Get Low…

I watched the reunion of a Lion with his caregivers.  They raised him, and then he was released into Africa.  The lion had his own pride and his caregivers were told the lion, named “Christian” would not recognize them.  Well, the Lion did.  It was Lion hugs, kisses, bumps, jumps for all.  He even introduced them to his wife.  Then, at the end, it said get in touch with an old friend, you’ll be glad you did.  And friends never forget or die or whatever.

I started to sob.  I am still sobbing.  No one would be happy to see me if I went and looked them up.  I was drunk my whole life.  And when I did sobered up, it’s been hell.  Pure hell.  I really don’t even know why I stayed sober except to defy everyone.  And a power much greater than me had a large part in it.  And I don’t even know why…

I’ve had a weeklong fibro attack.   Everytime I try to do something, other than be quiet and still, I have a fibro attack.  The next step are opiates.  I can’t do that.  But, yesterday?  I understood why Hunter S. THompson blew his brains out.  He lived a full, vibrant, mad, wonderful life.  He was going to spend the rest of his life as an invalid.  So, he blew his brains out.  I get that.  I feel very alone, very isolated, very scared, very sad and confused.  I hate this month.  July is one of the worst months for me.  It’s a pivotal month, you can tell the rest of the month by it.

A long time friend, is moving away.  She has a new man, a new, job, a new home, blah x3.  I am a liability.  She can’t drink with me.  I’m a recovering alcoholic.  So, she hangs out with her coupled, drinking girlfriends.  She’s even having her, “Spur of the moment” last minute goodbye MI, Hello WA, at a bar.  Well, that was easy.  I loaned her two grand of my graduate loan money so she and her daughter wouldn’t lose their ass.  She pays all the men back, but not me.  Guess it’s just as well.

So, here I sit, on an Africa hot Saturday, no Christians around.  In my bedroom, still achy and buzzy, and seriously contemplating a Hunter S Thompson.  And I can’t do it, so I’m stuck here in this godforsaken town, with 9 medicare days, HIV+, with a man that gave me his HIV strain, who also sold his soul to the devil, drank human blood, and taunts me daily.  Did I know any of these lil factoids when I was with him the first time- the time he gave me HIV and then three months later, saved my life from an overdose?  Hell no.  You must try to understand how these narcissistic sociopaths work,  They’re good.  They are so good at morphing into whatever you think you want, they become it and WHAM!  You’re shark bait.  So, he gets released off parole December 22 of this year.  Oh goodie.  This will end so well.

My parts are quiet.  They’re scared.  They are afraid.  All my life I’ve been afraid. Jut once I’d like to be not afraid.   My kind of afraid is not from only living in the past.  It’s experience after experience, layer upon layer of fear.  It has never stopped.  I’m trying to live life like I have hope.  Like I actually have a future that is not fraught with despair.  It’s not looking so hot.

I have a family that loves me.  I have an extended family that loves me.  I’m sure there are some people out there that love me.  I just haven’t met them yet.  To be continued…

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