Today marks the end of my work week, kinda. I have the day off tomorrow, and then it’s back to work for the weekend. I think I may have just enough narcotics to get one last good buzz tomorrow That methadone really did f**k my tolerance up! After tomorrow I’ll be dope sick, and I think that this will be “the big one” because I have no money, my prospects being dry anyways, and Cindy has started to guard her bottle a lot better. It’s always zipped up or locked away now. So, that avenue is gone. I may just be sick for a whole week, or I could try to finally conquer this damn thing, do something with this life.
I looked at a new apartment today with this gay guy Kyle as a roomie. He seems nice, albeit VERY gay! I hope I get it, but I doubt that I will. They’re checking C-cap (online criminal history) for this one, as always in this situation: I’m F**ked!
I’ve been keeping up with Pela since December (Matt’s big-time love from Poland). She’s doing well, and it makes me so sad that I can’t be with her. That is the one thing that I really regret in my life so far–messing that up with her. She was great for me, and I believe that if I had been straight when I went to visit her that I would still be with her today. If I was straight in general that is, kept straight anyways. She was writing to me tonight that she is about to embark on a month-long trip through Europe with her new love, spending most of her time about a desperate longing feeling… I see everyone around me doing so well, going places, doing things I long to do, and then I see myself; it just drives me deeper into my hole of depression. Why won’t I snap out of this? Am I really bound to my father’s blood, father’s ways? I always thought I could be better than him, but so far it isn’t shaping up. I’ve almost given up. I’m ALMOST suicidal. Things are just terrible lately.
Intake: 60 mg hydroco, 20 mg oxyco, oral*
*I’m way up, both in my per day and length of use. I’m going to be getting really sick after tomorrow, I just know it, dread it.
(Matt didn’t know his father very well, only seeing the man a handful of times in his life. This man died in his forties of alcoholism though. I remember putting Matt on the plane to go meet him as an older child (He barely remembered him from his toddler meeting). The whole family welcomed Matt and stayed in touch ever after, even though he was only 12 at the time and not very able to email–Facebook was not even created at that point. Being a very outgoing child, Matt did stay in touch with the whole clan, a very nice one at that.
One very interesting point of this visit with his father was about addiction at its core; this man actually gave his son a cigarette ‘just so he could try one’. Matt told me this years later as Matt also was trying to understand why his dad would do that. Why would he do that? Why?
Addicts want others to also be addicted for comfort as birds of a feather flock together.
Addicts want others to feel comfortable and believe that others must not be comfortable without those same addictions.
Addicts cannot relate to anyone who has not also experienced the addictive substance, and in an effort to relate, Matt’s dad was asking his son to be more like him.
Well, after that Matt did start smoking cigarettes, slowly, but the door was open as his own DNA link had given him the impetus. I am wondering how much nature really plays in addiction. He certainly did not experience the nurture side of it. However, he did grow up without a father. Growing up without that positive male model, Matt was prone to an unstable self-image. He just didn’t have someone to model, someone to emulate as a man.
As for Pela, Matt’s poems are all for her, all. His heart also led him to Poland for a month in an attempt to reunite with her, though she had a relationship in progress. Now that takes balls in my estimation. Well, maybe not balls, maybe just true love. Matt wanted to be with her even though she was hanging on another man’s arm.
She was quite graceful inviting Matt and touring him through the country at that time. Matt and I toured Europe ourselves when he was younger. This trip was accompanied by a monkey though. Surprisingly, Matt saved enough money to go and hang out in Europe for a month even considering his opiate bill. However, morphine was not only legal it was cheap in Poland. Matt pretty much toured as though walking through opium wisps and fields of poppies. The trip ended well, the tour was pleasant, but the result was final. Pela was cemented at friend status, and Matt was crushed. She had her lover and Matt his–opioids.
She and I still communicate today though. She did love Matt deeply. She just decided that she would not be able to have a stable and healthy relationship with both Matt and opiates. His heart was divided. I am certain that all who have affairs of the heart when deeply in love with another end up in the same predicament. Just can’t have your pill bottle full and swallow them too.