I always start writing and I never finish. It's like a million little parts of me flake off into this brilliant little paragraph or scribble, jotted down on a napkin, trailing my entire story all over because I can never collect all the peices in order or sometimes it's like a peice of toilet paper on the soul of my shoe and it gets passed by nosy people from step to step, still unnoticed, until it ends up thousands of miles away in some other gas station bathroom, that some other junkie blew lines on the same sink I did on a roadtrip once upon a time.
My life is a little odd. I leave peices of my heart all over the place. I leave my story behind, with no beginning, middle or end and it's like I let people decifer what happens in the end. I sit down and write about something in the moment, but honestly I have no idea how to put it all together, how to create a conclusion, an answer, something to learn from. The people I meet who trace in and out of the scene or the just the night many times make up some of the most wonderful adventures I've ever been so pleased to partake. They call me unorganized and they can call me a mess but this is my story, not theirs, so it's entitled to be unique. I never thought before about my little scribbles affecting anyone else, until I was the one stooping to the sink and found a wrinkled, scribbled on restaurant style napkin facing up at me with my hand writing and a bunch of doodles. At first I couldn't believe it. I thought I was just tripping, maybe something was in my stash that was making me messed up. I washed my face and hands. I rubbed my eyes and wanted to think it was unreal, I glanced again and still it haunted me, dirty and unyeilding to my emotions raw on the floor. I stepped out the bathroom only to find myself run back in and read it. I sat crying on the floor for ten minutes on my knees because what I had written was like an omen to myself in the future. I had found myelf here lost, a different person than when I doodled that stupid napkin. I couldn't recognize the person pulling back my own hair when I puked or got a bloody nose in front of the mirror. My hands were now foreign and kept feeding my face things, like they were in control, not me anymore, just my natural reaction to get through the day. But this time, when I looked at my hands, my hands trembling with this little off white, rugged, ripped, torn and blurry peice of mind, all I saw left there was 1 Corinthians 10:13 - God provides the means to handle any temptation or problem in life. You do not need to escape reality by means of drugs. You can avoid drugs and find your needs met in Jesus.
Literal passage is: There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God [is] faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.
Isn't it funny how life takes it's turn, in little rugged footprints and peices of paper. The likelihood of me finding that paper in one million years where I had been was so unusual, but there it was, bold in my own hand writing, staring me in the face was God himself. People say he doesn't exhist. Have you ever ripped a peice of napkin or gotten it wet? You tell me if it's suppose to travel thousands of miles for years and find you here at the most convenient moment in time, just when you need it the most. If that's not God I have no idea what is.When I found this paper I was flying high with my drug experience. I was on top of the world until I saw it. So yeah, my life has changed and I've cleaned up a lot. It's been a long time since I've touched anything white,yellow,purple,brown, gooey, snortable or in tab form so I consider myself doing really well so I thought.I've been lying to myself for a while. Telling myself I'm clean because I don't do harsh drugs, I have subjected myself to just weed and to most people who have a tainted idea of what real drugs are, they'd laugh I consider weed a drug at all. In all reality, I'm not clean yet. I quit smoking cigarettes. Now it's time to really clean up my act. No more weed, no more convincing myself and rationalizing. No more wasting my money to get high. I need to stop clinging onto getting high to make it through one more day. I need to clear my head and figure out who I am without drugs and maybe with God. If I sit and count, if I really think about it, other than maybe a week or two in between here and there for a job or some kind of hospitalization, I haven't truly been "clean" in every sense of the word, even drinking heavy since I was 13 years old. I started drinking then and rarely smoking weed. Can't i atleast try for a little while? If it's not such a big deal, why has it taken me 8 years to figure out I have a problem?
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