Today the devil knocked at my door. and I answered.
he was in the form of an 18-year-old skater boy with braces.
and he wanted to see if I would venture the path again.
And I ignored his call.
it was hard, but he came a knocking, and I declined.
and I am proud of myself.
it has been 28 days since I last partook of the devil's weed.
i have never been addicted to the substance, only to the escape from reality it provided.
the clarity is astounding, if not for the emotional outbursts that accompany the comedown.
ok, so perhaps I should add some back-story.
I was a happy kid, albeit poor.
at 11, a friend offered me my first joint.
my mum had been a smoker, and once I took that first puff... I liked it.
it gave me the serenity to deal with the drama at home ( alcoholism and domestic violence.)
it was my escape from reality. a way to get away from it all.
and the thoughts.
omg, the thoughts.
perpetual motion seemed so easy.
carry the 1...
global power.
fast forward 20 years.
still smoking. by now I could have owned a house. car. kids.
but the Ganga had its teeth in me.
I remember one time, I was out trying to get some smoke with a friend.
whilst out, my partner's cat had been run over.
a gorgeous Russian blue.
and I got home, chopped, had a few
( he was already dead and in a box, nothing could change that )
so I got high - yeah. Towlie AF
Before we went to bury him.
that there, was the end of my relationship
she saw something I did not at the time.
I was hooked.
it owned me.
but did I quit? nope.
when my mum passed in July 2016, then my nan ( mums mum ) in August 2016 (a tough month that one )
my smoking increased... almost like the 2017 Jan to Dec BTC climb.
Before I knew it, I was smoking a bag a week. more if I had it.
By the time I realised in March 2017, I was up to nearly 2 bags.
$500 a week, on something that was destroying me physically and mentally.
And then something in me clicked.
April first, 2017 I quit. no maybes, just BAM, cold turkey.
I had realised I was using it as a band-aid. to not feel.
I still hadn't cried for my mother. Not even when she told me she was sick.
(she had been to her GP about a sore belly. 1st doc had said 'probably just an ulcer'. a month later... still no fix, so she went seen a 2nd dr. he took one look at her, and she looked 11 months pregnant belly and sent her straight to the hospital.
tests were done.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Signet_ring_cell_carcinoma.
he cried as he told her.
"If u can get strong enough within a month, we can operate."
She refused to die in hospital.
A family friend came down from central Australia and cared for her.
A friend from kindergarten. A registered nurse.
She was legally allowed to administer the morphine that would keep her comfortable,
and out of pain, till she passed.
at one point she said to me 'I'm glad everyone can be here, and be happy.
Those words still haunt me to this day. As does the cold stare she had when she passed :'(
to this day, 2 years later, that's the face I see when I drift off to sleep most nights.
sorry, I digress
wipes tear from eye as that part of the story gets too hard to tell
No wonder I don't get much sleep.
Sshe was only 56. taken far too early.
The most awesome woman you could ever hope to meet.
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/125960120811630193
(Pin by Leslie R. Currie)
