Hiromi_X

Last weekend, I went to my parent's house and slept in my childhood sheets. They still had some of the flat sheets that my sisters and I used to use (the fitted sheets had worn out long ago). I went to check on my dad who just got discharged from the hospital. We looked at old photo albums. We watched some cheesy Japanese satellite TV. It would've been nice and cozy were it not for that relentless itch in my brain.

My dad had his meds lined up on a side table by the couch. I asked my dad what he was taking --- whatever for whatever, blah blah for blah, yadda yadda for yadda, and percocet. This was my first encounter with narcotic painkiller since last July. I heard a sound effect in my head, kind of like a record being played too slowly: Peeeeerrrrrrrrrrcooooooooo...cet. I put the bottle down slowly and noticed the red seal on the cap. He hadn't opened the bottle yet! When I asked, he insisted he didn't need it. Incomprehensible concepts to an addict -- why not just take it? It FEELS GOOD fer chrissake. Not long after that, I opened a kitchen cabinet to get some multivitamins and discovered my mom's leftover vicodin. My eyes widened. Then my brows furrowed in annoyance. Again, who ever heard of leftover drugs?

It didn't stop at merely being indignant at wasting perfectly good drugs through non-use. I couldn't stop thinking about those bottles. I thought of my hard-won year of sobriety. I remembered the sheer fucking suffering I endured during that time. I thought of the immense progress I'd made, and what throwing that away would mean. Nevertheless, a quietly powerful part of my brain thought, Hmm. I'm in San Antonio. The pills are HERE, and they can STAY HERE. Ergo, if I take some and therefore relapse, it'd be a controlled relapse. The thought pervaded my brain like an infection.

Sigh. I didn't take any pills. As I drove back to Austin, all I thought of was those pills and the dreamy bliss they impart. I couldn't get it out of my mind. Then, to make matters worse, all the stress of the past weeks resulted in my eye flaring up Sunday night. Intense pain. I went to the doctor on Monday and it was with the utmost self control that I kept my drug Id in check. I didn't ask for painkiller. I spent Monday in considerable pathetic whimpering pain, bitter that being an addict kept me from relief.

I'm still thinking of those pills. This puzzles and saddens me. No, it doesn't puzzle me. It disappoints me, despite my knowledge that I have a disease, that I'm not cured of addiction. I'm going to have to endure these ambushes for how long? Until I die, I suppose.

I was just in Hawaii. When I was there, I saw light beams flickering deep in the ocean like laser beams and I paddled through liquid sapphire with the cool ocean breeze on my face. I felt the wonderful feeling of coming home to a childhood paradise, that, despite change, still felt like paradise. When I surfed, I rode a perfect wave to shore; I felt my body fuse to the water through motion. I turned my board around, and as I paddled back eagerly toward the waves, a sea turtle popped up next to me and swam beside me for a while. Beyond that, I've felt the exhilaration of solving intellectual puzzles, and the inner peace of self-transformation. I've loved intensely and had that love returned.

I know how wonderful reality is. I've experienced joy. Real joy, and even fulfillment. But I find myself being seduced by unreality again. I fought it. I didn't relapse. I refuse to fucking relapse. I know I can fight it again and win. But the possibility of relapse is still there. And to do so would rob me of everything. There's no "controlled relapse." I'd take some pills. Then I'd think, what the fuck, I screwed up, may as well get my money's worth. Let's milk this fucken relapse for all it's worth. May as well have some fun before starting up all that AA rigamarole again, eh? Relapses happen to everyone! What the hell? Just a little fun, then back to seriousness.

But it would stop only when another disaster like my overdose occurs. Or worse than my overdose. I got lucky that time. I don't need to test my luck another time.

I think I'll go ride my bike. That's good. And real.