#is today just Neil’s Misery Day hey universe what are we doing!!!!!!! :(

[anhonest-puck]

oh god i’m crying over anderperry again

[soitg03s-blog]

I don’t know what to tell you, about when it started, she said. I just don’t know, maybe around the time she’d used all her returns from Wal-Mart, or maybe when her self-administered Fentanyl drips allowed her to tango with death all too often. She definitely wasn’t wearing the right shoes. It was about that time she looked in the mirror and realized she wasn’t who she thought she would be at 28 years old. She hated looking in the mirror, why save something you don’t care about? Her hair was chopped off; she had cuts and cigarette burns running along her arms, riding in a car with no brakes, expired plates and hitting in the same parking lot she’d copped in. Just for a brief moment before the overdose, just for second, she remembered who she really was. Was this the Karma Police? Didn’t you know this is what you get when you mess with us? And the feelings sometimes were almost too much to bear, but she thought she had to keep going. She couldn’t get clean for her family or her mother, who means the world to her. Her friends kept telling her, “We’re going to bury you Kris, please get help. It’s okay you relapsed, its okay.” But didn’t you know she was that girl that never made a mistake twice. She had to want this.

She remembered being pissed because her dealer wasn’t answering her calls at 8am in the morning. Didn’t you know they only have one customer and are supposed to be open 24 hours a day? She finally got a friend to answer, shockingly a former friend from NA, leave it to the rooms to help you with all your endeavors; however pure or not. Her smile wasn’t what is used to be, and she didn’t smile much anyways. Numbness was preferable. Induce the Profanol doc, call it human nature, and just beat it. Who doesn’t want to feel like MJ just for a second, a God among men? Her small pale arms bruised from dull rigs. Shame is purple and blue. She couldn’t handle it, she needed to use right then. There was always this compulsive need to have heroin, have Xanax and if she was tired enough throw an Adderall or ten in the mix. How do you know when you’ve reached the edge? She thought about that Hunter S. Thompson quote she loved so much, something about the only people that truly know what the edge is, are the people that have gone over it. She swan dived over without thinking and during the free fall, didn’t regret a thing; however, she came to this realization that she would hit the ground soon, impending doom. Do all dogs go to heaven? Shit, she’s a cat; nine lives and she’s about to become a prime number.

There is a saying in the rooms of NA that states there are only three things that will happen to you in drug addiction. There are only three places you’ll end up, jails, institutions or death. Leave it to her to be an overachiever, skip a grade or in this case skip right to death. She remembers sitting in a Rite Aid parking lot in Kannapolis, NC and taking a hit. Euphoria followed by a tube being jammed down her throat. Her feelings were always rather paradoxical, a sun Taurus and Scorpio moon sign. Are things really black and white? Because life is lived in the gray. She was gray, rotting, she felt like she had an expiration date on her and she just reached it. Is this how it all happens? She lay there and wonder. What happened to that girl who had so much zeal and lust for life, for living? And in addiction, despite her intense and passionate urge for what the French would call, L’appel du vide, which is defined as: the call of the void. She began to think in that moment she didn’t want to die. She didn’t want her mother to bury her. She wasn’t 27 anymore, no cool club to join; she was just an almost thirty something aimlessly searching for meaning. She would become that girl people who say, “She had so much potential.” She reached transcendence through chemical best friends or so she thought. L’appel du vide has a literal translation as the instinctive urge to jump from high places. As an addict, she began to think she wasn’t worth saving; no one would climb this cliff to come get her.

The monotonous tone of the sirens wailed and she lay there in absolute misery, wondering why they brought her back. Just let me jump, she thought. She thought about the last time she was in treatment, they had an activity where she had to describe her perfect day, a peaceful place she could go, a safe place. She went there in her mind. She was in the mountains with her mother, with her best friends. The leaves were changing colors and they all laughed. Neil Young playing on a portable record player, her friends taking Polaroids, joking around about the latest Louis C.K. standup. “Let’s just do everything a little bit wrong.” She looked over at her mother, who is healthy and smiling, looking right at her with those same green eyes she has. And suddenly her beautiful moment interrupted. Static over a Walkie Talkie, “Yeah, Jim we’ve got a 28 year old, heroin overdose. Caucasian, Female. She’s incoherent. Pulling into back entrance now.”  Hey, you, she thought. I’m here, this isn’t me, wait, wait, all I wanted to do in the beginning was lose myself…. And now, right now, she would give anything to find herself again.

Fast forward to 46 days later:

I read an article the other day about the concept of a Multiverse. Damn it feels nice to sit still and read again. Also, that whole concept of being able to concentrate, eh it comes and goes. All in time. Where were we? Oh that’s right, the article stated basically, in short, that we never truly die. Our spirit at least, it never truly vanishes. I’ve always believed in this in some way, our pictures, our loved ones and our memories, they keep us alive.  But this, this is more than just memories. This is something you can hold, put a wire around and protect, I’m referring to a soul. I was fascinated by this article; I’ve always been a fan of Quantum Physics. Basically the implication was we never truly, at least in terms of our consciousness, die. Instead when we leave our bodies, our mortal portals, our consciousness goes into time and space. The universes own compost and into the void we go. I’ve always honed in on the belief that we are all stardust, so small, so insignificant but found joy that we, mere mortals, could make such a lasting impact on this world. In a multiverse there are infinite possibilities. There are multiple realities happening simultaneously, and one decision, has the ability to throw you into a different reality, a reality which is already occurring. Which road will you take? Follow the white rabbit? The yellow-brick road? Are you more a breadcrumbs kinda girl?  Truth is all relative and our surroundings shape our perspective. We begin to believe what we see, what we taste, feel, touch and hear. But the fact of the matter is we can chose to emphasize the reality we are in. Embrace this universe.

In active addiction it was like I doggy-eared just one page of the narrative of my  life and space and time bent. If addiction doesn’t break you then you’re sucked into a black hole. Sadly for most of us, never to be seen again. Nothingness ensues. I’ve thought about this deeply, how in this reality I am 46 days clean and sober. Nothing mind altering, unless you count my normal psychedelic thoughts, sorry ya’ll that’s all natural. But, I thought about how in one reality I am still stealing random things from Wal-Mart and complaining at the cashier when they won’t return 4 three month supplies of this flea and tick medicine for dogs or take my license because it is literally expired by 8 months. True Story. I am using and I’m not dead, yet. In another reality, I see my beautiful mother crying, all my friends there, all my old teachers, and I’m six feet underground. “It’s such a shame, she had such promise. She got Most Outspoken 2006, she won’t be speaking much anything anymore.” And then I thought about this reality, the reality in which I am in. How the term Oxford was an argument about a comma or a university my favorite teacher in college went to, but now it means the ground in which I stand on. I always had all these thoughts about an Oxford House, but they have thus been extinguished, since this fire to live has lit inside of me. I’ve also been, to get real with you guys, so terrified that I cannot do this. I have self-doubt often, symptomatic of any addict. Am I smart enough? Am I pretty enough? What is my identity, am I just a needleless junkie? What if I can’t manage my own life? But life, these thoughts, they don’t stop for anyone and these moments I feel sadness, it’s inevitably fleeting and in the same breath I think I am terrible for what I’ve done, I realize I’m clean nothing else matters. I am who I am.

I have scars, imperfections. Can you tell I went through years of active heroin use, I’m not sure, but does it matter? This is the universe I dwell, may as well manifest a better reality for myself. I have deadpan humor. I like all things vintage and despite my seemingly cynical and sarcastic demeanor, I have so much faith in this world. Faith in my fellow human being, I am not hopeless. I’m Southern, keep holding those doors boys. The girl next door appreciates it. I even have a hard time looking at myself in the mirror today. It honestly reminds me of the first time I ever took Acid. “KRIS DON’T LOOK IN THE MIRROR.” You already know what I said, fuck ya’ll, I can handle it. And I did, but damned if I can’t always handle looking in the mirror, clean, all that well today. I fear that I may actually see what other people are talking about, that potential and in doing that I fear letting everyone down. I’m always screaming from the inside out, but in the best way possible, if such a thing exists. There is an energy that hits me in the chest and I realize I’m alive and everything else just seems secondary. Whitenoise. My life is a perpetual electric guitar shoving against an amp, waning out of control. And I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’ll indulge in recovery and take those suggestions, why? Because fuck heroin, fuck drugs. I’m too old to be doing that shit anyways. I’ve done enough for about ten times worth of watching Fear and Loathing and towards the end there throw in some Requiem For a Dream and we all know how that ended. I don’t need DMT to awaken that third eye. I was once blind, but now I see: Third Eye Blind, a great band. I want my life back, my semi-charmed kinda life.

I woke up that first day in detox completely lost from the days prior, still having some rage happening from too many benzos, starting to opiate detox, the watering eyes and muscle cramps, nausea. The unknown is scary, but today the void isn’t death or jails or institutions, it’s recovery. I still want to jump from high places, because I’ve always craved the adrenaline our body naturally produces; only the high places are my goals, my ambitions and dreams. Every day I’m clean, I start to believe I can reach those high places once more. I’ve found that the void I was so aimlessly searching for, its recovery. The void is being clean and truly feeling things again. Feelings just happen to you. I’m not the girl in the back of that ambulance. I am not a statistic. I’ve never conformed, why start now? I’m not simply a name on a tombstone or a member of the wasted youth.  And if I ever feel myself slipping, believing that I could indeed be the girl in one of those other multiverses, those other realities, which could so easily happen, perhaps I’ll call Rick and Morty, have them help me out. Whabbudubdubdub! Who doesn’t want friends that traverse time and space, am I right?

And into the void we go, loves.

Into the Void I don’t know what to tell you, about when it started, she said. I just don’t know, maybe around the time she’d used all her returns from Wal-Mart, or maybe when her self-administered Fentanyl drips allowed her to tango with death all too often.