My Bad

Two Cents of Retrospect

Some call it a slip. Others call it a lapse. Black-and-white thinkers consider it a full-blown relapse, the shame of which leads some to deny their setback and then carry the weight of that lie for a while. Or forever.

I call it a dumb ass decision made two Sundays ago. One made doubly dumber because I saw it coming.

Yep, meth and I crossed paths again.

But wait! All is not lost.

This Substack wasn’t created for those whose troubles are untangled and put away. Nor is it for those still suffering, happily or otherwise. No, I created this chronicle of experiences for people like me who straddle both realities, progressing but in fits and starts. 

This in-between place is swampy and stupid, but unlike the indecipherable fog of constant addict behavior, clues can be found here, threads to be plucked from the snarl until the whole unruly knot of it’s gone.

Here’s what I learned this time around:

The Why Of It

• My most recent essay was titled Who Do You Think You Are? I guess I found out. Once again, celebrating the good of me upset the rest of me.

• My sense of self-worth, and, therefore, my confidence, is rooted entirely in the physical, the consequence of formative years when my body and what it meant for other people was where my value lay. A recent and rare candid photo dragged this latent but potent identity crisis into the light.

• A customary call (This hurts!) was followed by a familiar response (Disappearing helps!).

• Those flimsy rationales were made concrete, as was the certainty of drugs, as soon as I said something about it.

• An idle moment led to an app, a chat, a pic, and finally, a person with easy persuasion and a pocket full of trouble.

The Cost Of It

• $100 in Uber’s.

• Ten random hookups in 48 hours. STD’s TBD.

• Three visits to the ER to diagnose and monitor MRSA.

• One week of in-bed depression.

• Two weeks of zombie-like apathy.

• No essay last week.

What Matters More

• I used drugs 250 days in a row in 2022. I’ve used drugs only eight days this year. That’s not nothing. It’s unimaginable.

• Daily use became bi-monthly slips, which stretched to five months between my last use and this one. Not nothing, either.

• I canceled my elaborate relapse plans for the third time this year after they were made. Only a few of you will understand how remarkable that is. This time, I failed. That doesn't alter the fact that I tried.

• I made no purchases. Nothing. Not even a little bit. Doing so would have presumed continued use, which would have involved lying, chaos, and brand-new ruin.

• I didn’t drop off the map. Instead, I was back on that weary old horse the very next day.

What Matters Most

• Sensing a lapse a mile out is helpful. Talking about it is crucial. Having a plan for when insight meets opportunity needs to happen next.

• Practice saying no. Upsetting other addicts and dealers whose hopes have been raised is okay. Honestly, they don’t care. They won’t even remember.

• Yeah, that sex/body = who I am/self-worth dynamic. Damn right I’m sexy, but also older, bald and fat. Photos happen. Figure it out.

• Friends would prefer to hear from me beforehand, not afterward. They’re not angry, and they’re not kidding.

I debated long and hard about divulging this turn of events here, now, with you. After all, who wants to brag about failure? Plus, I’m British. We come with instructions.

• Chin: Up!

• Lip: Stiff!

• Kettle: On!

Here’s what I have to say about that: 

Q: What does a cup of tea and a bag of meth have in common?

A: Neither one has ever made everything better.

What has, however, for me at least, is this:

Instead of isolating myself, I stay connected to other human beings. I am actively involved in their lives and as transparent as I know how to be about mine.

In other words, no secrets. Not with them. Not with you.