Saturday 14 December 2013

I was NOT a slut...I was just horizontally accessible.

Hello, hello!

I haven't blogged in quite a while, mainly due to the stereotypical basking of glory you have when you bring a baby home; our Little Love <3 He is just perfect, and apart from an overly obsessive love of hugs (clearly passed down from his mother) we have all settled in greatly.
Also, I have been healing. My hips and pelvis are finally doing what they're meant to, and I can move around without too much difficulty.
This brings me to my next point - Painkillers; and the vast amount of them I have been consuming since the birth of Little Love.

I have been following doctors orders, and knew that as of two days ago, I was to lower my dose of oxy, and begin weaning off these medications.

I, (because I am a large idiot) decided that I would be fine to go without pain meds for just one day, and that I would be just fine to make it to the doctors on the following day.

What I received in return for my careless attitude, was an incredibly nasty bout of withdrawals - oddly, something I used to be quite familiar with...

Lets not fuss about too much with pleasantries, I used to take a lot of drugs. A lot.
Put it it a pipe, wrap it in a baggie, roll in on your tongue, pour it in a cup, draw it in your lungs, pack it in a joint, or rack it into sweet white lines with a Medicare Card - I loved all that was bad for me.
Actually, the more I reminisce, the more I realise that almost everything I did was bad for me. I still loved it though, and I'm not ashamed to say I have some brilliant memories.
Some bad ones, too.

I was 18 fresh out of high school, I had an over-inflated ego, no money or car, and a mini-skirt - I was ready for the world!
What I got, after 8 weeks of trying to force myself to like the course I had enrolled in, was a night job as a waitress, and my first look at that whole underground scene all the 'good' goth movies aspire to show you.
This whole nocturnal lifestyle enveloped me so much so, that suddenly it was not just work, and the hours that followed my shift that provided me with chances to indulge. Now it was all the other social circles that popped up all around me, offering places to go on other nights, reasons to stay up another 24 hours, shouting me (cause most of the time I was flat broke) new and tantalizing experiences, almost all of which would somehow land me sleeping with someone who I either worked with, who I had been with before and promised myself never again, or, majority of the time, both.
Ah, yes. I was a train wreck.

Toward the end of my relationship with all things narcotic, I started to experience my first real punch-in-the-face bouts of withdrawal.
I'm talking hot flushes, cold sweats, grinding my teeth, extreme anxiety, and the urge to kill anyone who dared look at me.
Bet you can guess my answer to these horrible symptoms? You guessed it - More drugs! Hurrah!
Whether to perk me back up, or to lull me into nightmare-filled-sweaty-writhing sleep; more was always my answer.

Always, until 2 days ago.
I was left feeling utterly stupid, because I knew this would happen.
Because of the SPD, I had been taking highly addictive opiates for over 6 months now.
I do not feel a 'high' when I take them, I feel normal. I feel able to cope with movement and any pain.
It was this illusion of feeling 'normal' that messed me up, I think. I assumed that I could easily go a day without them. Silly rabbit.

10am sore me sweating, gnawing the inside of my mouth, repulsed by food, and wanting to rip the skin from my bones (it felt like there were ants under it).
However, while I endured this self-inflicted torture, so many memories came flooding back to me.
Memories it seems, from another life time all together.

I started to remember 'that' girl.
The girl who could keep her 2 jobs, while; simultaneously shagging half the staff, spending her last $10 just to see a local band play and dance wildly in chunky rock boots, having a highly expensive drug habit that she hardly ever had to pay for, living out of a backpack covered in band buttons, wore her hair too tall, and her skirt too short, and who would crash on whoever's couch she could find.

The, dare I say it 'lady' that I am now is a far cry from the little party girl I used to be.
I love my life now, every part of it.

But sometimes, just sometimes, it's nice to encounter something that makes us remember who we used to be.


If not to reminisce about a totally different life, then just to marvel at how far we have come.


                               

 Little Trashy Fiend. 
Note the 'gothness', the fame hawk fins, skinny skinny spine, and skanky pigtails.

No comments:

Post a Comment