The Earth Beneath Me

Once again, I have returned... it has been quite a long time since I have written and shared my thoughts, compulsions, or sorrows. Around the time of my last post, I had just returned to the world of addiction and slavery to the flesh, after having been sober for a great many years. To any of those hoping this addiction would have killed me by now and removed my delusional rantings from your lives, I sincerely apologize... please know that it hasn't been do to a lack of efforts on my part. I suppose I should be a more efficient drug addict and overdose within a more reasonable amount of time. Stay tuned... your wishes may be granted soon enough.

Lots of things have been happening and changing in my life... some things for the better, some for the worse, and some that just don't really seem to matter or change regardless of my surroundings and placement in this world. The earth is firmly beneath my feet, in the physical aspect, and quite honestly, I'm not quite sure how to feel about that. My depression has grown worse despite my efforts to both better my life and run away, like a frightened child, by self-medicating... some days are worse than others, but the desire to leave this world has remained a constant. Mentally speaking, the earth is nowhere to be found.... neither above me, nor below me, as I float around aimlessly in a state of constant delusions and hallucinations. After years of trying to survive in my environment, I packed my belongings are moved across the country, with my cat in tow, to my town of birth, where I am living completely alone in grandparent's old house... the have both passed on and I am living here in a caretaker capacity, oddly enough, when I can't even take care of myself. The good news to this situation is that I am no longer living in the abusive situation I was previously, and I no longer have to lock up every single thing I own in fear that it would be stolen from me. You would think this change in life would have lowered my stress immensely, but I suppose the other changes that came along with this decision, have sent a shock-wave of disruption throughout my life.I've had the challenge of learning how to live alone for the past 7 weeks now, and in all honesty, I am not doing a very good job. Trying to juggle the responsibilities of taking care of myself, the cat, and a home, all while being a drug addict has been extremely difficult. Most days I have no desire to even get out of bed, and if it wasn't for the painful and obnoxious withdrawal from the opiates, I wouldn't get out of bed at all. Each morning, I drag myself out of bed so that I can get my fix and then I sit, nodding away, at my desk... rinse repeat, rinse repeat. I'm not sure if it's the drug addiction or my inability to remember to do the common tasks of normal people, like eat at a scheduled time, but for some reason I've been losing a fair amount of weight rather quickly... 25lbs in the past 7 weeks. At first, I thought this was a good thing, seeing how I believe myself to be hideously fat and disgusting, but now I am not so sure... I suppose my feelings have turned to indifferent.

Am I happy, with myself and my new surroundings? Yes and no. Quite honestly, I don't want to be a drug addict and I'm really fucking pissed off for putting myself in this situation in the first place. I just couldn't handle the stress of my previous environment, and I needed a way to escape. Now that I've removed myself from there, I remain a slave to the opiates because I can't deal with the decisions I've made and the people I hurt when I left... I see those faces over and over again, haunting and taunting me, until I run to the nearest exit of self-medication. It's a vicious cycle... I use because I can't handle the stress, yet using is stressful. I do want to get sober again... in fact, I know this is something I must do rather soon. The problem is I don't believe in myself enough to try... and even if I did, I would have to face those skeletons dancing in the closet. What would you do... do you even care?