my fifth step

[honeydumplin]

"Try smiling at the joy of your confusion."

"I love to give an opinion on experiences I've never had."

"If you don't care, I can't care...,
If you do care, I have to care."

"Your past is always going to be the way that it was.
Stop trying to change it."
--Anonymous


Very little forethought, if any, ever came to mind.
No carefully laid out plans about where the
next night might be spent, or the preparation for
finding an apartment; just working, eating now and then,
and staying in a fog as much as humanly
possible while still being able to maintain a pulse.

During the trip back down here, the silent tension between
the two of us lay thick in the air. Both of us may have
skimped on certain necessities of life, but pot had yet
to be one of them.

I had no intention of returning to Maine, especially after
sleeping several nights in the passenger seat of a car
and finally landing a job with a local steel erection company.
She, on the other hand had other plans, which appeared
to have involved me working, and she staying high.

Not only the norm during the nomadic life style, but
a prerequisite at work, the mere act of getting stoned
had really become a way of life, supplemented by a rather
meager income, and fueled by a contempt and envy for people
who had more. And it was blatant, too. They had theirs,
where was mine?

Not having my own car, not having a place to live,
not having a care in the world; those were situations
that I thought had be imposed on me by other people.
I never considered the fact that my screwed up
choices, lack of desire for a stable living environment,
or my drug and alcohol problem, had anything to do
with the wreck that was happening in my life.

I did know one thing for sure, if I was ever given a
chance to ditch this woman hanging onto me, it was
then. I didn't really love her. All I was could be summed up
in a dope buddy. The whole marriage was based on lust
for the taboo, the art of deception, and both had been on
the wane ever since caution had been thrown on nearly
everything else and I said, "I do."

My second wife had also become a catch-all for what
was going on with me, and since our two-way
street of convenience had taken a turn for the worse,
she had stopped being any sort of financial advantage
for me.

The woman had her claws dug in deep, and with no
regard for her feelings at all, I began to scheme ways
to be rid of her. Besides I thought, I could get back in
good with my family. She was the reason they had
nothing to do with me anyway. How wrong I was.

I knew if I could possibly sneak away from
the relationship, and allow her a way to parachute out
"unscathed" in ways that may appear to be beneficial
for her, she might go for it. She did.

It was too late for any more arguing and bickering.
My father picked me up the next day, and it was over.


*****************************************

"It is better to know some of the question,
than all the answers." --James Thurber

So another move proceeded, this time in with my
parents, and with that, and their kindness, and generosity,
I began to take full advantage of them by using their auto-
mobiles, using their goodwill in letting them buy my food,
simply using. I wouldn't even bother putting gas in the car
that they'd allowed me to use.

And since this weekly income of mine wasn't used for much else,
it supplied pot for me and the so-called buddies that were
befriended at work. We'd get high before work, during
breaks, after lunch, and usually on the way home.
Drugs were not only addictive for me, but were a forge
for making acquaintances I had.

I used it to calm my often shaky nerves, often from alcohol
consumed the night before. I found that walking around
steel high above the ground, was much easier after
I'd taken a few tokes. Anxiety about the whole routine
of working, and in cohabitating with others, was drastically
increased when I wasn't impaired. I was so far in now. It
was the coping mechanism that allowed me to exist.

The ex had called and informed my employer that I
was using drugs, and my immediate supervisor told me
what she had done. I didn't think much of her feeble
attempt at revenge, and I think the guys she had given
this information to couldn't have cared less. All they
wanted were working bodies to fill positions, and also
given the fact that they got high too, they paid very
little attention to it, which played right into staying
sufficiently stoned.

********************

“When we can release this victim fixation, we can begin
to examine our own role in the chaos of our lives."
--Anonymous


Most of those few months were spent destroying
the relationship that was left with my folks. Oh how I
could put on a front for them, and kiss up to them, putting
on an act that they eventually started to see right through.
I'd convinced myself that I could be around them drunk
and high, and they wouldn't realize how messed up I was.
I was so wrong. They knew. Even so much as to put on an
act of toleration. Everything seemed an act of sorts.
One in which everybody saw what I was except me.

I was a thirty year old punk living off my parents.
I was either angry, or extremely euphoric all the time.
My parents were the ones who'd loved, cared for,
and provided over the course of my life, all I could
have ever needed, and here I was constantly trying to
manipulate them in to giving me more, playing
one against the other, and both sides toward me,
then fanning the flames. Then suddenly I'd disappear
for awhile, going somewhere to have a drink and get high.

The routine was to come home after they'd gone bed, leave
before they awoke, and not have to come in contact
with either of them any more than was absolutely
necessary. I'd lie to them about where I was going,
who I was with, and practically anything else that
could possibly dispel their idea of my intentions, which
usually involved staying lit.

I took what was once a healthy positive relationship,
and proceeded to poison it.