Sex, drugs & rock n’ roll

25 05 2014

Three of my favourite things. Well, they used to be at least. I still love sex. I mean, who doesn’t? And, rock n’ roll is still the best music to ever exist. But, drugs, I miss drugs. I think my last two posts have been about drugs, but fuck, I miss them. I miss dividing a mountain of white powder into thin, straight lines, rolling a bill and placing it to my nose and inhaling deeply. Inhaling as if my life depended on it. I miss that moment when it starts kicking in, when suddenly you feel invincible and you’re untouchable. There’s no pain, no hurt, no disappointment. Everything is possible and it’s fucking awesome. I miss the burning in your lungs as you suck in a stream of hot smoke, that feeling of bliss as you reach your maximum high. Every time I watch a movie where the characters do drugs it makes my cravings sky-rocket. It’s as if they’re doing a line right in front of me, within my reach. I crave it to the point where I can almost taste the smoke and feel the drugs circling through my blood stream. One more time. I’d do just about anything for one last time without consequences. But, I know from experience that everything, especially drugs, has consequences. Does anyone else ever feel this way? Or is it just me? Because it’s making me crazy.

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Just one more

20 05 2014

I’ve been sober for fifteen months now. Fifteen long months. The longer I go the harder it becomes and the louder the voices scream. Just one joint, one line, one pill. They’re trying to trick me with temptation masked by happiness. But, with that happiness is a catch. It’s a fleeting moment that only last as long as the high, then abandons you, leaving you alone with your thoughts and self-hate. I know it’s never just one: one joint, one line, one pill. One leads into two and three and four until your life turns into one fleeting moment after another. You search and search at the bottom of a bottle or as you scrape up the last few ounces of powder at the bottom of that empty plastic bag. But, the emptiness of searching soon leaves you hollow and helpless. That want consumes you. Those voices compel you.
Time after time I’ve come to learn this lesson. Always the hard way. Not this time. Not this day. I will refuse. I will stand tall. I will not break. Just one more day, one more week, one more month. I can do this. Can’t I?





little white lies

10 04 2014

I’m so frustrated. Completely overwhelmed with myself, with everything. Have you ever got so caught up in a lie that everything around you started to spiral out of control? What starts out to be one little lie turns into a series of lies. Eventually lying becomes easy, natural. And then when you realize how deep you’ve slipped you cannot seem to find a way to climb your way out of the mess you’ve made. That darkness consumes you and the walls begin to crumble, burying you beneath each and every lie you ever told. The guilt begins to eat away at you, shame sets in and you cannot catch your breath. Your own thoughts cause uncontrollable panic and anxiety. You’re disgusted with yourself and your lies. Anything and everything seems easier than coming clean, admitting the truth. You’re just as scared of your own thoughts as you are with the consequences. When you’re buried this deep the only escape seems fatal. Blinded by fear and paralyzed by panic, living with a devastating hope for a clean slate.





without struggle there is no progress

28 03 2014

My life is a constant struggle; a daily battle with myself. To use or not to use. I ask myself every day. Over and over again. I’ve been sober for a year. Drug-free. I definitely consider that an accomplishment, but the longer I remain sober the stronger the cravings become. I thought it would be easier. I was definitely wrong. I want to be numb. I need an escape. I miss that quick fix, the feeling of flying high above all of my problems, leaving them behind. I almost cut myself, but that’s not much better than drugs so I manage to refrain. I’m trying my hardest. I’ve been resisting the cravings, but I’m not sure how much longer I can manage to do this. I don’t miss drugs, but I miss the way they made me feel. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. I can do this. I think.





A first love always occupies a special place.

8 01 2014

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I know I haven’t written for a long time. I kind of lost myself for a while. I was so caught up in everything around me that I lost my voice. I lost my love for putting pen to paper. But, it’s a new year. It’s time to focus on myself and my passions. Writing being the thing I am most passionate about. Things have been good. My eating disorder recovery is still on track, I’ve stayed sober and I am learning to trust. I am getting ready to start another semester in university, which I am very excited about. Everything has been running relatively smooth. But, life wouldn’t be life if it had remained smooth for much longer, it would have been too good to be true. Last night, life took me by surprise and presented a situation that I could have never imagined occurring. It doesn’t even seem real, truthfully. The last thing I was ever expecting was my first love to walk back into my life, but he did and I have never been so confused.

Love is a strange thing. We base our whole lives around that four letter word; around the feelings associated with it. As a child, we witness love all around us. We see love in movies and on tv, in the eyes of our friends and relatives. We long for someone to love us; to fall in love with us. But, what no one tells us when we are younger, is that not everyone lives happily ever after. Falling in love comes with the risk of eventually having to fall out of love. And, falling out of love.. well, it fucking sucks. I have had the pleasure of falling in love twice in my life: once, with my high school sweetheart and the other time, with my current, amazing boyfriend. Of course, it is not as simple as just falling in love with one guy, getting over them and then falling in love again. If it was that simple, there would be a hell of a lot more happy people. But, it would also take away from how special falling in love actually is. Love is messy and complicated. In order to explain my confusion stemming from my weird, unexpected conversation with my ex  last night, I will give you a little background knowledge about the two of us.

Jay and I grew up together in a very small town. So small that if you blinked while passing through, you’d probably miss it. We both attended the same K-12 school, therefore we knew each other our whole lives. When I was in the tenth grade and he was in the eleventh, we both ended up in the same gym class. He was – is – insanely good looking. He was tall and fit with shaggy brown hair and huge, deep brown eyes, all of the girls wanted him. He had a way of lighting up the room. He was able to make anyone laugh, even on their worst days. We ended up being partnered together for a project and instantly connected. After that, we became inseparable. As he would say, he was the ying to my yang. We spent the next two years on and off, but mostly on. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. He was my first and I was his. We spend many afternoons and evening in the back seat of his car. Oh, the good ol’ days of parking. We shared so many memories; some good, some bad. We were young and stupid. We both made mistakes and never told each other often enough how we felt. After I graduated and he was moving onto his second year of college, we broke things off for good. It was a hard decision, but it was for the best. After that, we didn’t talk. We cut all ties. It was easier that way. Not that losing him was easy, because it was definitely one of the hardest things I ever dealt with. One of the hardest things we both dealt with. That was the spring of 2011.

Over two years later:
Last night, I was on facebook. My favorite method of procrastination. Anyway, on the right-hand side of the page was the “People You May Know” section. Glancing over it, I noticed Jay Horton was one of the suggested people. My ex-boyfriend. Since so much time had passed, I thought that adding him was a good idea, since everyone has everyone on facebook these days. Plus, we’ve both grown up and moved on with our lives, so why not have an online friendship? I clicked on the “send friend request” button and went on about my business. Five minutes later, I received a notification saying that he has accepted my request. Naturally, I creeped down through his profile and then, again, continued on reading down through my newsfeed. To my surprise a message from Jay popped up at the bottom of my screen saying “Hey”. How do you even go about talking to someone you haven’t talked to in over two years? “Oh, hi, how have you been over the past two years?” Ah, no, I think not. So, I just responded with a “hi, how are you?”. An innocent conversation between an old friend and I. But, this conversation turned into an all-night trip down memory lane. We talked about our lives and shared memories. It felt like no time had passed. He apologized for things that had happened and told me that a huge part of him was still in love with me, that he wishes he had never let me go in the first place. A couple years ago, even one year ago, I longed to hear this from him. But, now, I am in a committed relationship and I am happy. Yet, my ex comes back and after one night of talking, he has me feeling things I haven’t felt since I was sixteen. Of course I missed having him in my life and a part of me will always love him too, but that doesn’t change the fact that time has passed and we are no longer that juvenile couple. Part of me wishes that things were different, that we had figured this out a long time ago. But, at the same time, I love my current boyfriend so much. He is my better half. Nothing will ever replace what Jay and I had, but Jay would never replace what Peter and I have. 

Love is never easy. It is complicated and messy. No one ever tells you just how complicated it can be. You never expect your first love to just appear, nor did you expect losing them in the first place. In love you have to expect the unexpected. Going over all of the vivid memories of Jay and I was so bittersweet. I felt things I haven’t felt in a long time, but it’s like my heart is breaking all over again. I guess both of us each have a part that never moved on. But, the majority of me did and that huge piece belongs to Peter. We  have to make choices in love. Maybe we’ll never know which choices are right or wrong until the aftermath, but that’s the way life works. I am currently feeling confused, happy, sad, heartbroken and everything in between.

I believe everything happens for a reason. Maybe jay and I were brought back together to give us the closure we never had. Or, maybe it is to remind me just how good I have things with Peter. Maybe it’s meant to show me that all of what Jay and I shared is all we’re ever meant to be, even if a part of each of us will always long for more.





scars remind us that the past is real

29 06 2013

I haven’t written in a while. Well, actually, I have. I have lots of saved drafts, but I haven’t posted them. Many are left incomplete because I got frustrated or confused in the process of writing. But, this one, I’m posting. I need to rant and actually express my emotions, since I fail to do that verbally with the people who need to hear them. So, here it is.

Scars. We all have scars. Some, physical, while other scars are emotional. But, a lot of times, the physical scars are there because of the emotional scars suffered in our pasts. Last fall, I was in a really bad place. I had just gotten out of my toxic relationship, which left me feeling worthless and broken. I had never been that low before; some days, I didn’t even want to live. I had never let another human being tear me down like he did. Other than excessive drinking and drug use, I used cutting as a coping mechanism. The upper part of my right thigh was my place of choice, for no particular reason. The blades from a razor was my weapon of choice. I would sit on the edge of the bath tub, naked from the waist down, the blade in my right hand, and size up where I was going to cut. Then, afterwards, I’d just stay still and let it bleed out for a little while before cleaning it up. It sounds so sick and twisted. I never talk about it; I hate talking about it. It makes me feel ashamed of myself. I guess I felt that I deserved how badly I was treated and that was my own form of self-punishment. I always blamed myself because I was always told that it was my fault; everything that happened to me was my fault. Now, every time I look at my thigh, I see those scars and all I can think about is why I did it. It’s a constant reminder of how pathetic I was; how weak and worthless. I can’t look in the mirror or at a picture of myself without picking apart everything; picking out every little imperfection because all I can hear are voices telling me that I’ll never be enough.
I’m insecure and I’m scared. I have abandonment issues, as well as commitment issues that go hand-in-hand with my severe trust issues. I bring all of this into my relationship whenever I feel the slightest bit vulnerable. It’s not fair to him. But, I can’t shut out those voices no matter how hard I try. He tells me how beautiful I am; that I’m even more beautiful without makeup. He tells me that he doesn’t want anyone else when I tell him that he needs somebody different than I am. He reassures me of everything. But, although I try so hard to believe him, there’s still a small part of me in the back of my mind that doesn’t. This small part has a way of becoming a huge part whenever I begin to over think, which is quite often. He’s working away, so we’re trying the whole long distance thing.  It’s working well, for the most part. But, then, as soon as I find out he’s working with a girl, I go into panic mode. My guard comes up and takes over. All I can think is “I don’t want to do this anymore”. It’s not that I think he would do anything, I guess there’s a part of me that’s scared that she’s wonderful. I’m afraid that he’s going to realize what he’s missing out on because he’s with me; he’ll realize that I’m not enough. And, I just can’t do that again. I can’t have someone I’m in love with do that; I just can’t. I know it’s just me over-analyzing, but when you spend twelve hours a day with someone, how can you not like them? She could be smart and interesting and pretty; she could be a lot of things I’m not and never will be. On top of me panicking, instead of talking about it, I’ll just get pissed off and not talk to him. As if that will solve anything, right? When I get like this, I try to leave. But, he stops me and helps me calm down. I just wish I could feel good about myself for him; he deserves that. He deserves nothing but the best. He needs someone who is stable and trusting; someone without a past full of issues. I’m trying so hard; I hope he knows that. I just need to change my way of thinking and my view of myself. But, how do you go  about changing the way you’ve viewed yourself for the majority of your life?
Each one of my scars; both physical and emotional; hold events of my past. They’re my reminders that the past is very, very real. But, I’m going to try to make them reminders of what I’ve been though, but overcame. I need to do this. I just need to figure out how.

 

– Ann





you’re beautiful

13 05 2013

You’re beautiful; two simple words that can change a person’s opinion of themselves. But, in society, being beautiful comes with a catch. Girls are taught this from the beginning while playing with barbies and listing to music sung by pretty, thin girls. What we aren’t told at a young age is that if barbie was a person, she wouldn’t even be able to stand up straight; she’d have to walk on all fours. Nor, are we told that these pop stars are photoshopped in every picture; they don’t actually look as they appear. As we get older and our bodies begin to change, we start reading magazines that tell us how to be beautiful by colouring and styling our hair, wearing lots of makeup, trends of clothing to wear, and, of course, what diets to follow. These magazines are plastered with these ads of photoshopped people; both men and women. We begin to compare ourselves to these people; we want to be them. Or, maybe your magazine also featured an ad explaining “How to Lose 20 pounds in 20 days!” Society tells us that in order to be beautiful, we need to be thin and perfectly polished. How are girls supposed to grow up being comfortable with how they look when society pushes this in their faces?
These examples of “beauty” were also reinforced in my home. My mother and father were constantly trying new diets and talking about weight loss. If a friend of theirs lost weight, they would talk about how good they look, as if they didn’t look good before.I was constantly reminded to stand up straight, suck in my belly, dress in clothes that doesn’t show any imperfections, and the things I had to do to be beautiful. I have one sister, Lily, who is four years younger than I am. We were always told that Lily would be tall and slim, and that I would never be “small”. Those words still haunt me on a day-to-day basis. When my father would say that,he made it sound as if Lily being thin made her better than I was.
And, then they wonder how I ever managed to develop an eating disorder. Like, hello. They put the blame on me and tell me to “get over it”. It’s not fair. How the fuck am I supposed to recover from an ED when they always did and still do reinforce these perceptions of beauty and worthiness? Seriously, wake up, mom and dad. This isn’t all on me and society. I’m not saying that they are not good parents, because they are, but they to have also been brainwashed into thinking that thin equals beautiful.
I hate the way that I look; all I can see are imperfections. No matter how much weight I lose, I still don’t feel good enough for anyone. There was a time when I was borderline anorexic and I still thought that I was “fat”. Now, even though all of my clothes are falling off of me, I still feel disgusting.I don’t want to be seen.
I remember my first diet as if it were yesterday; I was eleven. No eleven year old girl should ever feel the need to diet and lose weight; that’s ridiculous and cruel.
Every girl should feel beautiful and comfortable in their own skin. Ignore everything that tells you otherwise because it’s not worth it. Once you go down a road of an eating disorder, it takes over and controls every aspect of your life. Most days, I don’t even recognize myself. Everyone has a unique personality and everyone is beautiful in their own way; never let anyone take that away from you.

Yours truly,

Ann