Relax, Relapse

I spent most of my day today in my room. And no, it wasn’t because I wanted some alone time to “find my inner self” or some bullshit like that. I spent most of my day today in my room, wallowing in self pity and day-old “stank”, listening to incredibly degrading Lil’ Wayne songs and sorting through junk mail from Rent 2 Own and Asian Dating partly because I had a sore throat and headache, partly because I wanted to feel thug, but mostly because I hate everyone.

Seriously.

I’ve been talking to my birth mom lately.

I haven’t spoken to her since fifth grade- an awkward time in my life when I had looked more like an underfed, prepubescent boy with daddy issues rather than a “budding young lady growing into the world of adulthood”. Quite frankly, I didn’t mind that our initial conversation mainly consisted of her lecturing me about birth control, marijuana, and other slightly awkward, extremely invasive topics. For the first time in my life, I was actually somewhat relieved to talk with her. I think.

I threw up yesterday.

And the day before that.

Fuck it.

I puked my guts out the day before that too.

Twenty-seven days of recovery and in a matter of about 15 minutes, it all went down the drain. Literally.

The weird part of it all was, as I was doing it, I wasn’t thinking about calories or ELLE magazine; 30 day goals or self-control.

Do you know the feeling of a relapse?

Maybe you know.

Tell me, have you ever shoved your fingers down your throat in hopes that for every pound of food purged, an ounce of alleviation would be gained? Have you ever lived off of an orange and diuretics for a day? No? How about two?  Because although you may be comprised of your father’s genes, you never wanted to be able to fit into them; those genes. Those jeans. Tell me, please, have you ever shot up a speedball?

For the first time in my life, as I stood over the bathroom toilet, upchucking my bean burrito as well as the majority of my organs, I couldn’t help but think about my birth mom.

Was this who she was?

Was this who I was?

Do you know the feeling of a relapse?

Maybe you know.

It’s looking at the difference between recovery and death right now; mostly because you hate right now. It’s the seemingly endless state of mourning when the only thing that seemed to has died was your pride. It’s giving up not because you want to but because you have to. Because although giving up is pathetic, at least you could say you gave something, right? Think of it as a sort of offering. It’s moving in slow motion because things feel better that way. It’s five Percocets, two Vicodins, and a knife’s edge to take the edge off. It’s losing yourself in

Every. Single. Tick.

of the clock; one by one, the seconds waste away along with your state of mind.

While my mom sat getting high off crack and other shit getting lost in baby mama drama and her crystal method, I sat getting high off aspartame and other artificial sweeteners; a method of my own kind.

Pretty dope, huh?

I am the life my mother has been living; a constant 7 on the scale from 1-10, on a constant yo-yo between “good” and “oh, shit!”. It took me a while but I think I finally understand her. I think I finally understand why disappearing felt like the better option at the time. Because addictions are heavy. Because addictions come with baggage.

I take pills but I’m not a pill popper.

I sing in the shower but I’m not Celine Dion.

I smoke an ocassional Newport but I’m not a smoker.

I starve myself but I’m not anorexic.

I throw up but I’m not a fucking bulimic.

I’m an addict but I’m not my mother.

But I understand her.

And that’s all that matters.

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6 thoughts on “Relax, Relapse

  1. Recovery, by definition, CANNOT be a straight line. If it were, there would be little effort needed to maintain. It may take More effort to maintain because you will figure out how to defeat your own progress.
    BUT, your realizations in this last entry are strong. Your list of things to do to fuck up again has increased, but, expect that. A guess – learn how to detect your self-defeating routines/mechanisms AS YOU DEVELOP them.
    Hang tough.

  2. Addiction really is a game the whole family can play. Caught in the middle of wanting more for yourself and ‘fuck it’ is a tough place to be.I know it well. Eventually you will choose sides. Each choice adds up to your total sum. Something which really helped me was looking at a picture of when I was a little girl. I remember her well. She wanted somebody, anybody, to love and notice her. She was skinny with crooked bangs. Life wasn’t very fair to her and I’ve decided to give her the happy childhood she missed out on all those years ago.Today she knows she is precious and loved. I don’t hurt her anymore. Thanks for posting.

  3. I do know the feeling of relapse. The feeling that haunts me for days afterwards.

    Sometimes help (if you reallyreally try to get there) to put the things into perspective. _Everyone_ has its own issue – sometimes not even considering it as an issue. You are maybe being overly critical. Be nice to yourself. You deserve it.

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