If I Think About It, I Can Really Scare Myself. If I Think About It, I Can Notice My Perception Become

If I think about it, I can really scare myself. If i think about it, I can notice my perception become untrustworthy. I can notice my breathing pattern become mechanical and in need to be fixed. I wonder if it’s just me feeling more “in my head.” Living in my thoughts, or “feeling like I’m watching a movie,” “a simulation.” Sure, I identify with who I see in the mirror. But opposite to that idea, I need to reassure myself that I am still me; when I’m driving, when I get into the flow at work, when I just haven’t seen my reflection for a few hours, the panic sets in. And the worst kind, a difficult to pin point kind of panic.

I feel like a child how I can’t find the right words to express the fear I get all of a sudden. Am I just an amateur at being sober? What perception did I have when I was a stoner? I don’t bother asking myself what being sober was like before weed because I know I don’t remember. And what I do remember is skewed by the oppression and injustice I did face during those times.

I can feel myself get better every day tho. I got really excited last night because, despite me losing track, I can confidently say that I’ve been sober for 2 whole weeks. How cliche to say “I never thought,” but I never even imagined. I am proud of myself, I feel hopeful, and I do feel happier. But more annoyingly I feel like I’ve got a shit ton more to work on. Which is a blessing, a privilege,and an opportunity that others don’t. I reckon I just take it slow,

April 17 12:34 am

that feeling, that feeling of knowing I could get away with it. That sexual gratification of just a little extra. Like a hit of a blunt and to exhale without care of who might sniff it out. That knowing that i could just keep it to myself and i could get my rocks off, stroke and fantasize of being dirty with a stranger. Then the interaction, the response, the filthy shadow self that has the want to bust a nut then forget the person even exists.

Having my cake and eating it too. Oh how it burns. How that temptation singes and stings. Oh fuck how the knowing that i can have the closest thing to…

like a lake of wet mud. The flat and untouched surface, teasing me to dirty up my sneakers. “Well, no one can get mad at me for dirtying up the souls of my shoes.” “Look at how my footprint perfectly stamps the mud. It feels slippery and slimy, if I wasn’t worried about the consequences of getting messy id make a mud angle.” Walking the tight rope of temptation is infuriating. “Why don’t I just jump? There’s a net to catch my fall and it’ll be fun to be flung into the air, like a big trampoline.” “Oh goodness, the sides of my shoes got some mud on ‘em! Well that’s alright, I’ll just shuffle through the dewy grass before anyone notices.” The further i step out into the lake my shoes sink. “What a fun and liberating feeling! My fresh and clean shoes sinking into the mud, the sides of my shoes are already dirty what’s the harm? I already have a clean up plan.”

The further i step out into the lake, just one casual step. I shift my weight and like a trap door, the mud is up to my ankles!” I laugh uncontrollably and when i pull my foot out, my shoe nearly comes off, nearly disappears with the mud! My opposite foot starts sinking too! I panic. This is a lot more to clean up now.

Dread. Anxiety. Guilt. Shame. The dawning of the situation. Like a record scratch or a freeze then zoom in, like a film. Like i smoke a fatty in my bathroom, been in there for over two hours and just when I’m ready to chill i walk out, and realize I’ve stunk up the house.

”i wish I hadn’t done that.” Is that thought even worth it? The damage is done, the most time proficient thing is to figure out how to undo this decision and make it look like I haven’t made a mistake.

quik! Think, think! Wait? Have i gotten permission before to be dirty? Was the permission given with genuineness or reluctance? Am i held to a standard? It’s my life right? It’s also my decision, to be filthy. Yet, i know there are less dirty ways to be filthy, more respectable ways with minimal clean up. Messes without consequences as dire as this. But those ways are boring and they provide releases with less suspense and can be achieved too simply. They also don’t give me this feeling of dread and regret. And they guarantee no punishment either, or change of perception about me. And when i do those common release of energy, I can move on with my life. And not obsess over this microscopic escape from reality. Like polliester, filling up my time, hours on end, with no profit but my sperm on my hand and on my shorts.