Since starting to get heavily involved with Maude, my bad habits have started to rear their ugly heads again. Getting pissed off my rocker has turned into at least a twice weekly occurence — I have never seen him go an entire evening without drinking, even at home. Every night it is a few bourbons, and I, of course, join in. Why I don\’t know. When it is just so easily available, so accepted and encouraged, it becomes so hard to stop, or not start, for that matter.
Last night we went to the new dnb night at Red. By the time we got there we had already fucked twice, he had consumed \”three or four\” bourbons, and I had taken two Ultram. We originally tried to go to Five to hear LTJ Bukem, but when we found a line and a door charge of $15, we decided to fuck it. Maude, though, insisted on getting to the front of the line to be an asshole about the unadvertised cover. That done, he gave attitude to the doorman on the way out, and then steamed about the situation for a good ten minutes, constantly repeating himself. He and I share the bad habit of grabbing annoying experiences by the neck and then beating it over and over again. It is fucking maddening, and it is hard to get him to stop or to get a word in edgewise. After walking around the block, I was fuming and suggested we go to Red.
Our blood was boiling when we walked up to the bar. \”You want a bourbon, yeah?\” \”Yeah, yeah, okay, sure, you\’re going to fix me up for the night? Okay, okay.\” While he watched this one kid writhing on the dance floor — and doing a mighty good job of it — I turned to the bartender and ordered two shots of tequila. They have four tequilas at Red, and I went for the Don Eduardo, which is medianly priced, highly acidic (the way I like it), and is 80% proof. I threw mine back and Maude sipped at his. I waited impatiently, chewing on my lime and trying to coax him along. Finally we had the next round, which I let him order, and he served me up with a Cosmo and got himself a Gimlet.
Twenty minutes after entering the club we were completely fucked up from the combination of everything that was in our systems. I scanned the bar, wondering what to order next, when I got this brilliant idea that we should do Schnaaps. Pittsburgh was on my mind, I suppose, who knows? When I asked the bartender if he had any, he said there was just a cheap peach. \”Hrm….\” I stumbled off my stool at that point, for no reason at all, and said we would have two. \”Are you sure you want these?\” \”Oh yeah, oh yeah — hit us up.\” He poured us doubles, then asked me how it was after I had gulped a bit. \”Like liquid candy,\” I swoonily replied.
We lingered for a little while over our kiddie drinks, then decided to head out around 1:30. My tab came to a grand total of $22. $22 for two tequilas, a Cosmo, a Gimlet, and two double Schnaaps in this fucking city when neither of us knew anyone there? Hot damn! Now I have to go back, for sure. Bad, bad, bad.
Red is around the corner from Maude\’s, and we were home within five minutes. I proceeded to talk his ear off until he was nearly asleep at 2:30, and then we started going at each other. \”Are you asleep?\” \”Nope, just listening to you.\” \”Ready to do something else?\” \”Oh yeah.\”
If we did not get along so well and spend so much time talking to each other, I would think this relationship was based entirely on the sex. We made love until 6:30 in the morning, going again and again and again. Finally, he could move no longer and collapsed onto the bed, which was my signal to go pop my pills — a Trazodone (sedative), an Ambien (sleeping pill), and another Ultram (painkiller). As per usual, we curled up in each other\’s arms and passed out immediately.
Also as per usual, I was awoken around nine by him kissing and nuzzling me. His body works like fucking clockwork — no matter what time he falls asleep, his cock springs to attention at nine in the morning and wakes him up. We made love again, this time going for an hour and a half until dozing back off for another paltry hour of sleep.
Simultaneous multiple orgasms; a fucking male multiple — so rare, so valuable! — who comes, shakes for two minutes, and then immediately starts again. I, who take much longer and am much harder to get, finally reaching his level of continuous arousal by his third or fourth orgasm, which is fine, because it further compliments the next five that we would share together. Hot fucking damn. I really never thought it could be this good — to be so intellectually, emotionally, and sexually satisfied all at once.
The thing is, though, is that we are doing this about four or so nights out of the week. The other three I spend writhing in agony, with the physical impetus to go out and get laid clashing with the mental argument of exclusivity. Masturbation is no help, and in fact only worsens the problem. No matter what position my body situates itself in, I burn with desire. I cannot so much as brush back my hair without having to thrust my hands down my shorts.
I spent six hours tonight laying in bed, stroking over every nerve ending in my body. My thighs wet, my body so hot that even with the fan on high I was uncomfortable, and the pain in my neck, back, hip, arms, and hands increasing between every orgasm. But still, I stopped only to go take a whizz. The last whizz lead me to stop by my computer, and now, here I am, pouring out everything everyone says they do not want to know, but read with a voracious, voyeuristic appetite. And I, completely fucked up on Ultram (though not yet having touched my bed time pills), am completely happy to ablige.
I swore I would never date an addict again, and now, here I am with an addict for a boyfriend, and he enables me in my own destructive behaviors. Sure, abusing alcohol and combining that with the abuse of benzodiazepines (Valium — his), analgesics prescribed for severe pain (Ultram — mine and his), skeletal muscle relaxants (Skelaxin — his), sedative-hynptnics (wheee!!! Ambien — mine and his), and antineuralgics (Trazodone — mine) is nowhere near to the level of smoking crack like my second ex-fiance, but it is still not a fucking pony ride with the kiddies.
My head is swimming. I should go to bed.
Sometimes, we finish for the evening, I take my pills and then completely blank, but we keep having sex. I am awake, but completely unaware and my mind is unable to recall what occurs. I, however, continue to function, speak, fuck — whatever — and Maude, who is usually also fucked up on something at that point, too, cannot tell the difference. I know that sometimes I am the one initiating things, because he will be asleep by the time I take my pills and crawl back into bed, and he is a heavy sleeper. I know we are doing this on a regular basis, and I know what has happened because I am still sticky by the time he wakes me back up at nine, and when I am cognizant, I wipe up afterward.
Once a goddamn junkie, always a goddamn junkie. \’Cause oh yeah, I have started abusing food again, too. Not bingeing, but he got me back in the habit of having a snack in the evening and eating every three hours — which is what \”normal\” people do — but once my body started to say \”Oh yeah, FOOD, you can put that in your body and it will do wonderful things to your head,\” I started putting it in my body all the fucking time again. I have gained five pounds in the past month.
He and I keep saying we are going to start treating ourselves better. Head back to the gym, cut the snacks, cut back on drinking, stop getting fucked up, cut back on pill usage, spend more time with music, etc. But there is, of course, always a reason to put off starting until tomorrow.
\”Am I so bad?\” Only as bad as I am, my dear. Only as bad as I am. And we, of course, bring it out in each other and enable each other. So where is the line drawn? How much is too much? At what point is it a problem you must walk away from in order to do better by both of you? I could tell myself that sure, we will both get it together and support each other and move on. But I know better. But it could happen. It just likely will not.
Everyone has their problems, but I cannot seem to fall for anyone who cannot get their lives together and are always abusing themselves. Birds of a feather, and whatnot. But I have improved so much, become so much healthier… and still I can only connect with the people who\’s lives are askew. But, but, but… My therapist says that no one has their lives together, that everyone is constantly struggling, that everyone has some sort of problem that psychiatry would label as a personality disorder of some sort. The joke goes that there are people with personality disorders and then there is everyone else… and everyone else is a borderline. Welcome to the club, darling. First drink is on me. And the second, and the third, and so on, and so forth, ad naseum. I want to get out of this club and go find a nice quiet den of solitude — fuck the inequity.
My head is still spewing but my body hurts too much to go on. Time to pop the rest and head to bed. I get to have sex in eighteen hours. This makes me so happy and excited I am practically drooling on myself. Once again I have let things get out of hand. I feel that perhaps a week or two of complete abstinence from all my crutches would be a good thing, but that would not fly, as I know that I could not possibly abstain from sex and be around Maude at the same time.
Right now I am banging my head on the desk but I should be banging you. AUGH AUGH AUGH someone send me to bed before my spine snaps! When I look at the screen, I see straight, at least fairly straight, but as soon as I look away everything blurs and spins. Another crutch.
I think when I move in two weeks I am not going to leave a forwarding address/number and am going to shut myself in at my new place, alone, safe, and drive myself crazy with thoughts instead of actions. Bye bye world, hello aggressive, confrontational self torment!
That is my bed over there, down the hall. My t.v. is still on. I miss scrambled porn. \”Miss Scrambled Porn\” should be my Saint Ex dj name. That would rock the fucking shit, indeed. Now I know I need to go to bed — I cannot articulate the reason but it has something to do with being so far gone right now that I am completely lacking in taste.
Tomorrow: Mclusky and two doses of Les. Saturday: nobody knows it but Maude, \”A,\” and um… I forget what I have been calling him so we will just roll with PADM, and now all of you — I am making a break and heading back home to Pittsburgh for the weekend. Maybe this time I will manage to get out of there without putting my name on a lease.
I reek of sex and so does my entire basement, and I have not even fucked down here since November. Oh god. Medic!
