Tuesday, 23 June 2009


The purpose of this blog is for me to write about my past life in addiction and all that came with that, and to tell anyone that is reading this, about how things are today.
Well, today things are shit. I’m feeling incredibly insecure and vulnerable. Paranoia has raised its head and I’m struggling. I felt incredibly self conscious today. The moment I left the house to go and meet CG, I felt exhausted and didn’t want to be around people.

I wasn’t going to write anything on here today because i have nothing positive to say. I hate the idea of feeling sorry for myself and that’s exactly what I am experiencing right now. I am worrying myself sick, quite literally about things. I’ve just lost a job which was very much needed and my relationship is over. You may wonder how I managed to pay my rent before I started temping... it’s complicated and I can’t explain it now. I will explain tomorrow. It has nothing to do with me selling my ass – but it has everything to do with getting helped. That help has ended now... kind of.

So, apart from the situation with my apartment I am utterly furious at myself about the time I wasted with Dee.
I’m annoyed at allowing myself to be a blind and deaf twat by not acknowledging what I knew from the very beginning. I didn’t fancy Dee and I knew he wasn’t really my type of man, but I went ahead in the spirit of ‘making it work’ because I got on with him as a friend. As time passed I grew to find him attractive, physically.
Today I was speaking to CG about all this and you know something, the only thing about Dee that I admired was his sense of humour. Oh, and he’s intelligent although that was more logical rather than informative. I lack logic a lot of the times, so it was alright. I couldn't admire his generosity, kindness, selflessness, spirituality – cos he lacked it all.

I’ve been an total idiot and if he came to me crying on his knees I wouldn’t take him back. It’s over, over, over. I want nothing more to do with him – ever. I’m too angry to even wave at him if I saw him on the other side of the street. Thank God that won’t happen.
I’m tired. I’m still not sleeping properly. I started taking beta blockers (which have been prescribed) again today. I’m a walking anxiety attack. I am now in the realms of emotional unwellness and I am becoming the woman that started using drugs originally. How I am feeling at the moment is are the same feelings that I used to try and escape from through drugs and drink : Anger, frustration, paranoia, acute unease, jitters.

I got out of the house today and I hated anyone looking at me. Men, staring usually amuses me but today I wish I could hide. I am going to have a bath now and get into bed. Sleep is the closest thing to death so I’ve heard, so sleep is where I want to be.
I feel guilty that CG is here when I’m having a rough time like this. That guilt only adds to fuel my feelings of inadequacy. If he wasn’t here – I wouldn’t leave the house and I wouldn’t talk to anyone for quite a while.
I don’t want this blog to turn into the diary of an emotional collapse. I can’t let that happen, but I’ve got a feeling that over the next couple of weeks, if I am to be honest with you about how I am feeling you’re going to enter the mind of a vulnerable and frightened woman who must act as an adult at this time, despite wishing I could be a child. Act like a grown woman - or sink into a child like inability to cope with myself.

My emotional illness/addictive compulsions which usually lie relatively dormant are banging on the door eager for me to let it into every cell of my being. I hope I can fight it. I’m sure I can – but I am absolutely fed up of continually having to battle with myself. Hey, the fact I said I think I can fight it means that the ‘well’ me is still dominant. Good. Good.

I want to scream. I want someone, anyone to hold me and tell me that I will be ok. Where is my dad? Where is my family? Why don’t i have a family? Life is difficult. For many people I know that. I want to scream. I want to sleep and I want to feel OK. If only I could take the edge off somehow... Fucking sobriety while in a pit doesn’t seem so attractive. And neither does using chemicals. I am trapped. Trapped in myself. I can do nothing but grit my teeth and keep getting up each day.

Fuck it. Will I ever be well? Will I always suffer like this? Will I always be alone?

These are rhetorical questions by the way. Please don’t feel you need to respond to more tedious screams from me – there will be plenty more coming. That I can guarantee you.