Just like Elvis
I tried to come up with 100 ways my life is better now, in honor of this Big Event... I stalled at around 11. Mostly, I think, because it's too early in the morning, my head feels sorta cottony, and the rest of my life, my family, doesn't stop MOWING ME DOWN, just because I'm all SOBER AND WORKING MY ASS OFF. AM I working my ass off? Maybe not. Maybe I'm just white-knuckling it. I'm realizing I need to get to a meeting somewhere. I have to make that first step... I can't do this alone, I can't do this with a journal, and DS, and an occasional family therapy appointment.... That's all good, but it's not enough. I'm not doing the work. I'm not going out of my way. And I'm stalling... Last week, my family was really coming on strong, really testing me, wanting me to fail, and I did. I failed. I took some pills. I had stolen 7 or 8 of my husband's Vicodin, about 5 months ago, when he got a prescription for his neck pain... I kept them in my jewelry box, I guess to supplement my drinking at the time, amp it up a notch, the sickness.. I had 5 pills left. I was having a super, deluxe HORRENDOUS day... and I thought, this is the SHIT, everyone around me, they have anti-anxiety meds, or they have anti-depression meds, or they have beer, or they have SOME GODDAMnED WAY TO GODDAMM RELAX!!!! And here's me, with this SHITSTORM of a life, and I have nothing. I've given up all of my coping mechanisms, at the time when I need them most. So I took 2 Vicodin. I've never taken 2 before. I started to feel a little... gooshie... dizzy... it was a good feeling at first... relaxing... and then it started to get scary. Too dizzy... swooshing... and pretty soon, nauseating... I ended up like Elvis. Damn near dead on a toilet. I don't know how many pills Elvis took in his lifetime, but DAMN, I took TWO and damn near DIED!!! Or felt as though I were dying. I really felt that way. My stomach got so upset, and my brain was spinning... I sat on the toilet, puking into the waste basket, and I thought, JEESUS, this is my bottom. I am bottoming out. Now that I look back, I HOPE that was my bottom. Because I never want to feel worse than that. I flushed the last 3 pills down the toilet. I thought about giving them back to my husband, but I was too ashamed that I stole them in the first place. He could really use them though, he has legitimate pain. Me, I am just fucked up in the head. I'm still counting my 100 days though, right or wrong. I need my 100 days. I'm calling the pill incident a little "blip". It was an experiment, and it taught me an important lesson. I am stupid. Was the first lesson. The second lesson is: I don't want to put those things in my body. I have a good, clean thing going. If TWO of those pills can do that to a person, imagine what using them on a regular basis can do... or using worse things... I'm not to where I can say, I'm GLAD I did that, but I am SORTA... sorta glad... because now I know, I don't have that avenue to go down... I don't have to start doing bigger, stupider shit... I don't ever want to feel out of control like that, and sick, and like I was poisoning my own body... Two little pills...
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