Saturday, March 2, 2013
This song always gives me a little lift.
I need it right now.
Yesterday, even though I had a great time-traveling phone conversation with my one poet friend, we'd be going along at a fast clip and then suddenly I'd stop not be able to find my train of thought, just freeze and say "Wow! I'm really fucked up!" And my friend told me this is exactly how it should feel right now, so don't focus on it. Only this time I'm not fucked up on alcohol but on grief.
I went back through messages to him trying to find the moment I became sober, so I had a day count. I think it's important to know.
I was still messed up on the 22nd but that wasn't alcohol. But it was overusing cough syrup to try to get to sleep to dull the emotional pain. So that's the same thing and I should probably only count from there to be fair. Trying to push it back on the grounds of "only alcohol" seems deceptive. I want to be honest to myself from now on, as well as to him and others. The messages I sent him were loving but progressively more garbled and incomprehensible. That was the night I ended up in the hospital.
So that's my pitiful count? Eight days? Well, it is what is is and it's eight days without any temptation even-- so that's something else to be grateful for.
But as someone who can go long periods without drinking or anything, I know I need to be in treatment. I know I need A.A. I was using online A.A. and A.A.-like chats and it helps but I really want to do the real thing. I think having a sponsor is important. When those moments hit.
I shouldn't be negative. I should celebrate the eight days. I should celebrate the lack of temptation.
I guess I should even try to celebrate the pain I'm feeling right now because the pain is unlocking memories (good and bad) and making me finally see/feel things from my partner's perspective without sugarcoating it or rationalizing it away.
But I feel guilt also for putting him in the limbo he's in now.
Lee, I'm sorry for where you are emotionally right now.
I know the joy of motel sex cruises and the despair of them as well.
I know the risk of them too. You've sat with me in hospitals. And I've gone there on my own more than once for that fucking penicillin shot in the glutes. You sat with me in the hospital like a fucking saint that you never should have had to be.. When someone tells you someone is a saint they're telling you that person has been fucked over like a dog and gets the consolation prize of the that title. It means the person has been run into the ground. It's usually reserved for mothers, wives and girlfriends but there are some men who qualify.
My greatest fear is that you will fall in love with someone.
But then I think this is insane. I know how old school you are about love. Like me you've only felt it twice in your life. I was the one trying to gallop romantically when we met, and you slowed me down real fast. But that's what made it such a fascinating romance as well. That's what made it so damn sexy. I can sit here and relive all those dates. All those phone conversations where I was lying in my brother's bed talking to you. Because I remember lying in there. I think he was still away working the railroad then. And I am pulling up these insanely detailed conversations with you I never even knew I could access.
I'm sorry that I met you when I was still so close to the vortex of the end of my first "marriage." I'm sorry that tained some moments. But only you saved me, really. I really did want to die at that point and when I met you I not only wanted to live again...I was ensorceled and seduced and miraculously happy.And I know you felt the same way. We had the church on fire that love should be and should remain.
I feel this root as the real beginning of my life. So why did I die? I think the answer really is as simple as the biology of addiction. Nothing you did or anything that changed about you (you're very sexy at your present age and you still are way smarter than me except for books lol--only two great qualities of many) made me become a zombie drunk.
I know you know anyone you meet in the venues you are perusing now is likely to be severely damaged (yes like me) and only liable to hurt you--either biologically or emotionally.
I worry that your vulnerability will make you open to someone you never would normally consider or incline you to allow an intimacy you normally would not.
I embarrass myself with my inability to simply stop myself trying to imagine what you're doing.
How can I not when I am completely bonded with you.
I'm not holding onto you in my mind and soul as a savior. I know I have to be the savior of me this time. I really get that. If I proceeded from any other assumption, I'd be doomed.
It's just I worry what you're doing with your loneliness.
I torture myself with a thousand scenarios but I always step on jealousy's head when it tries to appear. It tries. But then I remember what you said in response to my one horrible statement about just this situation: "Then I'm the bigger man?"
You are so fucking just, man, in everything you do.
You are so fucking honest.
Peter wrote a poem the other day which was a lightbulb moment for me because he asked if we fall in love with the person we wish we were?
In this case, I think that's the truth.
But I know you don't want a failed man who will fall at your feet and worship you for any of these qualities but a man who will stand at your side and demonstrate these qualities.
And all I can say now is eight days. Eight days of doing everything right. Eight days without temptation.
But eight days will become eighty will become eight hundred will become...
This I will swear on anything. But swearing on anything is much less valuable than my physically getting to AA regularly. Which I will do. I just can't do the buses with both agoraphobia and social anxiety. I knoe I can't. I'll just stop the bus and get off halfway to where I'm going. You know I'm fine with a private car and I never get weird.
My social anxiety is very manageable--it's just certain situations throw me. Like the last time I used the car and went to Walmart for an rx, I walked in and there were all these people clustered there and I just freaked and ran.
I went to the pet cemetery that day and took all those photos there.
So I'm sort of grateful now it happened that way.
Later I came back and there was not a single person. And I got my rx fine.
I miss your friendship so badly.
I miss your presence.
I miss your voice.
I miss putting my head in your lap.
I miss other things which I won't say here.
I really do need testosterone I think.
A lot of my wishy-washy qualities might vanish with tesosterone. I can't believe I just said "wishy-washy" lol. What is that? Peanuts?
I'm asking for an rx for it at my next doctor's visit.
But it will probably take an extra week or so because I'm sure they'll have to run my levels first.
You had always said you didn't want me to get it because of the sex addiction that goes with alcoholism.
Well, I won't be drinking and I'm sure my levels suck. It might give me some real ambition for a change. I think that my view on ambition is philosophical but it really might be biological. I might not feel the way I do now about external measures of achievement, etc. Well, some of my favorite writers are obscure, probably choose to be obscure. Same deal with some of my favorite photographers. I know great artists all over the place who don't give a fuck about anything other than the experience and product. Not the marketing.
But I really want to be on testosterone.
I will be (only for you, sexy man)...how you say? FEISTY LIKE BULL.
Should you ever want me again.
Grey as it fucking is out there again today, spring is motherfuckin comin.
It's March 2nd.
How far can insanely beautiful days be.
Please let me see you soon.
I felt slain not be able to see you on your birthday, but I get the symbolism of that.
Only to see you. It would mean everything. Even if you just came and picked up the mail. There is a lot of it here for you. I'm sure you know that. Everything is organized.
Probably you are sleeping now.
I reach out as a phantom and stroke your head.