I had a dream last night I had gone out and relapsed. Fuck I hate the sound of that word. It makes me feel like some sort of leper when I use it but I really can’t think of a synonym at the moment. I awoke in a state of sheer confusion and panic but was soon relieved to find my self laying on my cardboard mattress still living out of my suitcase. Still far from home. It’s funny how I used to have nightmares about drowning or having my car stolen but now the only monster in my closet is my past. Perhaps it always has been though and I just couldn’t see it.
It seems to be getting dark earlier now and with that I seem to get tired earlier. We humans are so predictable, put a blanket over our cage and we think it must be time to sleep. Sometimes I wonder if anything I do isn’t just some predetermined masquerading rerun of a Simpsons episode, only less funny. I guess I’ll never know, and even if I could know, I probably wouldn’t want to. I haven’t slept well the last two nights which is likely contributing to my failing state of charge. Oh well, If homelessbros can sleep on cardboard so can I.
Talking with mom yesterday lifted my spirits. She told me how [my best friend] drove all the way from his house in the north to see how I was doing because he didn’t have her phone number to call and ask. Sometimes I wonder how I ever came to command such love from him or anyone for that matter. It’s true when they say “actions speak louder than words” and he is hyperactive as fuck. It breaks my heart to think that I chose drugs over the best things in my life, over the brightest stars in my universe, over my own existence. How my butchered ass computer could calculate that death and sadness were the best viable options to pursue still falls far short of the realm of understanding of my sober mind. Synthesized decay. Slow and painful.
Blood begets more blood just as love begets more love it would seem. While mom was at my house feeding Jack [my cat] she began telling me about what [my best friend] did (what with the coming over to ask how I was doing and all) while she was folding my laundry and talking to me on speaker phone from in my room. After a few minutes she stopped and said “oh my god!” followed by silence. Now I, knowing that she was folding my laundry, start running through every possible moronic scenario of what ungodly horror she discovered in my hamper. Conjuring up all manner of debilitating and cringe worthy memories I would much rather kept in the ‘deleted history” section of my mental hard drive. Why the fuck do moms do mom stuff? WHY? Anyway, after a few arduous seconds that felt like days, She tells me that Little-man [still my cat, the same cat…. He has many names] came running upstairs and started looking around the room for me. He had heard my voice from downstairs and came to investigate. She said he started rubbing the phone and rolling on it. It was pretty much a drop kick right in the feelings. I have some swell organisms in my life.
It feels like my life is slowly falling back into place and the thought of going home is becoming less and less daunting. I feel my strength returning to me and I am beginning to accept my new choice of lifestyle. I don’t know what the future holds for me but at least now I’m optimistic. I wonder if the light of the world will shine more brightly than ever now that I have seen the darkness. I wonder if it truly is the darkest before dawn.