Scraps

In an effort to combat the battle in my mind between the urge to blog and resisting the urge to blog, I have decided to sit down at the computer. There is so much I want to tell the proverbial “you”. I’m not going to stop here although my mind is urging me too. Like I have something better to do right now. I could think of some things. I mean blogging, after all, is self-indulgent. Or so my mind says. “Plus,” it tells me, “You don’t even know what you’re going to say.” True.  And very soon I will have to kick my son off the computer and feed him. In the middle of that my partner will come home tired and pissy after last nights tiff.

We don’t fight often. There was a period about 7 months in or so that we went through a fighting stage.

She just called. I answered. I really don’t want to finish this now. It’s not like she’s being awful or anything. It’s the dinner time conversation. It goes around in circles. I won’t cook. When I became a parent I quit cooking. It started feeling like obligation instead of fun. It’s one of those things I have to do everyday whether I want to or not. Feed my kid dinner. Even if I don’t want to eat or could be just fine with eating his scraps. Now I suppose I sound like an evil bitter mother. You know, like my mother was.

Ever since she passed last June I feel her coming out of me sometimes. The sound of her voice, the things she says, her shriek of laughter. I do things she did and say things she said. I feel sometimes that she is inhabiting my body. She would do that. She loved living that much. Sometimes she feels helpful and other times she reminds me of who I don’t want to be, who I’ve spent my life trying not to be.

Three weeks or so ago I stopped taking narcotic pain killers. I had been on Hydrocodone for about three years on and off, mostly on. I never took more than prescribed. As if that matters. For that three-year period 3 -4 times a day I had something I could take that eased my physical pain. But it did so much more. It rubbed up against those receptors in my brain that made me feel mildly euphoric. A little mild euphoria goes a long way when you are in chronic pain, with various other stressors attached. For a very long time it was the only thing I really had to keep myself upright.

And now, I always feel like I’m missing something that could make me feel better. Better, and better, and better. I even think about how now that I have been off them for awhile the effect would be dramatic. Being on Opioids was like going through life with the power to create an instant cocoon if I needed one. Over time I spent much more time in the cocoon that out of it. It was like being in a trance, a welcome trance.

Shortly before I stopped taking narcotics. I stopped using Facebook too. Because it was also a trance. Facebook was fun once. But my page became littered with estranged family members whose posts annoyed me with their lack of authenticity. I learned things everyday looking at it that sometimes caused me suffering for no real reason. For instance, someone posted about a friend dying that I went to junior high with. There were pictures of him in his hospital bed. I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing that or seeing that. Because in the state of mind I’ve been in, every sadness or wrong I saw just confirmed to me that life is full of pain and suffering and nothing else. I couldn’t unfriend people I didn’t want on there because that creates drama. So I just excused myself. But it’s more than that. I don’t like Facebook following me around, recommending shit to buy because of stuff I’ve posted or looked at on the internet. I had to ask myself if the benefits (because there definitely were some) outweighed the harm I was allowing to occur in my life from participating in Facebook. And to those who think I’m an extremist, I say, “Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep my little darling”.

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