The Reality of It

 

I’ve been living in this fifth wheel for three months now, and I’m starting to think the walls are closing in—not because they’re actually moving, but because sobriety feels like a pair of hands around my throat that I can’t decide if I want to pry off or lean into.

People talk about recovery like it’s this beautiful sunrise after a long night. Nobody tells you that some days, that sunrise looks like an interrogation lamp, and you’re the one strapped to the chair.

I’ve fallen off the wagon twice since I parked here. Both times started the same way: boredom creeps in, then loneliness, then that familiar whisper that says just one, you deserve one, you need one. The first time, I drank mouthwash I found in the storage compartment. ha jk i wish! but I probably would have if I had mouthwash! jk again.. lol c'mon I needed some of that *gasps* "oh no she didn't!". Its what makes good reads on the internet.. am I right or am I right? I didn't drink mouthwash! The second time, I panhandled enough for a fifth of vodka and spent two days passed out on the linoleum floor with the dog licking tears off my face. He’s the only reason I woke up. bahahah ok I'll stop!! I didn't do that either! but cmon you're so gullable by this point I had to.. also being sober sucks so I gotta get my kicks in somewhere! But one truth out of this.. the dog does wake me up in the morning licking my face after he licks his balls.. and I absoulutely hate it! Anyways, I'm sure some or all of you .. maybe even none know this feeling. And if you don't I sincerely pray you never do!

See, that’s the thing about this shiny aluminum box I call home—it’s got absolutely nothing in it... not nothing! What I meant was.. No distractions from the screaming in my head. My laptop and my aunts wifi thank fuck and also, me and this dog who looks at me like I’m the whole world, which is both comforting and terrifying because right now I’m a world held together with duct tape and delusion.

When things get hard, and they’re always fucking hard, all I want is to get high and drink until the pain becomes background noise. That’s my default setting. Bad day? Bottle. Good day? Bottle. Mind numbing dread at 2 AM while your dog snores and you’re wondering if you’ll ever be normal? Definitely bottle.

But I can’t. God, the universe, or my own spectacular failure, whatever you want to call it, made sure of that. Remote work is a blessing and a curse because once the job is done. It's done, so now its looking for another one that I can't actually tolerate while being stuck here. And I literally mean stuck! I swear the universe is like trying to teach me lessons while I"m here. I know I need them because I mean look at me so far.. I'm a literal mess and I keep it all together all the time! For what I ask?! So I look normal and I'm not? So that people see me as someone who once had it all together but her life was falling apart but she looked good doing it! I guess so because man did I ever look good doing it!

So now I’m broke, living on the last 80 bucks that i spent at Wal-Mart the other day and I made sure I got this dog a big bag of foodwhich was more than half of my money. This fucking dog is lucky! Thats all I can say.

And as much as I want to rage against it, that brokeness is probably the only thing saving my ass right now. Can’t buy booze with empty pockets. Can’t score when you can’t scrape together twenty bucks. And hoenslty I wouldn't score anything for twenty bucks because thats retarded. twenty bucks is chump change in the drug world.. I'm literally not that hurting! to ask for twenty bucks worth of shit. The financial lockdown is more effective than alot of things. But hey seriously if I had money I would honestly probalby buy more candy and cookies and those pickled veggies because damn those things are fucking delicious and seriously help me take my mind off of not smoking meth.

But here’s the real, ugly truth that doesn’t make it into the inspirational Instagram posts: this sober shit really does suck. I don’t feel empowered. I don’t feel clear-headed and grateful. I feel raw, like someone took a cheese grater to my nerve endings and said, “Deal with it, bitch.” Every emotion I’ve been drowning for twenty years is surfacing, and I have zero tools to handle them except this dog and the ability to type out my misery on my laptop with wifi that just barely reaches to where I am. So for those things I am grateful for because I've made this fucking far! So I'm gonna continue! At least this time I'm not being made to by being in city cells!

Without this dog, I know exactly where I’d be. Either swinging from the rafters of this empty box or back in town, drunk and looking for trouble, which always finds me. I’ve been to city cells both in bc and ab and i must say bcs food is way better than ab. This sick part of my brain thinks hey.. the hungry mans in bc are great! I'm down for that! lol but the whole alberta thing.. so thanks I'll take a hard pass on that one.

But I’m feeding the dog. I’m showing up for something, even if that something is just a wagging tail and a warm body that doesn’t judge me for crying into his fur at 3 AM.

So here I am. Sober not because I wanted to smoke it all so I didn't have anything looking at me in my sleep taunting me when I am sober. Alive not because want to be.. but because I know that this is just a part of it all. Part of something bigger that I am apart of and its just working out the kinks right now. And somehow, in this stripped-down, nothing-left-to-lose existence, maybe that’s the realest chance I’ve got.

The wagon’s parked outside. I keep falling off it, scraping my knees, cursing its existence. But for today, at least, I’m sitting next to it. Not riding gracefully. Just sitting in the dirt, holding a leash, and breathing.

That’s gotta count for something, right?

I think so!

Sho!