what comes before the first step?

I want to say that rock bottom was
the first time I had a panic attack
while I was stoned
after having four or five caffeine pills
because I was experimenting
and would inhale and swallow and snort anything
and I curled up
in the grass
and my heart thumped through me
and my friends left me alone in the woods
with my anxious thoughts

I want to say that rock bottom was
the first time I did ketamine –
I didn’t research it
and I said yes after parachuting oxycontin
and passing around a bottle of Skyy
and packing a second bowl –
I was too messed up to care
and I laid on my stomach
in the grass
and called my boyfriend
and told him I was calling to say goodbye

I want to say that rock bottom was
when my mom offered me a beer
when I had her pick me up during my first bad trip
after I had put complete faith in my dealer
smoking meth after I told him I never would
because he said it would make me feel better
taking a pill that I never heard the name of
passing around more blunts than I remember
completely losing touch with reality
being so sure that I had died
that it fucked with me
for years

I want to say that rock bottom was
smoking weed laced with salvia
outside of a show
and calling the cops on myself
because I dove back through time
and was sure all over again that
I was out of touch
and dying somewhere else
while I continued to move in circles
in my drug-driven dreamland

I want to say that rock bottom was
stealing my exboyfriend’s painkillers
and passing out on his couch

I want to say that rock bottom was
saying anything I needed
jumping through all of the hoops
to get prescriptions to pills that I knew
I would abuse
and later realizing
my doctor was willing to give them to me
if I just asked flat out
because it was never his job to care about me

I want to say that rock bottom was
skipping classes in college
because I was too anxious
popping extra klonopin after ditching
until I lost count
so that I can no longer remember
how did I even get home?
what else did I do that day?

I want to say that rock bottom was
the first time I overdosed on benzos
and I laid on the couch
and my four-year-old niece
cried
and asked me to stop
and my mom let me know
that she had given up on me

I want to say that rock bottom was
when my boyfriend took me to the emergency room
and asked me to make myself throw up
in the parking lot

I want to say that rock bottom was
when taking 17 klonopin
was not enough to knock me out
but instead I have a blurry recollection
of a brisk walk home
and my friends
lost their faith in me
because, after all
how could I still be standing after consuming so much?
I must have been manipulating them
I must have been lying to them

I want to say that rock bottom was
going to work after having my klonopin
and a beer
just to make it kick in faster
so that I could deal with the hostile environment

I want to say that rock bottom was
going to rehab
and getting the number of the heroin-addicted girl
who offered to hit my vein

I want to say that rock bottom was
the months I spent doing nothing
but get stoned in my bed
on someone else’s dollar
while other people made sure that I ate
because I could not take care of myself

I want to say that rock bottom was
discovering that I had a gluten allergy
and that’s why I always had so much trouble with beer
but I drank it anyway
with amphetamines so that I could stay awake
and klonopin so that I could be anxiety-free

I want to say that rock bottom was
introducing my boyfriend to my drug of choice
telling him to walk barefoot
in the grass
and feeling nothing
that no high could be enough for me anymore

I want to say that rock bottom was
realizing for the first time that
I had been abusing benadryl for years
to help me sleep
which never struck me as a problem
because it was over-the-counter

if none of those things are rock bottom
how can I know for sure
that this time it is
and that this time
I have finally had enough?

world keeps spinning

what is there to do before sunlight spills
left in the inky dark
except for rub my raccoon eyes
sip on smooth black silk
and wait for you to wake
?

there is a rhythm to stirring my coffee
like when we used to rock our baby
what is there left to do
except for rub my raccoon eyes
and feel my heart quake
?

medication brainspill

There’s something about waking up early that makes me feel incredibly productive and positive. Even if I’m exhausted for the rest of the day, I have better days when I wake up at 6 AM than I do waking up at 9 AM. (I mean, between motherhood and my thyroid, I’m usually exhausted regardless of how long I sleep, so I figure I may as well get a head start.)

I didn’t know this about myself even just a handful of years back. Or, maybe I did, but I was too busy laying in bed all day and night to worry about the time. Back when I used, the only time I was productive was when I was taking something to help me stay up all night. Amphetamines were one of my favorites. I didn’t need to sleep; I would just frantically clean and then be hysterical after being awake for two or three days straight. No big.

My best day using doesn’t touch the peace and joy that I have in my life now.

The thing about my behavior was that I knew it wasn’t normal. I felt like I was cheating at life. I felt like I was getting one over on everybody by hacking my body and making myself into this driven machine. What I was really doing was trying to find a way to be more like other people. Folks who had their shit together made me envious. That’s how I wanted to be, and I didn’t think I could get there without using.

And by my mom’s standards, I guess I’m still using. I’m just using an SSNRI and an atypical antipsychotic instead. It makes her worry, and sometimes it makes me worry too. Long-term effects and lapses in my insurance freak me out. Still, it’s worth it to me.

It took me a decade of searching, stumbling, being disappointed, and trying again, but I found pills that work for me. I’m so glad that I didn’t give up.

our love

our love is an endless pack of stamps
and sends me whirling around the planet
a blur of nights and days
carnival lights
sand and sea and snow and tree
and everything in between

our love is etched in a notebook
in a mailbox
beside the ocean
and in a jewelry box
where I keep my thin ring of grass

our love is a rack of empty hangers
prepared to carry the weight
hanging on for more than just
the sake of hanging on
a greater purpose to keep things elevated
than getting and staying high

linework sleeve – brainspill

Outlining isn’t that much fun. It straight up kind of sucks. Good thing my tattoo artist jumped around when she saw that I was feeling uncomfortable because I only commented on how it felt maybe three times over the course of our five hours or so of tattooing.

Definitely looking forward to seeing what the sensations of the next session are, what with having lots of color and shading in my future. I’m both nervous and excited to see what different spots feel like when it comes to color. My inner wrist was by far the most painful place for me, but fortunately, my artist started there and got it out of the way early on. I actually almost asked for a break about four or five minutes in because it was so intense on that sensitive skin. I pushed through it and didn’t feel that way again after that.

I was able to take pretty minimal breaks (really, just to take sips of drinks, and once to pee because of said sips), but I’m thinking I’ll probably need longer breaks next time just because all of the work will be concentrated on one area instead of spread out all over my arm. We’ll see, though.

The people I was most excited to show my tattoo to – other than Greg, of course – were his grandma and our daughter. Greg’s grandma got to see it on Sunday and she seemed to like it, even though tattoos aren’t really her thing. My daughter seemed interested and even talked about wanting birds on her own arm, which I thought was very sweet.

My favorite aspect of my tattoo so far is probably the bubble pipe that we gave to Mr. Bird last minute. My tattoo artist suggested it (first just a pipe, then said “Wouldn’t it be funny if it was a bubble pipe?”), so we went for it. It fulfilled some of my impulsive nature about tattoos in general. All of the rest of my tattoos were poorly planned, but I’ve been planning this one for years.

I put a lot of thought and time into this sleeve, and I’m really impressed with Megan (my artist) and her execution of drawing the individual pieces up with limited direction, not to mention figuring out the placement with few adjustments. My sleeve looks beautiful so far and any single piece – even the flowers that have less character than the birds or the bee – are by far my favorite pieces of artwork currently on my body. All of my tattoos are very sentimental to me – and they still are – but my sleeve is on a different level.

I’m so glad I got to/get to be tattooed by Megan, and I’m looking forward to seeing how much my sleeve transforms as pieces begin to get color.

12.28.17 – awake

I woke before five and still missed the sunrise
got caught up laying next to you in bed instead
dozing off for a bit while you lathered and rinsed
stuffed my mouth with Chex Mix and kissed you
good morning, and have a good day

three stories tall and three stories deep
and three poems long already
this morning has been uplifting in its simplicity
meditations over cups of coffee
then kissing you on your way
out

my life is a good dream

addict to addict

I am not shy about talking discussing my struggle with being an addict. At this point, if you know me, you probably know that I choose not to drink or do drugs because I am the type of person that just takes things too far. I excused a lot of bad behavior with my using. Now, I work a lot harder to hold myself accountable for my shortcomings. I want to be a person that I can feel good about being. Feeling good about myself makes me want to use less (most days), so trying to me consistently on my best behavior is really a win/win situation.

One of the reasons that I love working at a music venue is being surrounded by people who are drunk. It isn’t because I miss drinking, but instead because I like to remind myself of why I don’t drink anymore. I see in some of them the same pain that I felt as they sit outside of the venue on the steps, sipping water, being propped up by a friend, or as they are denied a drinking wristband for showing up to the event drunk, or as they scream at me to hang up my fucking coat right now, you’re wasting my time by not hurrying. I was never an aggressive drunk, but I definitely shared this lack of self-control with some of the patrons.

The thing is, I get to wash my hands of the night as soon as I’m off the clock. I don’t have to worry about seeing people again if they threaten me – security has got my back. What I get to take home is the reminder that I could easily fall back into being the same kind of person by excusing sick and cruel behavior with drugs and alcohol. These people clearly haven’t escaped yet, and I hope that they do, but I am also thankful that they are there to remind me of where I could wind up if I misstep. As soon as I leave that building and get into the car with my partner and my daughter, I am reminded of what I have to lose by “going back out” (as they call relapses in 12 step meetings).

Screaming, drunken strangers can’t take my peace from me, even if they’re getting in my face and cussing me out, tensing up as if they might actually hit me for not meeting their demands. I might give them a few moments, but that’s really all I have to spare for them. The rest is gratitude.

I am so, so thankful that I am not as miserable as you clearly are.

adjusting to motherhood

One thing that amazes me about being a mom is how natural it has felt. I thought there would be a struggle to adjust to having a little person depending on me, especially considering that there used to be days that I had trouble getting out of bed or doing basically anything for myself. (Depression is great!!!) But, no, it turns out that my urges to lounge around pale in comparison to the ones I have to nurture this little person who depends on me for literally everything. I’m glad it worked out that way, because I really don’t think it works like that for everyone.

I struggle with judging other parents. I struggle with seeing that some parents with multiple children have obvious favorites. I struggle with hearing about parents who hit their children. I struggle the most with instances of child abuse where CPS is already involved and the children remain with their abusers. I know I am powerless to do any more than I already have in these toxic situations, but sometimes I get upset about it anyway.

Love looks different to different people. To me, it looks like struggling with trying not to help Lorelei as she searches for the right answer. I just want to make things easy for her and solve all of her problems, but I know that’s not how people learn. It looks like acknowledging her emotions when she gets upset and letting her know, “I hear that you’re upset”. It’s making sure I play with her, but not having playtime all day long. It’s important for her to be able to entertain herself – and she does a great job of it. It looks like sending her to her room for time-out. It looks like apologizing when I lose my temper – and I mean, a real apology, one where we sit down and really talk about what happened. I need her to know that I am only human, but I also need her to know that I will try my hardest to be a good one.

It is not all cuddling and hugging and goodnight routines. It’s the uncomfortable stuff, too.

I thought that adjusting to motherhood and all of its hurdles would be uncomfortable, but even this instinct to allow her, and myself, some occasional discomfort feels natural. I do my research via books and the internet (and of course, the parent friends I have whose parenting skills I admire) and talk through things with her doctor to get a good idea of whether or not I’m taking the right steps.

I’m glad adjusting to this stage of my life has been relatively effortless, minus the portion where I was bedridden from my dang thyroid. I’m glad that’s behind us now.

gloomy sunday – Honeybee by Steam Powered Giraffe

This song’s meaning transformed for me over the span of a few years. It helped me grieve relationships that I would never have the chance to nurture. It helped me process making decisions that I wished I hadn’t.

It’s why I decided to get a tattoo of a honeybee. I’m writing this before my session, but hopefully the outline is done. I’ll eventually make a longer post on what this piece of my sleeve means to me and how the song fits into it.

This song sounds like a dream. It ebbs and flows and floats by in a way that is guaranteed to leave me sobbing by the end. To be honest, I haven’t fallen in love with this band, but this is one of a couple of songs by them that stand out to me. Good harmonies always get me. (There’s that choir girl coming out, I guess.)

Ouch.

panic attack poetry (pt 2)

Waiting to speak
Ask me to agree
Or disagree
Let me chime in so that you can talk over
Do not make me feel included
I am always
Always
Always
always always always always
always always always always always
ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS
alone
and it really isn’t anyone’s fault
but my own

Your eyes might never read this
But even if they do
They still might never see this
I don’t think you understand
I don’t think anyone is strong enough to pull me up and out
Talk over me
Ripping
Smoke
Happiness
Do you remember when
I tried to quit smoking on our road trip?
I was so afraid of losing my voice
When truth be told
I have hardly ever had one at all
Stumble over
The smoke settles –
What’s happening?
Love me.
Am I reliving my last life?
Are my thoughts aliens
Looking through my eyes?
Is this a fake?
What words will come out before I realize what I’m saying?

Let this be a good omen
The red bird halts
The summertime leads
Sun fragments
Light shards
We blew up G2V
Tell me the story, hands
I promise I won’t be scared
Listen to the ring
I am so scared.
Watch the numbers. 4. 6.
You’re doing great.
Heaven.
We are here.
This was a journey to find real love
Here
Here
Here
It isn’t possible to lose now
Take care
Treat better
Do what you need
Don’t bury a thing
Love
The music talks
The pattern spins
You asked god for this that day
He granted your wish

The worst panic attack of my life is almost over
I just had to feel it out.
I had to feel the hurt so I could move forward
I took the long road
And I’m sorry
Please forgive me
I didn’t mean to take so long
This lifetime’s trapped in mine
A bubble in a bubble
Do you see
Don’t be fooled

This is a secret.