soul survivor.
That was some murder she wrote shit. The redskins game, that is. So close we were. I mean, fuck. Next year, eh Gibbs? Anyway.
~ ~ ~
The desert is not so desolate while in detox. Or so I thought. My DTs surrendered among a week of subutex, a drug that once I was no longer taking it, I stayed in pretty much permanent laughter at the ones who were. This one guy for example. I’ll call him John for anonymity sake, something we cling to in the program. John the opiate addict, former crip, and when Tookie was finally executed, possessed a very dismal look on his dark but likable face.
So yeah, at an alumni meeting (Christmas theme to boost our ever sad morale considering some of us would be spending it in a TC) John finds himself in a subutex-induced stupor. And happy he is, because John is kicking Heroin and found a fellow-junkie to slide him an extra because he himself was no longer being given the drug at night (woe the things that go on in rehab.) But let me continue. John decides he wants to remove his jacket and attempts to do so. Instead of taking off his jacket one arm at a time like a normal person, he tries to remove both arms simultaneously, over his head. He’s successfully taken his shirt with him and now with both his shirt and his jacket forming a Teepee formation over his head, also smothering his entire face, he falls asleep.
I’m dying with laughter and it doesn’t even take a minute for a couple of my friends to join in. Trust me, this was hilarious. So the guy sitting next to John attempts to help him out of the jacket. Meanwhile John wakes up, still caught in the jacket, and starts to fight it. And we all know how fucked up John is at the moment. Jesus, my face was red by this point and people were staring at me now. Anyway, he finally gets him out and John resumes staring at an obnoxious Santa decoration, a look of utter peace occupying his expression, as if nothing ever happened. I probably would of wished for such a trance-like state if I were like him with only an insurance approved stay of a seven day detox, but at the time I was in my third week, hitting my knees daily with gratitude and NOT wanting to ~~check out.
Moments like that made my twenty-nine day stay a lot easier. Before I went, ah yes, talk about will-paralysis. I was a slave to narcotics and barbiturates. For chronic pain at first, then it quickly spiraled into my body needing it to just feel normal, and of course to support my strenuous night-job. But enough of that. And so long (truly) to dancing. I can just get a pole installed in my home. Speaking of body.
I arrived in Hemet a fragile ninety pounds and returned home with an extra twenty. Unfortunately I, after eighteen days of being home, have dropped to 105. I intend to keep it that way. Aside from that I was grateful to bring in the new year with my family, seeing how my Christmas this year was mass-less, the weather was a stifling eighty degrees outside and most sad, I did not get to watch my bubbies open their presents. But I survived as well as my family. This is all that matters. On to new beginnings. The desert that is southern California was good to me, and I plan to go back to pick up my ninety day chip.
~ ~ ~
A few weirdo pictures of me right after my return & me & lar being lazy asses:
http://www.feurety.com/personal/imbakmensisfatasses.jpg
http://www.feurety.com/personal/imbakmensisbw.jpg
http://www.feurety.com/personal/imbakbwBIG.jpg
'normal', or clear raaaaaathuuuur, ones 2 come.
~ ~ ~
Fifty-one days clean,
Alexis