Back to square 1.

I smoked some hash, so I haven't decided if it means me breaking my sobriety or not. I'd like to say 35 days! But... I don't think I can. I don't think I believe it. So, I'll start over again. Today is day 1. Anyway, here's this thing I wrote, I'm really digging it, I think it definitely captures how I'm feeling at this point in my life:

It's that over-powering tug of war that you play in your mind. One side of you is dragging you by the arm, as you're kicking your feet trying to stop them from taking you away, and your heels are dragging, but you can't seem to stand back up, so you're just kind of flailing there. And the other side of you is trying not to get kicked, and just wants to grab a hold of your feet, but it's forced to dodge the blows you're about to give it. Hands darting in and out, around your soaking wet sneakers, unable to grasp them.

The snow is cold, and it seeps into your pants, slowly the black asphalt is sloughed away, where you've been struggling. The sky is really dark, pitch black. A few clouds are there, but the moon can't seem to be seen and it's so cold. That smell of crisp winter keeps hitting you in the face, smacking the inside of your nose. But the struggle continues.

And when I stare down into the face of temptation, where the decision has to be made, that part that's dragging me away always seem to win. No matter how much I flail and flop about and try hard to stand back up, I'm being taken off my feet at every move. My friend becomes my enemy, and they hold in their hands the key to my destruction. I stare at it. I feel that dirty feeling. It's creeping back again. Over my shoulder, into my hair, through my ears, and swathing my brain in warm cotton. I stare at it. It's not my first choice.

And my other friend is pulling my arm for me stand up, to get going, to back away from it. But I can't. It's filling my eyes. My brain is locked in. I've got that junky tunnel-vision. Nothing is going to stop me from this. All other logical senses are shut off, as the brain back-fires and restarts trying to pull the plan together.

My arm feels a weird ache and I think back. Back to the bathroom and the needle and the simple formula. I miss it. I feel it in my face and my brain and my heart feels like someone's stomping on it, like you've ripped it out and shoved it back in at the wrong angle. And all I can feel is want. No emotion seems to rest in me besides need and desire and that feeling of emptiness.

The future seems empty. Without that feeling to push me forward. On towards Tuesday, and Friday, and Sunday, towards the day when I will feel this on my own.

And so I sit in the Parisian park with my friends. It's cold and dark out and the lights are glowing. Our drinks are warm and our throats burn. So I stare at the hash. I think about 35 days. I reflect on the fact that I haven't been clean for this long since I kneeled at the foot of the toilet, that first time at 16, heaving out bile with my father in the door way asking if I was alright.

So I put it to my lips and inhale. And now all that's left is a need. It's worse than before. I can't take it. Those thoughts pile in again.

Still I'm there, struggling in the snow, with my arms pulled up above my head, and my stomach exposed to the bite of the cold wind. I wonder if it's better to just let them drag me off, to give in, it seems like less of a hassle at the moment.

But I remember, it'll only get worse when it's gone. All of these moments will only double ten-fold, and I won't even stand a chance, so I continue the struggle. I know it's futile. Maybe one day, I'll finally be able to wriggle out on to the asphalt, turning around and stand up, to limp home and hang my damp clothes in the bathroom. That bathroom that used to be my home away from home, but now it's just a bathroom and a memory. You can still see the specks of blood on the light fixture if you look up there, I couldn't clean them all off. I wouldn't want them to go though, I need to know that it wasn't a dream. Not something I cooked up in a teenager's head for some poor excuse for attention. Teenage angst crushed into a vein, and splattered up on the walls.

I can't tell if I want the struggle to end. At the moment, I'll keep flailing and flopping, just to make sure I have enough time to finally make up my mind.

Sometimes I read the blogs of people who have kids that are junkies. I feel bad for them. I feel bad for my parents, too, in a way. I don't know. Weird shit. It doesn't hit home so much for me, cause of my parents really ignoring the facts. And that pisses me off now, because if someone had really tried to stop me, I might not be having as hard a time. I know, I can't blame other people. And I'm not. It was my choice. But at 16, I really didn't realize what I was getting into fully. It's some dumb shit.

I can't sleep right now. Laying in bed, pulling at my skin, curling into a ball, trying to make the thoughts go away. It's so much need right now. It's unbearable. It's like I want to crawl out of my own skin. That hash has made my cravings 20 times worse. I think about drinking some vodka, to help me sleep, but that is BAD. BAD BAD BAD. I can't use alcohol like that. I will become an alcoholic. I really need to finish that bottle off, and get alcohol out of my room. I feel like I"m about to rip off the skin on my face and arms and stomach, just grabbing at it and pulling on it. I can't take tonight. All of my muscles want to tense up and I just want to curl up into a ball and get high. I need to get high. But mostly, right now, I need to sleep.

What keeps me from getting high, if you're really wondering, is that I'm really fucking afraid of scoring on the streets. Especially in a country where I don't know the language, it's just scary. And in NYC, although I know the language, I don't know, I'm too nervous about getting ripped off on the streets or getting arrested. Damn, I want it so bad right now.

Hopefully, I can get over the hump... the one good thing is that, a little hash, isn't gonna take me back to square one depression wise. I'm just hoping the intensity of my cravings goes away in a few days (preferably tomorrow, but I'm not holding my breath).

Anyway guys, I'll talk to you tomorrow, hope you have a better night than I am!

- Lucy