



My closet is sort of a metaphor for my mind. It is organized from the outside but once you get in there, it is a whirlwind of things that don't go together. There are boxes of syringes from all my harm reduction projects. Work clothes on hangers, some in piles. There are old things that no longer fit on me or in my life. There are things I swore I would grow into but I just can't make those things work as part of my daily life. I have dresses I say i will take out on a special occasion but the occasion never comes with the passage of time. I have dusty old pictures of my family. There is a cat tree and other tweakables. In other words, i am generally all over the place.





There is no good road map on how to recovery from a crippling drug addiction. People have programs. They have ideas. I try to use what works. This time of year, I look at all my scars and it is a constant reminder that I am different from everyone. Not just that I used drugs but that I was willing to shoot heroin and other substances until my legs and arms nearly rotted off with infection. THAT is nothing explained in a book. Who does that and survives? Not many people therefore I find a way to live with a general sense of uncertainty. I create my own way of dealing with the world around me. I find comfort in sharing my insanity with you hoping you can relate just a little.

Drinking coffee until I nearly have an anxiety attack seems to be my only chemical fun anymore. My world seems to be full of the overlapping realities that are polar opposites of each other. I have this great life that creates an outward picture of happiness. I have a great job. I have a family. I have two cats and a dog. I drive a mini van and live in the semi outskirts of a large city. Yet, all the outside trappings of success do not explain all the crazy things that go on inside my head.