Dependancies

So I was doing some reading and I thought I would post some 'journal' type posts that I had read.

Written on the wall of an abandoned home in my neighborhood, was the following little blurb: Whoever she was, she was certainly in a bit of a predicament. She writes…

There comes a time in life when one carefully examines all of the most monumental snapshots the mind saves. Like the first time you felt a puppy’s fur, the Scooby-doo birthday cake you had in 4th grade, the way it felt when piercing heat flushed your cheeks because C.E. snapped your bra, getting a driver’s license (their mistake), getting accepted into college, etc. Whether it’s to reaffirm your place in the world now, to understand where you’ve come from, or to satisfy the mood to reminisce- it happens to all of us for a purpose. This is where I’ve been for the past three weeks, and it’s been a strange place. And perhaps a bit different than all of the aforementioned reasons for picking apart the contents of the mind, I am looking for something lost. Because surely, I’m missing something. How the fuck I ended up to be a person that needs to be dizzy laden with drugs or alcohol in order to carry out a normal day is a bit of a mystery, and I’m a smart girl. I’m a smart girl who likes mysteries, and so here I am. Searching. Most ridiculously, however, is that what I’m searching for doesn’t exist. And that’s because I’m searching for a better way to understand, and maybe there is no “better” way. Maybe it is what it is, and like this fucking beer, maybe I just need to suck it up and swallow.

Journal excerpt

2/1/96

When glass drops from slippery fingers, it has a tendency to shatter. Both frantically and with precision, you take great caution into picking up the pieces because they are ever so small, sharp and quite difficult to see. Many times the broken glass (vase, gravy boat, etc.) becomes a distant memory until the day you find yourself rushing to a relentlessly ringing phone only to be abruptly stopped by the sudden sensation of piercing hot pain biting at the bottom of your foot. At that moment, the mind flashes you a quick picture of the glass before it had fallen, as if to say “Wait! Remember?! THIS is the culprit.” And then you understand the series of events that brought you to this pain, and then you react. At this moment—this very weary, bitter Monday morning, I am waiting for my mind’s eye to flash me a picture of what brought me to this pain so that I can react. And my reaction would be great, and fierce and unforgiving. This reckoning would serve as a release, and I’d be swept up in a whirlwind of wellness- physical, mental and spiritual wellness that would carry me into another reality where I can find comfort, courage, sanity (my god, bring me sanity) on a semi-daily basis without abusing some form of substance; because I should be able to live a fulfilling life without needing to feel numb or electric. I insist that this reckoning is necessary, and yet I know, I know, I know that it isn’t- or that it has already happened. I don’t know. Everything contradicts everything else, and I am part of that equation. I have drifted out to an oily sea and the only thing consistently reminding me that this will get better is a stranger in some part of the world whose name I don’t know. And I’m worse than he knows, and I’m worse than I know. Leaving behind the little spheres of man-made productivity hasn’t been that bad, but the realization of a bigger problem has caused my core to shake. To fucking shake, like fingers holding cigarettes in the winter.

Girl's journal entry:

2.15.99

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around to greet such surprising comfort, but nobody was there. Swirling, taunting thoughts colored her mind with possibilities- none of which seemed to be the proposed outcome of this most peculiar situation. Was anybody ever really there in the first place, or was it the familiar kiss of hope that more frequently than anything else just rings the doorbell and then runs? For the most part, I’m thinking that nobody was there. Words fill empty spaces and as they linger they allow people to find grace and comfort in things that are in fact, not really things at all. Just ideas, or intentions. Like, I intend to get clean- but I don’t.

interesting stuff...