Time for another rerun. The post that follows was originally published on my old blog on 2nd December 2013, just two months after I cleaned up. In cleaning up, I took my ex back, with her then four-month old daughter. This was my reflection back on the past, that rabbit hole that I’d been down, to which I referred as blunderland, not wonderland. The malice is what you find there, when you enter that world of hurt of drug addiction and all the evil people who are involved with and exploit addicts.
Lately I suffer with two issues. Headaches are the one I’ve had for a while, so I‘m kind of getting used to them, although it can be most unpleasant to have headaches for days at a time, to wake up with them three or four times during the night, take headache pills and then still wake up in the morning with my head throbbing as if it were encased in a vice. As if that’s not bad enough, lately I often (and by often I mean one or twice a month) dream of meth. I never dream of using it, but I dream of seeing it… mountains of the stuff… and sometimes I dream that I have used. With that in mind, and by that I mean that on some subconscious level I surely do want to use, I have to remind myself how unpleasant life became on meth.
Such a reminder can not be done without at bare minimum a cursory glance over time’s shoulder at where I ended up, but that is all I will allow myself to afford today, because this post is not about the worst of it. Instead this is about the big picture; about the fact that the overall experience of using meth for a prolonged period is a bad experience. One cannot glorify the use of drugs if one acknowledges that the overall experience is something best avoided.
Having said that, I did end up losing my house, my car, and almost all my possessions. I did end up living in a single room apartment with my son and my girlfriend as well as a drug dealer, with whom she was sleeping in front of me. Worst of all, I allowed that to happen. I saw it coming for over a year; I warned her months before every possession was lost; I assumed that she had the same sense of responsibility as myself and convinced myself that she needed to be taught a lesson. Even though I knew she was cheating on me, I was convinced that she did not realize what she was doing and that before it got to the point of no return (which it of course did get to) that she would stop. Of course it didn’t stop, and instead she would later argue that I knew what was happening so I was equally responsible. Even today, she takes no responsibility, no accountability for anything that happened. She won’t even talk about it, and does what all liars do and turns it onto me. As always, if I force the issue into a conversation she says things along the lines of my having to get over it and focus on the future (but I can’t do that because you have to acknowledge the past before you can move on), and threatens to leave saying “This isn’t working out”. I do take responsibility, but it should not be my burden alone. The guilt due to allowing it to happen is almost too much already, without having to take all the responsibility myself.
So much for a cursory glance! Anyway, those are the issues I still have on my mind now, but they were not my intended subject for this post.
An old school friend made a comment to one of my first posts, complimenting me on having climbed out of that rabbit hole. But I did go back down there for a while, before climbing out again for good. What I want to remind myself (and anybody else who pays attention) today, is that Wonderland isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
I prefer the name I came up with just a couple of days ago as my thoughts wondered and tried to escape the headache’s vice-like grip: Blunderland, although I used to have a different name for it. When Megan and I were first together, I used to have a silly joke I repeated every now and then – every time I returned from the dealer with a gram or two of meth, I would tell her, “I’ve bought tickets to Lanny Loond, but they’re one-way.” I liked to think that she caught the joke, but she probably didn’t. Of course lanny loond is a spoonerism for loony-land, and I was trying to make light of the fact that maybe we would not make it back. And we nearly didn’t.
Blunderland is more appropriate a name, because when you use, everything becomes a blunder, and this is not inconsequential, especially at work. You see, you are not alone in Blunderland. There are other paths there besides the rabbit hole (of drugs). Through the looking glass is another way, and there are plenty of blunderland citizens who are there because of their conceit, or their greed, or maybe just because they are mean and evil.
Blunderland is very real, because as much as it is a state of mind, it is also very much here on Earth. There are plenty of other drug users and abusers who will rob you blind, but most drug addicts are just victims. It is the people who don’t use drugs who are really dangerous.
There are always people who love to be mean, who love to fire you from your job, and when you use drugs, you give them an opportunity to do what they love doing. I once even had the misfortune to cross paths with an incompetent company director. People like him will always need scapegoats, and when you use drugs, you provide them.
But the most evil people I ever crossed paths with were people who bought and sold stolen goods, from drug addicts who were also thieves. They were the worst because they were not using drugs. They were of sound mind, not desperate victims as so many addicts are. They knew very well that the people they dealt with were using and selling drugs as well as robbing people, and they did not care.
When you use drugs, you drop off of the normal sub-culture of society that most of us form part of, and you become a denizen of Blunderland, a sub-culture that is best left to the books and blogs that describe places that do not or should not exist. And there is much malice in Blunderland.
Clarification: In case anyone else misreads this as blaming Megan for my issues, I suggest you read it again and see that I am blaming myself for not stopping her from doing any of the many things that she directly did herself, such as letting strange people into the house while I was at work, selling my possessions while I wasn’t around, renting out the garage to two different people (at the same time), not paying the rent that I gave her in cash, and many other things. As for my headaches, I’m waiting for my new spectacles (that do not tint in the sun) to arrive at the optometrist and I’ll see if they make any difference, and if not, I’m going to a doctor.
When you read this, don’t read too much into the emotional scars of having lived through such an experience; don’t blame her or me, or me for blaming her, or whatever, because that is not the point. Everybody who uses has a similar story.