everything in my glittery Kate Spade and everything I could draw from the ATM, shit was going downhill and fucking quickly.
So, I bought shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. Running shoes, and heels, and furry boots, and fuck really I’m not even sure until UPS comes today. But I do know what they aren’t bringing.
They aren’t bringing any little blue pills that take all of the pain away. They aren’t bringing the medication that gives me a supersized case of the Go Fuck Yourself.
I really thought I wouldn’t have these days anymore. The days where I can literally taste the pill residue on the side of my bank card. The days where I can feel the nod out slipping up on me, taking all of the fucking pain away. The days where I miss them, I miss the way they body blocked for me. They put in the work for me. They buffered the world for me.
I’m 100% glad I bought shoes. Although, where in the actual fuck I’m going to wear them, or store them, well, we will figure something out. The thing about shoes…they don’t leave you vomiting and unable to crawl to the bathroom because the fucking DT’s are so bad. They don’t have you praying to God you’ll just die to get the fucking shakes and sweats and muscle tics off of you. Shoes have never sent me to prison, cost me my fucking license, or freedom, or fucking voting rights.
But, boy, they sure don’t take the sting off like those fucking pills do.
You had bet your fucking ass I’ll be attaching shoe pics all week. I’m proud of these 6 years and some change, and the shoes that kept me on the right track can get all of that glory. I’m on the other side of it now, thank Baby Jesus, but damn.
That was a bad one. That was too close to fuck around with.
Proud of you. Probably almost as proud of you as you should be of yourself. Not going to send hugs(I know how you get!), but if you need a shoulder, it’s here for you. I need the weight to balance the boulders on my other one.
Proud of you sis, and looking forward to the shoe pics (although hopping on a plane and heading north is always an option, you know). Love you...you got this, and I'm here ❤