Writing is hard to start and easy to continue. It makes everything organized in this fucked up head, but I guess when have I ever instinctively sought out stuff that’s good for me.

I remember three years ago I was picking drugs out of a carpet. I don’t think I’d even gone to rehab yet. I would collect the trash of drugs like a hoarder and pick through with the focus of an impassioned archeologist looking for every morsel left behind. I called it upcycling, making new drugs from drug trash. That spliff I’d roll at the end, full of the butts of cigarettes, little crumbling weed treasures, carpet and whatever else got in it was precious.

Today, we are an approximate days away from purchasing our first house. I say approximate cuz the closing date keeps changing, but it’ll be on the 16th if it’s not in two days, so we kinda know. I’m looking forward to it almost as much as I’d look forward to fresh drugs when I was picking through that carpet.

Maybe more?

It’s hard to tell with this kind of stuff, with any kind of befores and afters. I feel inexplicably different from any version of myself that’s ever existed before this exact minute. Sometimes it gets muddled by anxiety and mental illness. And at the same time I know now that I’m frozen at age fifteen, learning my mom’s dying. All the incarnations of me seem lined up outside of linear time, different people. Same hunger.

I have more in common with five year old me hunting for faeries these days than I do with 25 year old me, desperate for the idea of purpose, about to keep a baby she’s not ready for. 15 year old me over-burdened with real purpose just wants to get high. 30 year old me, today, wants everything they all wanted, and also none of it.

I’ve got a life beyond my wildest dreams.

My life was simpler when I was just trying to get fucked up.

I value the complicated, I say, very slowly into the mirror. The words are heavy.

My ex sponsor has a share about life like jenga. It’s when the tower gets impressive that you really wanna knock it down, and when it’s easiest to. We are the richest we’ve ever been, and all of that money is necessary to achieve the dream that was never-gonna-happen three year ago. I can’t fuck up now. Life hands us another sack of gold and I want to scoff. Something is taking care of me. I am being truly cherished. Doesn’t it just make you want to scream.

I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hated my mom at age 12, when she was perfect and doting and loving and I just wanted abuse so I could have the complexity of life now. I never hated anyone as much as I’m learning to unhate myself. I kiss my own arms when I’m sad and have you ever wanted to rebel against yourself? Really just get that nose piercing and show yourself in the mirror with haughty lips pursed–yes, what are you gonna do about it?

The card I pulled for today was The Creator, so I decided to write. Have I done it yet?