Post
by jimboloco » December 15th, 2010, 10:05 am
Hi, my name is Jim W, and I am an addict.
My consumption increased exponentially.
I became dysfunctional, became angry.
No longer was I getting some "relief."
I do not want things to "open up" for me
anymore than I want things to close in on me,
which is what was happenning. Oh yeah,
write off my wife, the banshee adult child of an alcoholic.
Get a small place. Collect social security.
Dress in rags. Live on pot, maybe some amphetamines.
Drink some beers or wine to wash it down.
There's no hope or grace anyhow. I've done what I had to do
for the progress of men. We are so fucked already.
I give up. Fuck all of you, too, right?
I want to face my reality, along with my limitations
and illusions of pot induced insightfulness.
I can do the same insightful jim jamming without
a brain full of warm fuzzies of any kind.
Pot is not.
This is where I had to go
all along.
I am now a member of narcotics anonymous.
Like sober duck, no booz, and more. No drugs
of any kind. Alcohol is a drug for me, like speed
and marijuana. I can get so down that I am ready to
start scoring on the street now. Fuck my nice pot guy.
I told him off already, don't keep selling to me when
you can see that I am smoking a quarter pound
in three weeks! Shit! I always refused to buy the bulk deal
at $350 per quarter pound, instead preferring the visits
for a social occasion!!!! I was spending $500-600 per month.
I was terminated from my job because I knew it would happen
and I allowed it to go down that way, preferring not to talk about it
diirectly with them. I tested positive for marijuana, as I knew I would.
I wanted to be cleared of any wrong-doing, as when I started making
recording errors with the dispensing of narcotics like morphine and dilaudid.
I gave an enormous amount of narcotics in my 11 years there.
I was always accurate in my recordings. The last three months,
especially since I met my birth daughter, dealt with the grief
of my wife's crazyness, were hellish. I became a complete doper.
When she left for our annual Christmas vacation, taking her grandson
with some departing words of anger from me, try for a quick fix,
camped out in the utility room with a space heater, a radio, a large bag of pot
and smoked incessantly for three days and nights. My angry feelings reached a pitch!
Instead of calm, I got angrier. I had fantasies of shooting the divorce judge and then my wife and then myself....I cried and cried. I was greatful
I did not have a gun. I was in a dangerous place.
She got home the 4th day and became a screaming lady again.
I had not changed my clothes in 4 days and smelled of pot.
I told her I was stopping, was waiting for the psychiatrist's appointment
to start my new program for restoration, Impaired Professionals in Nursing
(which I self-reported myself to). Oh, hell, I stayed straight for 5 days,
even made some progress arguing my wife to put on her ring,
then went to a Quaker meeting last Sunday. This was the first meeting
I had been to straight. I got there early enough to hear the query, on
working for peace and giving testimony about the cost of war.
Several minutes of silence passed. A yound man stood and introduced himself
as having moved down from up north, said, "wow, I have a ready made Quaker meeting
to attend!" I felt the contrast immediately between his joyous life and war.
Several minutes later, I offerred words about this, including the remark that
"both Jim Welch and myself have seen the worst aspects of this."
I remembered signing the Quaker peace testimony years before and
how wonderful that was. I also said that the contrast between war and peace
is all too apparant for any civilian victim in a war zone and for any returning vet
from a war zone. I affirmed that "this (the Quaker meeting) is the side
that will win. I then expressed my hope to endure until we can find a way
to take away from the occasion for war. "We must endure."
It was a nice meeting, as others followed with remarks intending this also
but I can sense that it was uncomfortable for them also. There are war crimes
I have never fully explained, what we did and the illusions we have about it all.
After meeting, I spoke with an elderly lady, my friend, plus a younger man.
We bantered about kids, looked at a picture of another friend being pushed
in a wheelchair in the art museum. "Looks like Whistler's grandfather,"
I remarked, giving him a hug. Soon thereafter, I said to the younger man,
"I'm cutting out. There's hope for the feeble minded." He smiled, I left.
Two hours later, I had bought a $100 bag. I smoked a joint driving home.
Ah, what a relief. I still had a few more days before I reported to the I.P.N.
program shrink for an eval and treatment plan. I was standing in my backyard
stoned, with my baggie rolled up in my baseball cap on the table.
I looked up. There Susan was. I screamed in fright! She went bezerk,
started trashing the inside of the house. I tried to slow her down.
She twisted away and fell, crying that she was hurt. I watched her get up.
She sat in a chair, yelling at me to not touch her. I called my zen man.
He was just finished a retreat. I put the speaker on. She calmed. He told me I should just leave and come back later. I did this, taking my stash with me.
I went to a park by Tampa Bay, downtown St Pete. I sat in my car, in the cold.
I smoked five more joints over three hours, so wasted and stuperous.
It was dark by then. I walked over to a boat rental dock, closed, and found
the parfect hiding place for my stash: a plastic 4 inch pipe set up for a decoration
curved at the top like on a ship. I stuffed it down into the pipe. It will be there forever. I cannot go back and retreive it, as I had done before every time/
I have to close that door.
I slept in the back room, which I have not been able to clean. My clothes are all
in a jumble. I knew it was over for me. My appetite is voracious.
Monday December 13th, I found New Terra Nova, a narcotics anonymous home.
They have a nice plain and spacious place nearby on Central Ave with 4-5 meetings a day.
On Monday, I went to the noon meeting. I was pleasantly surprised. It was different from the AA meetings I had been to before. Nobody talked about using,
how much, or how little, or what kind. They just made affirmations.
They gave me a list of the men present with phone numbers.
I went back to the 5:30 pm meeting and joined that group, "Save Your Ass."
Yesterday, I was extremely tired. Rested and drank fluids. I went to the 5:30 meeting. I fully intend to go to a meeting every day for three months.
Just for today
Pot is not
okay.
So the snake and the Rasta mon are not evil.
It's time to come clean and deal with life
on its own terms.
Gonna break on thru to th other side
and still be alive.
God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
I am an addict.
Pot is not
okay for me
just for today.
Fin, for anyone to see.
the courage to change the things I can
is something I have always intended.
My attitude is different.
I am not controlling my wife.
She is behaving very nice.
[color=darkcyan]i'm on a survival mission
yo ho ho an a bottle of rum om[/color]
