Astute readers may pick up the cheeky pun of the title, I've had some flaming in the comments section and although I was disgusted at first, I have learnt to be the bigger man and move forward, all big gummed and blazing. I have been updating more and to be honest, I like it and from what I hear - you guys do too. Thank you.
So it's official. I paid the last installment of council tax and phone tonight, I'm leaving Picadilly Line and going over to Victoria line 'place'. To be honest, I'm frightened. I'm lost and I'm torn a little about going home. So much was going to be different. I was meant to be returning home to my ex-boyfriend, my old room and my old ways. My universe has become two, I have friends here, a boyfriend here and a fistful of cherished memories. I have potential here, I have credit history here that is good and I have someone I am in love with. How did this happen? I was doing just fine handling one reality and now I have two. People that care and love me, on both sides of the world. Now, they are meeting and I am the conduit.
Sometimes I feel that I escaped my life back home without saying the goodbyes that needed to said, I felt the best thing would be some distance, to clarify things. As I look around at the things I am packing in boxes, I am awash with uncertainty. I'm supposed to be coming back to UK - in Feburary - but I can't help but feel frightened. I'm frightened to feel the sun and familar, I'm frightened of selling out. I'm frightened of the pain I am still capable to bring. I don't know what waits on the other side. What if it dissapoints me? Could I bring myself to say goodbye again and what about the people that I leave behind?
When I came here, to this very room a year ago, I was overwhelmed and awkward. The tube seemed ominous, the black cabs seemed cute. I panicked about being poor and not getting a job. I woke up every morning, suprised that I'd ventured so far from home and that I was still winning. As I placed ornaments on empty shelves, all I had was photo framed faces and memories to keep their smiles dancing down the walls. Every piece of clothing was from the old world, little sentimental pieces of security, each threaded with many different memories. Packing these same clothes, I've donated half to goodwill, many new clothes take their place. Just what girl is returning home?
It hasn't helped that the last three months have been hellish. After the nightmare boss, I took a lot of time off. I feel intimadated by London sometimes, it's a fucking hard place to live. It can be cruel, harsh and unforgiving. Everyone seems pissed off around this time of the year and the rat race is so frenetic that my head was spinning. I caught the tube to Holburn today and actually saw an old employee, and I heard that not much had changed, people had moved on but it was much the same. I felt a surge of anger at myself, that I'd let that woman bring me down to a new professional low. I can't explain how much that woman affected me, she was nasty, cold and precise in her decimation of my self-esteem. I am angered at the disrailment of my london life, it was all going so well until then. But, shit happens (or so the bumper sticker says) I can't play victim forever - I keep waiting for some magic morning that I feel strong again, ready to go back and avenge some form of confidence. It's the only way to be. Yet, it's been two months. Fuck.
As I departed the tube station, caught up in the throng of jaded commuters, I realised once again, that I have slipped through the cracks of society. As a reformed addict, this is one of the hardest habits to break. I know it's not right to quit, to hide and to say 'fuck it all, I'm sleeping in to one thirty.' I know in my heart of hearts, that's not the way to get ahead. And get ahead I must. I wasted seven years being a drug addicted freak show and I'm runnning kamokaze through life, trying to mend bridges, burn some old ones and then learn to fly above it all. So, I am going home, like that's going to make things clearer. Double fuck.
Home has changed as well (for me) For one, I dont have a boyfriend there, I dont have to live in a house that suffocates me, trying to forget my dreams and stemming the hurt with drugs. I've had no heroin for a year, this is something new. I would be lying if I said it hasn't called to me, I'm always going to be like that - I'm an addict. As much as I have denied that and ran from that truth, is as much I've relapsed. London has been beautiful for that. It showed me that it can be done, all of it, without help from the needle. There is no more cheating, no more saftey switch, no way to turn off the love, the agony and the outcomes of my life. Heroin is no longer my keeper. No longer my lover, no longer the cold shoulder to cry on. In many ways, I had to get used to doing it on my own.
Many stories document the terrible withdrawals from heroin, but really that pain can be explained. That physical pain feels good when you really, really, really want to kick. What they don't always tell you, is the feeling of seperation anxiety you have because Heroin is no longer your escape pod. It takes as long as it takes, to wrestle with this, lusty feelings fade into a omnipresent sense of loss. You fill the hole as quick as your mind empties it, fill it with friends, respect yourself and others and keep fucking busy. But it's never enough, it still whispers what you need, 'All's going well - heroin could make it even better, Go on you deserve it?' That's how I know, I am an addict forever. I used to despise thinking that and then I thought about why it works for so many. I was desperate to understand myself.
This is how I explained being an addict forever to my loved one,
When presented with heroin, everyone's mind does a mental calculation. Most people say NO! and some people may not. I don't enjoy the risks heroin brings. I wish to be able to say NO! and of course, stop thinking about it forever.
However, my addiction (brain) doesn't look at all the figures, as my motivation is affected by compulsion, I solve it one way. I say 'fuck it, ok'. By accepting that I have this 'calculation error' and by being aware that my brain will definately give the wrong answer, I can begin to discount that, almost have a laugh and have some power over myself...even though it seems contrary by admitting I am effectively 'an addict' forever.
Hard to deal with your entire life? Fucking oath, don't fuck with drugs. Heroin is bad, evil news. It's not a cool, hip thing to try. Once it's in your arm, it's in your head forever. End of story. You know this by now though? That's what I thought.
I always thought that the needle was delivered on the wing of a dark angel of eternal longing. I always thought it was someone else who slid the powder across the bathroom floor, that wiped my blood from my arm. I've felt that people could decide if I used, if they did, then I did. It was how I was tempted. Then, I realised. I am the dark angel, I am the one who maneovers herself to be on the toliet floor, I seek the wrong, the dirty and the shameful. I am the person I have always tried to blame. It's this thought that gives me strength, every step I take, I watch myself and I'm ready for door to temptation to be opened. It's my hand on the door..
and I'll close it.
This much I have learnt to do and when I do it, a whole new world awaits. My universe becomes one, I stop hiding, stop running.