Note: Almost two months have passed since this has been written.
This is not a post for social media, a passing scroll, nor is this a passing moment. The events that have taken place in the past week have transformed my soul, my entire being, and my entire meaning for being on this planet. As I’ve been writing privately, the same sentiment is repeated through different words — I will never be the same again.
On Sunday, as I write this I looked at my date and realized it is already Saturday. A week has almost passed and I have not noticed for the days and nights have blurred. I am grateful for the sleep even though every time my eyes open I am awakened with a pain that causes my body to shake uncontrollably and sometimes the tears pour and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes it’s a quiet “no”, and sometimes it’s an uncontrollable howl.
On Sunday, a soul I loved died from an overdose. It doesn’t feel real as I write these words since I am in the midst of processing the death, but I must speak through my pain, for this is too far from uncommon to be silent. He was and will always be far too special to not be spoken of. Yet I do not use names, because I do not
wish to.
There is no way to truly know anything in this life.
If you are in an argument, if you are hurt by someone, if you are sad, say something to the person you love. This life of ghosting and running and being angry is a privilege. For one day, you may never be able to reach them again.
No matter how many hours you try, no matter how many miles you travel, they will be gone.
As I and so many who loved him go through this, forever, I am very much reminded that I am and forever will be an addict. This is not shameful for me to say. It is powerful. If I said I was not, I could relapse. If I did not reach out for help and ask for people to care for me and tell people I am not okay, I could relapse. And relapse, as I learned Sunday, is not just a mistake. It’s death.
While I am not here to share details nor speak too personally on the matter in my life, I feel compelled to share how I have been able to keep my sobriety during this time of devastating grief. Also, this, writing this, helps me stay sober.
Accountability
I let everyone close to me know my sobriety wasn’t strong and I needed support. I was not alone for the first two weeks after the death. At all. Maybe five to ten minutes alone during the entirety of this time. I couldn’t trust myself. I told close people red flags I may try because the lurking addict, that is always there but now right behind the corner, would attempt self-destruction at any moment.
My mind did not want to speak of what my red flags were for then I would be held accountable and addiction does not want any responsibility. But accountability saved me on one night in particular.
I told someone very close to me that if I said I was going to *insert a specific club here* casually, don’t let me. A week later, I very casually sent a late-night text (the tone is casual but the text was sent in the Uber for I knew what I was doing was a game of Russian Roulette). “I’m going to xxx with xxx. Don’t worry. We just want to dance! I’ll call you later.” That pretty much sums it up. Immediately, a phone call, reminding me what I had said and kindly asking me not to go. I tell the kind man who is our Uber driver to please drop us off on the street. My friend, who is also going through the grief and I know very much wanted to escape too, and I continued our night in a safe space.
One song, one song at that club could have come on, and there would be a hundred ways of dying staring at me from a shelf.
Community
This is not the time to shut people out. When people ask(ed) if I’m okay, I say no. When they ask if they should reach out, I say yes. When I need help, I ask. It’s getting harder as the days continue to pass, but there is no timeline. I don’t know how long I will feel these waves of emotions that sometimes can be seen in the distance. At times I can anticipate the crash, but sometimes I turn around and I’m already being choked by the water. I’m already six feet deep, floundering to keep my head above, even when, at times, I just want to sink. Today (late May) was the first day I saw myself wanting to truly shut people out. But ‘tis selfish to do such a thing when people are worried and I am loved by them and I love them in return. Eventually, I took my phone off DND and replied to those I care so deeply for. I felt better.
Remove triggers you can control
I dabble in self-destruction by listening to songs that cause me so much emotion I bawl, scream, sing, whatever is needed at the time. It can be therapeutic, but not during this time. Listening to specific songs could cause me to walk to a bar in a trance. I couldn’t listen to music for the first few days. I didn’t know it was possible. To not want music. To not be able to have music. But, music is powerful. Thankfully I can now listen to music again but there are some songs I know I mustn’t ever play.
There are certain locations I do not dare visit. Certain people I do not wish to speak to. Certain social pages I will never click on again. And photos I may never gaze upon. At least not this year or the next, or even the next.
And finally:
Grit.
There’s no other way. It’s life or death. It is life or death.
If you are in San Antonio and struggling with addiction, please know there is a safe recovery meeting at Hash Vegan Eats every Wednesday at 7:30pm.
And please, please, stay away from black market drugs.
