These last two "weekends" (sunday night, monday, monday night), I have allowed myself a few indulgences: Unmeasured lines of unfamiliar batches of substances have come my way (thanks to one special lovie), and, after asking a few simple questions (or halving the lines in size), I have accepted them. I took tiny bumps in an inappropriate place (twice), discretely, of course, but with an announcement to those close so they could see my rebellion. (This was NOT at Manacle, by the way.) I have smoked some tina when the pipe was going around (as opposed to only eating it from an extremely controlled half-point-dose bag (which I didn't get any of this weekend, anyway)). I have used drugs to make me feel better when feeling like crap (twice) (as opposed to only taking drugs when feeling good to feel even better). And I have taken a left-over bump at home on my own at the weekend's end - just to enjoy the sensation in comfort and privacy.
These are all things I would not have found acceptable six months ago.
But this weekend I have also: Shared some of what little I did have with those in need. Refused all manner of substances offered, on numerous occasions, most pertinently tina. Taken a break during the second night from being on anything to give the mind and body a slight chance to refresh. Taken myself away from Oxford St to get changed and shower before DeckBar - yes, Rowan came along, but it's a good step towards independence... And I have been well-behaved at pretty much every point. Aware of those around me, sensitive to their needs as well as mine where possible. Fun and camp wherever I could be. Giving of attention and praise where it may help or heal.
My heart is sore with growing pains as it swells to love new people, new things, try to find its own beat, while also breaking from the necessary (and some perhaps unnecessary) distance I put between J and myself. I begin to slowly see the uncertainty and potential shame I was projecting onto J with regards to drugs. Always second-guessing, I never let her have her own reactions to this part of my life. I just assumed she would not understand/would disapprove, etc. That wasn't fair.
But we all have our standards, limits, boundaries we see as important, and I think mine and hers are in very different places at the moment - mostly due to age and occupation. Anyway, enough with the analysing, justifying, etc. And back onto the self-medication theme:
Drugs were always a social thing for me. A social experience, a glue, an excuse to get closer, to touch and be intimate with friends, to experience new and memorable things together that would form a shared canon of memories. "Weren't we wild!" "Remember when we danced all night and took our shoes off, singing through the city." "Remember when we spent all day in the baby pool in the yard at Hordern St, squashed six people in a plastic-sided vessel and held umbrellas to keep the sun off, doing half-pills and vodka shots." "Remember when we danced like we could burst to Bolero from Moulin Rouge, and I cried and he comforted me, and our relationship was never the same again." And so many more...
But there was always a private side to drug use, and I feared it like death. I fear everything that is solo - too close, too dangerous, too real. The private pleasure, the love of the drug for its own sake, for the journey, for the clarity, for the fuzziness, for the softness it provides, for the different parts of you that are revealed...
Drugs (and dancing) can heal relationships, build group memories and bind you together. They can counter the communal darknesses with light and erase bad associations and memories. They can help us to claim and reclaim spaces and times, to be empowered, to own each other and the worlds we move in. I only just
really realised that this happens individually as well.
Like all medications, illegal drugs are poisons - they are a substance introduced to the body which causes an unnatural effect - a change. The change can be good, bad or neutral depending on the body an the mind. Like any other drug, illegal drugs have different effects on different people. The same pill can make one person dance and feel over-joyed, while the other is in a private nightmare of self-analysis and melancholy. How can we know what's right, when, for whom and what dose? Listen to others, remember your experiences, experiment, and make sure someone who cares for you knows that you are taking risks. Not just with your body, but your mind, emotions, sense of self and head-space.
So I have always associated drug-therapy with drug addiction. I have held the double-standard that it's ok to medicate for a group problem with mind-alterers, but not for your own. I have been a very judgmental person at times, but work has made me more loving and tolerant.
I just finished off my little bit of k and had a left-over cigarette on my balcony - all by myself. My paralysing fear of being alone on drugs has been removed in these last few weeks. I feel almost defensive of this little bit of special alone-time. Relaxing into my skin, healing. Casting-off any thoughts of shame for my actions - I chose them. I chose this right now, and I trust myself to choose well. I notice the feeling of bare-feet on the cool railings, enjoy the fact that people walking past are unlikely to see me here sitting behind it, back against the house, but they could if they concentrated. In these last few weekends, through a lot of hard work on my part, old fears and neurosies begin to fade. Sleeping by myself. Bugs. Sounds in the house at night, the floors creaking, foundations shifting. The dark.
Being alone.
New fears that are more complicated but ultimately more controllable have been coming into my life, and being alone becomes not only bearable, but important for counteracting them.
........
More on this topic later....
