Meth: a Ticking Timebomb Gone Viral

And The Winner Is...

I'm uninspired. The emotions that have carried me through the last few weeks are levelling out and my brain chemistry is returning to normal (if there is such a thing). Once again, I find myself in the place of...average human being. The honeymoon is over, baby (thanks for the line, Nick Cave), and now, the real work begins.

One of the reasons I have in the past gone back to using meth, is boredom. There are many others, but at the moment and at this particular stage in my recovery, boredom is my worst enemy. This last week, I have been far too busy to be bored. In fact, right this very second, a little bit of boredom would be Ok. I'm surrounded by things that are awaiting my attention...and that's just what I can see.

Last night I had to take drugs. After beginning my day at around 9.00 am, my washing machine running nonstop for six hours and everything in between, by the time I climbed into my bed (with fresh sheets) at 11.00 pm and I thought my lights would be out as soon as my head hit the pillow...but it wasn't to be.

My right knee, or more specifically, my right anterior cruciate ligament was snapped in a training accident a long time ago. I also broke my femur when I was seventeen, all of which has contributed to arthritis in the knee joint...bone on bone...and last night my knee, after four straight days of solid physical work, let me know what it thinks of my new found enthusiasm for physical exertion.

I can't remember the last time I felt so beat and typically, on the night I could have really done with some good solid sleep, as soon as I laid down, things began to go awry. The knee wasn't the only part of my body protesting about the treatment, and after an hour of tossing and turning in a fruitless effort to try and find a position that didn't hurt quite so much, I succumbed to my need for rest and swallowed 1000mg of the most benign drug in existence... paracetamol.

The good thing about resisting the use of any drug, is the fact that tolerance doesn't play its insidious role at that point in time. It may sound ridiculous (and I know it does to me), but I don't like to take any other drugs other than meth (and now, even meth is off my fav list). I'm a non-cigarette smoking, alcohol-abstaining, pharmaceutical-resisting, pot-avoiding and now meth hating, junkie. Even my junkie friends (like I have any friends left) look down on me. I'm an embarrassment to the cause. The trick I think is to accept that at times, I will need to take something for the pain, but realise that the more often I do this, the less effective that relief will be...balance will be the key.

A couple of days ago, I got a call from one of the nurses at my Mom's nursing home, asking me if I wanted her leftover vials of oxymorphone. I had just a moment of pause before I told her that it might be prudent that she have them destroyed. That momentary pause was caused by the remnants of my addiction to meth (which will always remain a part of me), telling me that even though opioids are not my thing, I could always contact someone whose thing it is and sell it to fund my next adventure into the depths of misery and pain.

It felt good that the thought passed quickly into the stupid ideas department, pigeonholed in my brain...of which the out tray is already overflowing.

But seriously folks...these are tests and they will not end. Each day is a test and I have no one to blame but myself. Do the crime and do the time, only the time in my case is life. I will always be addicted to meth...this is a fact. I can cry about it or I can use it to my advantage. I will never be safe, but I thrive on the challenge this presents. Can I? I'm not sure. But in that moment of temptation, I fought back...and I won. I like winning and when the prize is my future happiness and possibly, my life, I need to win every single time.