Withdrawal

For the past nine months I’ve been on drugs. Every day I was shooting up kindness, happiness, love, sex, respect and generosity. Every day, day in day out I would get my fix. All I had to do was make a phone call or send an email and I was immediately wrapped up in this amazing circle of unconditional rapture. And even if I didn’t request more drugs, they were still supplied to me on a pretty constant basis as no one ever had in my entire life.

And then it stopped. No warning, no weaning. No slowly reducing my intake. Cold turkey. And the withdrawal is ugly. I’m crying, I’m shaking; I prepared to stalk my dealer for a fix. I’m prepared to beg and plead and do whatever I have to do. I want it all back.

Nine months is more than some people get in a lifetime. Fuck that. I have passed all sense of reason and logic. I want my fix. I was already an addict, in an actual 12 Step program before I met him, so I know the signs. And I know how hard it is to kick something. The thing is, you kick liquor because your liver is failing and your family is scared of you and you get a DWI and you’re going to die if you don’t quit. You go into drug rehab because you’ve lost ½ your body weight and all your money and you are about to turn to prostitution and you are going to die if you don’t. You go into 12 step for food addiction because you weigh 240 pounds and your arteries are clogged and you have diabetes and you’re gong to die if you don’t do something.

This drug’s side effects were my laughter returning, the sounds of my joyous orgasms filling rooms, my heart about to burst from being overcome with delight. Why in the hell would I ever want to kick this drug? But I wasn't given a choice. My drugs were ripped from me.

I told myself that I was going to kick the habit on my own, on my time frame. Bull shit. I’m an addict in every sense of the word and that means that I lie…a lot! I lie more to myself than anyone else. I’ve been a liar since I was a kid and can still convince just about anyone of anything. I said I was going to kick it to call my dealer’s bluff. He was so generous with the drug, but it was not 24-7 and even when I had it every day, I still wanted more. I still wanted it every minute of every day and I wasn’t getting that, so I figured, even though my dealer never said he would, even though he was pretty emphatic that this was not a possibility, I just knew that if I told him I was giving up the drug, that he would get scared he was going to lose me as a client and he would make the 24-7 thing happen.

Before I could test my completely sound (to a junkie) theory, everything fell apart. I hit rock bottom like a ton of bricks. I can’t sleep. I’ve stopped eating. I am filled with thoughts of what I can do to get my drugs back, even though my dealer has made it crystal clear that this won’t be happening. I want to do things that I would never do in a million years to get another fix. And I lie, like any other addict, and say one more fix will be enough…just one more time. Let me at least be aware that it is the last time. Then I can quit.

I am powerless over this man. I am powerless over my feelings for him. It’s the first step when you’re trying to kick an addiction is admitting you are powerless and I am. So powerless, so miserable, so desperate. I’m right back where I was four years ago with my other addiction. Rock bottom.

I have a really hard time believing I am this person. I knew I was an addict. But this person is unrecognizable to me. I guess because I spent so many years wishing that AntiChrist would give me even 1/100 of what Mr. Wonderful gave me. And I still have pain from the end of that almost 14-year relationship; so many regrets and so much pain. And now this, which causes me to ask, when does love come along that doesn’t fuck you up?

They assure me it’s out there. People try and convince me. And you know what, if it’s not, I’ve never had a problems being alone, which is why I feel okay starting new relationships because if it doesn’t work out, then I’ll be alone and that is just fine. No worries. When I’m alone, I can do as I wish and that’s something I have been enjoying since AC moved out. Alone time.

But these drugs I got were so strong and so powerful and they gave me visions, which turned out to be delusional hallucinations, of a life filled with the actual bliss of sharing an existence with someone who is everything. And whom can I blame but myself? I made him everything. I did this! And now I just want it all back.