07/01/2012 - did i jump or did i fall?

07/01/2012

Did I jump or did I fall?

I started using cocaine again. And I’ve been on a binge ever since.

It made a comeback into my life somewhere around August or September last year. I promised myself, 1g just for old times sake and no again (for a while at least).

I knew it’s an empty promise.

I know exactly where it will lead but I can’t stop myself.

I’m not sure what sparked it. That would be a lie; of course I know what sparked it.

It’s the jobs that didn’t work out and the men who wouldn’t call. It’s the over bearing family, the emotionally unstable mom, the emotionally distant dad, the angry sister, the fake friends. It’s life and I’m too weak to handle the task of living. Of existing. Of wanting to exist and yet, existing so selfishly and miserably.

From that first hit, I can feel everything coming back; the ‘junkie habits’; the little lies you tell, the longing, the palpitations, the excitement, the thrill.

The thrill.

The thrill of buying,

Preparing.

Using.

The calm after.

The Chase when the high wears out.

It’s all back and I could pick myself up now and say, “This is not who you are and stop.” Or, I can let it take me. Succumb to it. Surrender myself.

It’s a weakness, it’s a disease. I gave in.

I’m guilty for overly indulging to my vices. My many vices.

The truth is. I always need someone. I need discipline, in a way.

I need someone to love me so I can love myself. It’s tragic.

I jump relationship to relationships because I fear being by myself most. I fear that I might let ME take over MYSELF. I know my essence, I am a depressive, and I dwell, and I indulge in my own pathetic misery.

It doesn’t even have to be love because it’s usually not. But having someone love me unconditionally, it’s my salvation from myself. I allow myself to be foolish for the first month of the relationship and believe that it’s love. I get overly attached, not because I love him (them) but because he’s mine. He is my salvation. He is my light that is going to pull me out of my own pit.

I tell people I want to be rescued. I lie so it seems hopeful.

I don’t. I want to be left alone. But I also want someone to violently and forcefully drag me out from myself. I need rules and I need an enforcer of these rules. That where the men come in. They keep me occupied, they help me forget that there’s another side of me that’s going to self-destruct.

I want to be outsmarted, exposed until there’s no wiggle room, no corners to hide, no excuses to bullshit my way out. I’m not sure whether I’m such a good actor that no one can see my troubles or they just can’t be bothered by a lost cause.

I miss Dianne, I always do.

My heart still aches. I broke her heart, her trust.

It seems like I abuse everything, from substances to people. I use them as bandages when I’m hurt but when I don’t need them, I forget.

I faked my moments with her, I faked the laughs and the smiles. I loved her. I love her. But even with the person you love most, you’re bound to fake the fun times too. Right?

It’s not that I want to always be surrounded by people, they are great distractions but when I’m with people, all I want to do is to be left alone to grieve. The bigger the crowd, the heavier the mask, the more I have to pretend; to be fun, happy, entertaining or at least normal and polite.

But when I get home, to my room, my junkie paradise, I feel like I’ve be left for dead. I’m alone and when I’m alone I let the sadness take me.

So what do I do? I start a diary.