Been talking to myself forever, yeah

And how I wish I knew me better, yeah

Still sitting on a shelf and never

Never seen the sunshine brighter

And it feels like me

On a good day

 

Oceanlab featuring Above and Beyond

 

A song about self-realization and, to me, a song about daily struggles. Anyone who knows me knows I use snark and bluster to deal with a large number of insecurities. It has been my coping mechanism for years—all my struggles and insecurities.

Right now, I am that person in a relationship with an addict. Nothing illegal, just constant use of a substance that, while seemingly benign, has long-term devastating consequences. Also, one that causes, at times, offensive comments and dissociative behavior.

Lately, the use has begun at 9 am. He leaves to catch the smoke shop opens; by 5 pm, a stack of boxes sits on the small couch in the living room that number around 15-20. Since I do work nights, I often hear constantly during the day if I wake up the sound of gas rushing into the cracker and then the inhalation of the gas.

Wash, rinse, repeat it’s to the point that I can hear this repetitive pattern all day and even when it is not used.

The other day he jokingly (at least he made it sound like that) said he would visit his boyfriend “around the corner.” The scary part is that the addiction gets more attention than I do.

Honestly, since it suppresses sexual desire, I have not had anything that resembles sex in over a year (almost two now).

I mean, other than the “sins of Onan.” (which isn’t a sin, but it sounds cooler than “beating the bishop”)

I’ve tried everything. I tried an intervention that ended in a physical fight, that in retrospect, I should have walked away then and found a new road to travel, but I didn’t. It wasn’t that bad 3-4 boxes at a time, which has now come to be 6-8 boxes 3-4 times a day. To this day, I always thought I would walk if a physical altercation occurred, but alas, I think I understand now why people stay in suboptimal situations. Honestly, my reasons are that I like my house and the space and ability to have my dogs. I love having room for my cars and my motorcycle. I like the area in general; it’s close to work and things I need and a perfect place.

I stayed for dog knows what reason after that night. Many, including my internal thoughts, said I should have left.

I have very unhealthy coping mechanisms (nothing illegal either). The addiction, on top of my trauma, has made me feel like less of a human. Yep, good ole snarky nursiepoo feels useless. I have paid someone to be my friend in the past or at least thought I needed to pay them. Yep, you read it right; I have been so insecure that I have paid someone to be my friend.

My self-esteem is shot to fuck. The self-talk is not positive like the lyrics suggest; it is much more about my failure as a person. The problem here is that I have convinced myself it’s my fault. I am, once again, taking ownership of something that is not mine.

When you talk about addictions, you are supposed to remember that you are not the cause of the addiction; you cannot usually change the course of the addiction, and honestly, it’s not about you. THEN you are in a relationship with an addict. In a short time, you feel guilt and worthlessness because you convince yourself you are the cause of the addiction, you should be doing something to change the course of the habit, and yep it’s about you. You feel like fucking trash, and there you are.

Then work has chimed in with its reactive abuse. You know where they do something that they know will cause you to react and then punish you for reacting.  Its an endless loop.

Add on top of this the fact that you have been raped and have other trauma, and you are in the massive pit of “fuck, why can’t I be the better person.” I am convinced at many times that this is my damn fault. It’s my fault for the rape; it’s my fault that he’s an addict; it’s my fault that the middle east can’t get its shit together. It blends on the hopeless.

So I stew, I try at any opening, hoping that maybe I will finally say the magic words that will make it stop, and yet the pragmatic me says over and over, “they have to want to stop.”

So where do I go? As a friend just said, “it’s all about him.” Not me. So I pretty much am always at the start. You have to decide where the line between harm reduction and codependence is, and that is where you have to break.

I snapped tonight. I cried, and I begged for the world to be right when I knew it won’t be. These are my raw daily feelings.

Be the kind of person your dog and your mom hope you are.