Day 8

“Losing it”

I am exhausted. The constant motion of this place chews me up and spits me out right from the word go. Well actually, to be more accurate I should say right from the word “morning!’ I don’t set an alarm here because the health care ladies (I forget what the fuck their actual job title is) come in at the crack of dick to say that word and wake us up. I don’t think people on the outside will be able to fully grasp how awful it is to wake up to everyday. It has actually caused a my pillow to fly in their direction on more than one occasion. I suppose they must’ve just assumed because we are addicts that we forgot what time of the day normal skunk apes rise so they bust in like the fucking Kool-aid man to refresh our memories. Well, this journal entry derailed itself quickly.

I feel emotionally steamrolled today. The wheels are spinning but I’m not watching the road. I breathe in and out, staring at the shadows on these white walls, and all I want to do is sleep. My scars drain my energy when I look beneath the surface and our small group seems to know just what questions to ask to make me think long after the sessions are over. They say the war cry of the addict is “fuck it!” and I can definitely see why. Dealing with yourself at your most vulnerable is as scary as it is hard and it’s really not surprising why most people don’t do it. Most people don’t ever think past a day to day basis about their lives, critically speaking of course, because it’s easier to get into a routine of putting in the proverbial earplugs to block out the world. Trouble with that is, when those earplugs are in, your thoughts and feelings can’t escape and they pile up in your mind. Eventually it clouds your judgement and changes the way you see the world. And that’s usually for the worse in my experience.

A new set of people came in today and it’s fucking up my chii. I am finding hard to be motivated right now and I can’t say I’m overly thrilled or eager to meet anybody new. Come to think of it, I can’t say I’m too excited to go back to my home and rebuild the life I spent so many years carpet bombing either. I should want to though, right? I should start feeling more courageous and centered by now I would think  but instead I just feel defeated. Like a stick-man whose feet got erased level of defeated.

This doesn’t feel exactly natural to be writing these words, which leads me to believe it’s either the addiction talking or I’m PAWS’n [post acute withdrawal syndrome] out hard. Either way the negativity feels disingenuous so I’m not going to trust it. I guess I’m not going to erase it either though because the eraser grew legs at some point today, the little rubber bastard. I feel like I don’t know anything for sure right now. Even my own mind can’t be trusted it would seem. Who knows, I spent so much time putting shit in my body, maybe I finally became full of it.

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