everyadventure
01-30-2011, 01:35 AM
SomewhatIdyllic's conversational piece "Sober" lured me in. Here's the other half of the conversation in bold, original text belongs to SomewhatIdyllic. hope you don't mind, SI...
I’m not exactly sure I sleep anymore to be honest. What’s dreaming? I don’t ****ing know what’s a dream anymore. Everything just starts blending in now. You know that fuzzy feel dreams have on the edge of them?
I’m sorry, are you speaking to me?
Like everything has been softened just a tad?
I don’t…
Yeah? That’s how I feel all the ****ing time. When I wake up, or whatever the **** you wanna call it, I’m still high. And if I’m not, then I know that in the next twenty seconds I’m going to feel that cold prick, then the fire will burn through my blood.
Just—wait a moment—my hands are full. I know I have some change, hang on, let me put these bags down. All right, let’s see…
Then everything will get fuzzy again, and I go on with my day. I see people and they don’t even feel real to me. I feel like I could just reach out and pop their heads if I wanted to. It’s amazing what this **** does. One minute you’re lying exhausted and ****ed out, the next you’re energetic and everything feels great. I love it. I’m addicted to that. Why would I ever need to find a physical source of happiness? What joy is there in love? Love will hurt and destroy you. Drugs won’t. Drugs will show you what can’t be normally seen. They’ll always be there for you, providing the same comfort you’ve always known. They won’t change on you. They won’t run off with someone else. They’re yours.
Well, now, no one’s ever run out on me. Quite the opposite, actually… everyone’s always there, day in and day out, needing and whining and demanding…I don’t seem to have any cash on me. Do you take Visa? What am I saying, of course you don’t…
When I’m high, I just feel… I don’t know. It’s hard to talk with someone about a high when they’ve never had one. Did you ever smoke weed or anything? Just a bit?
Weed… oh geez, it’s been more than a decade…
Yeah, see, everyones tried it. Anyways, do you remember what it felt like? Did you get that puffy head feeling and did everything feel a little slow? Remember how out of control you felt? I don’t mean like wild and crazy, but just that something else was calling the shots now. Imagine that feeling, but with enormous amounts of energy and confidence. Somebody else calls the shots and you’re just along for the ride.
Actually, I do know what you mean… of course, my situation’s entirely different. I get migraines, it’s quite a serious medical condition. But that’s precisely how my prescription makes me feel! Isn’t that funny…
I’ve tried countless other things, ****ing you name it, and there’s a piss jar in a medical science museum with my name on it, containing exactly that. I loved just eating shrooms and tripping out for days. But nothing even comes close to this ****. I fully admit I’m addicted to it.
That’s a shame. Really, it’s just a matter of self-discipline! You really ought to have more respect for yourself.
But I don’t care. Don’t you ever just wish you could turn your brain off when you got stressed? Well for me, it was starting to be stressful a lot of the time and I couldn’t deal with it. I just slipped into this constant high, where I can’t honestly tell people I’m sober ever. It’s never normal me. It’s never rational. Hell, I don’t even believe there’s a normal me. This is normal me now.
Yes, well, the migraines are such a burden, and OxyContin lets me be myself. I don’t get HIGH off it, it only gets rid of the pain. The person I am without it… well, that person just isn’t me!
Sobriety is now just a hobby for me. I’m never thinking straight, I have paranoid hallucinations, and to even attempt to focus is retarded. I just sit there most days, spaced out. I have this one blanket, as soft as can be. I bought it years ago before I started really ****ing up. I still have the original plastic bag, so I’m able to keep it fairly clean. Anyways, I just sit there with this blanket, wrapping myself up in it, waiting for another day to pass.
Mmm, I can understand that. Often when my kids go to school I go straight back to bed. I fix myself up 30 minutes before they come home, and no one’s the wiser. If you feel tired, you should rest! It’s so important to listen to what your body is telling you.
I kind of feel like a machine actually. I’m just continually receiving inputs, never letting my body rest. Eventually I’ll collapse and that’ll be it. I know that day is coming sooner and sooner every single day. I can feel it. My body feels like it’s slowly falling apart in front of me. My hair is pretty much gone and I’m down about seven teeth, but that’s only because I keep a toothbrush on me at all times. My finger nails are as yellow as a lemon, and my skin is flaky and dry. I’ll be the big five one come this Tuesday, but I look like a ninety year old abandoned on death’s door.
Now, that’s just laziness. It takes effort to look good at our age! Trimming, exfoliating, waxing. Skin peels, Botox, tummy tucks. A proper manicure would do you a world of good!
Every day I’m thankful I didn’t bring another life in this world. I don’t think I could bear that. Having my own flesh and body look at me and know and feel disgust. I’m tearing up just at the thought of it.
I have a couple of teenagers myself. In fact, my son was supposed to pick me up here when I finished shopping. Maybe I should text him again…
I always wanted a son you know.
His car’s in the shop so he’s been driving mine. He’s had his license a month and already totaled the Camry! Where’d I put that phone?
A little lad to play catch with, to inform him about girls and the methods his papa used.
Oh, that’s rich. You think he’d listen to his papa’s wisdom, that he’d believe you knew a single thing about women? You really don’t know much about kids, do you?
Then again, I used to want a family period. A beautiful wife and son, maybe a daughter if I was blessed.
A daughter! Oh yes, I know a thing or two about having daughters! Their moods, their vanity, their venomous disdain… they’re pure joy.
But now I’m not fit to be a father, nor was I ever. I gave up my sobriety, and by doing so, I gave up my dream. I think it’s why I don’t dream anymore. I don’t have anything I want. Nothing entices me. Nothing excites my interest these days. Expensive cars are just gaudy, a huge house is pointless, and for the most part, I can get the government to cover my food costs.
Oh, come on now, you don’t mean that. You don’t want a Cadillac? A mansion in the foothills with granite countertops and slate floors? Don’t tell me those things aren’t important to you.
The salvation army clothes me, the homeless shelter has a bed for me. And people give me money so I can use it on the last thing I need, my fix. I don’t have a care or want in the world.
My husband takes care of all that for me. See, I’m pretty carefree myself! Do you mind if I sit…?
No friends or family to be disappointed in me. Some days when I leave the shelter, I see someone lying face down and still just out back. And there’s no police tape, no ambulances, no one rushing to check them. And everybody sees them, but nobody does anything.
That’s just terrible. I have a wonderful physician, he still makes house calls, can you believe it?
Instead, they just sit there, lying in the weather until the heat or the bugs makes the smell unbearable. Then a cleaning truck comes and takes it away. I’ve always wondered what happens from there. None of these bodies had family, else why are they on the streets? So who is going to pay for a funeral? Do they even get one? I figure they just toss them into a bag or something, and then take them to the dump. I’ve always wondered about those restricted areas. I bet there’s a whole mound, just festering.
Damn, I forgot the shallots! I knew I should have made a list…
And if you asked the name of any one of them, I don’t think there was a soul alive that could tell you. That’s what will happen to me I’m thinking. Just wind up in that pile with all the other carefree people of the world. You think that’s depressing don’t you? Why? What’s depressing about it?
What? Oh, I’m sorry, I was thinking about dinner. No way around it, I’ll just have to use green onions instead…
I die a grief free death. Nobody is hurt by my leaving. Not one person will cry. You? You on the other hand have people who care and I love you I bet. You gotta, I can see the ring on your hand.
Stop eyeing my ring! I’m sure my son will have some cash, he’s always emptying his father’s wallet…
How many kids?
Three. Two girls and a boy.
Really? Wow. Smart cookies I bet. See? That’s depressing. Imagine their faces when you die.
Pardon?!
Look at them crying. Look at the sorrow. Do you agree now? Do you see how depressing that is?
Ha. I can see them fighting over my jewelry!
We live opposite lives, so I leave behind happiness in my passing. That sounds a lot better than tears any day. Plus, it means I just get to spend my days how I want to. Or rather, how the drugs want to.
You really should look into a treatment program. The life you’re living is such a shame.
I’m numbed from everything the world has to offer. I refuse to try any of it, it’s all just bull****. There will come a day when I wake up, and everything will be good again. I’ll have a family, and have mine back. I’ll work my day to day at a job I throughly enjoy. And everyday I’ll come home to my wife and she’ll tell me how much she loves me, and give me a sweet, tender kiss. That’s how I’ll know I died.
I’ll know I’m dead when people stop asking me for things! Oh, that’s my son. Matt, get OUT of the car and help me with these bags. No, not that bag, it’s my prescription… hand it to me. And give that man some money. Don’t give me that look, do as I say. Well then. Good luck...
I’m not exactly sure I sleep anymore to be honest. What’s dreaming? I don’t ****ing know what’s a dream anymore. Everything just starts blending in now. You know that fuzzy feel dreams have on the edge of them?
I’m sorry, are you speaking to me?
Like everything has been softened just a tad?
I don’t…
Yeah? That’s how I feel all the ****ing time. When I wake up, or whatever the **** you wanna call it, I’m still high. And if I’m not, then I know that in the next twenty seconds I’m going to feel that cold prick, then the fire will burn through my blood.
Just—wait a moment—my hands are full. I know I have some change, hang on, let me put these bags down. All right, let’s see…
Then everything will get fuzzy again, and I go on with my day. I see people and they don’t even feel real to me. I feel like I could just reach out and pop their heads if I wanted to. It’s amazing what this **** does. One minute you’re lying exhausted and ****ed out, the next you’re energetic and everything feels great. I love it. I’m addicted to that. Why would I ever need to find a physical source of happiness? What joy is there in love? Love will hurt and destroy you. Drugs won’t. Drugs will show you what can’t be normally seen. They’ll always be there for you, providing the same comfort you’ve always known. They won’t change on you. They won’t run off with someone else. They’re yours.
Well, now, no one’s ever run out on me. Quite the opposite, actually… everyone’s always there, day in and day out, needing and whining and demanding…I don’t seem to have any cash on me. Do you take Visa? What am I saying, of course you don’t…
When I’m high, I just feel… I don’t know. It’s hard to talk with someone about a high when they’ve never had one. Did you ever smoke weed or anything? Just a bit?
Weed… oh geez, it’s been more than a decade…
Yeah, see, everyones tried it. Anyways, do you remember what it felt like? Did you get that puffy head feeling and did everything feel a little slow? Remember how out of control you felt? I don’t mean like wild and crazy, but just that something else was calling the shots now. Imagine that feeling, but with enormous amounts of energy and confidence. Somebody else calls the shots and you’re just along for the ride.
Actually, I do know what you mean… of course, my situation’s entirely different. I get migraines, it’s quite a serious medical condition. But that’s precisely how my prescription makes me feel! Isn’t that funny…
I’ve tried countless other things, ****ing you name it, and there’s a piss jar in a medical science museum with my name on it, containing exactly that. I loved just eating shrooms and tripping out for days. But nothing even comes close to this ****. I fully admit I’m addicted to it.
That’s a shame. Really, it’s just a matter of self-discipline! You really ought to have more respect for yourself.
But I don’t care. Don’t you ever just wish you could turn your brain off when you got stressed? Well for me, it was starting to be stressful a lot of the time and I couldn’t deal with it. I just slipped into this constant high, where I can’t honestly tell people I’m sober ever. It’s never normal me. It’s never rational. Hell, I don’t even believe there’s a normal me. This is normal me now.
Yes, well, the migraines are such a burden, and OxyContin lets me be myself. I don’t get HIGH off it, it only gets rid of the pain. The person I am without it… well, that person just isn’t me!
Sobriety is now just a hobby for me. I’m never thinking straight, I have paranoid hallucinations, and to even attempt to focus is retarded. I just sit there most days, spaced out. I have this one blanket, as soft as can be. I bought it years ago before I started really ****ing up. I still have the original plastic bag, so I’m able to keep it fairly clean. Anyways, I just sit there with this blanket, wrapping myself up in it, waiting for another day to pass.
Mmm, I can understand that. Often when my kids go to school I go straight back to bed. I fix myself up 30 minutes before they come home, and no one’s the wiser. If you feel tired, you should rest! It’s so important to listen to what your body is telling you.
I kind of feel like a machine actually. I’m just continually receiving inputs, never letting my body rest. Eventually I’ll collapse and that’ll be it. I know that day is coming sooner and sooner every single day. I can feel it. My body feels like it’s slowly falling apart in front of me. My hair is pretty much gone and I’m down about seven teeth, but that’s only because I keep a toothbrush on me at all times. My finger nails are as yellow as a lemon, and my skin is flaky and dry. I’ll be the big five one come this Tuesday, but I look like a ninety year old abandoned on death’s door.
Now, that’s just laziness. It takes effort to look good at our age! Trimming, exfoliating, waxing. Skin peels, Botox, tummy tucks. A proper manicure would do you a world of good!
Every day I’m thankful I didn’t bring another life in this world. I don’t think I could bear that. Having my own flesh and body look at me and know and feel disgust. I’m tearing up just at the thought of it.
I have a couple of teenagers myself. In fact, my son was supposed to pick me up here when I finished shopping. Maybe I should text him again…
I always wanted a son you know.
His car’s in the shop so he’s been driving mine. He’s had his license a month and already totaled the Camry! Where’d I put that phone?
A little lad to play catch with, to inform him about girls and the methods his papa used.
Oh, that’s rich. You think he’d listen to his papa’s wisdom, that he’d believe you knew a single thing about women? You really don’t know much about kids, do you?
Then again, I used to want a family period. A beautiful wife and son, maybe a daughter if I was blessed.
A daughter! Oh yes, I know a thing or two about having daughters! Their moods, their vanity, their venomous disdain… they’re pure joy.
But now I’m not fit to be a father, nor was I ever. I gave up my sobriety, and by doing so, I gave up my dream. I think it’s why I don’t dream anymore. I don’t have anything I want. Nothing entices me. Nothing excites my interest these days. Expensive cars are just gaudy, a huge house is pointless, and for the most part, I can get the government to cover my food costs.
Oh, come on now, you don’t mean that. You don’t want a Cadillac? A mansion in the foothills with granite countertops and slate floors? Don’t tell me those things aren’t important to you.
The salvation army clothes me, the homeless shelter has a bed for me. And people give me money so I can use it on the last thing I need, my fix. I don’t have a care or want in the world.
My husband takes care of all that for me. See, I’m pretty carefree myself! Do you mind if I sit…?
No friends or family to be disappointed in me. Some days when I leave the shelter, I see someone lying face down and still just out back. And there’s no police tape, no ambulances, no one rushing to check them. And everybody sees them, but nobody does anything.
That’s just terrible. I have a wonderful physician, he still makes house calls, can you believe it?
Instead, they just sit there, lying in the weather until the heat or the bugs makes the smell unbearable. Then a cleaning truck comes and takes it away. I’ve always wondered what happens from there. None of these bodies had family, else why are they on the streets? So who is going to pay for a funeral? Do they even get one? I figure they just toss them into a bag or something, and then take them to the dump. I’ve always wondered about those restricted areas. I bet there’s a whole mound, just festering.
Damn, I forgot the shallots! I knew I should have made a list…
And if you asked the name of any one of them, I don’t think there was a soul alive that could tell you. That’s what will happen to me I’m thinking. Just wind up in that pile with all the other carefree people of the world. You think that’s depressing don’t you? Why? What’s depressing about it?
What? Oh, I’m sorry, I was thinking about dinner. No way around it, I’ll just have to use green onions instead…
I die a grief free death. Nobody is hurt by my leaving. Not one person will cry. You? You on the other hand have people who care and I love you I bet. You gotta, I can see the ring on your hand.
Stop eyeing my ring! I’m sure my son will have some cash, he’s always emptying his father’s wallet…
How many kids?
Three. Two girls and a boy.
Really? Wow. Smart cookies I bet. See? That’s depressing. Imagine their faces when you die.
Pardon?!
Look at them crying. Look at the sorrow. Do you agree now? Do you see how depressing that is?
Ha. I can see them fighting over my jewelry!
We live opposite lives, so I leave behind happiness in my passing. That sounds a lot better than tears any day. Plus, it means I just get to spend my days how I want to. Or rather, how the drugs want to.
You really should look into a treatment program. The life you’re living is such a shame.
I’m numbed from everything the world has to offer. I refuse to try any of it, it’s all just bull****. There will come a day when I wake up, and everything will be good again. I’ll have a family, and have mine back. I’ll work my day to day at a job I throughly enjoy. And everyday I’ll come home to my wife and she’ll tell me how much she loves me, and give me a sweet, tender kiss. That’s how I’ll know I died.
I’ll know I’m dead when people stop asking me for things! Oh, that’s my son. Matt, get OUT of the car and help me with these bags. No, not that bag, it’s my prescription… hand it to me. And give that man some money. Don’t give me that look, do as I say. Well then. Good luck...