90 Days Hard: Part 1

I’ve been fighting about drugs with my mother for decades. Since before I knew that was what we were even fighting about. As a little girl, I’d creep into her shadowed room, stand at her bedside, put my hands on her worn flannel sheets, and plead for her to come out.

In my adolescence, I’d barge in, scream “get the fuck up!” and slam the door behind me. Sometimes I’d open and shut it repeatedly, hoping I could make myself a big enough disturbance to break through to her. I’d stand there, lock-jawed, grinding my teeth in rage at my powerlessness. Out of breath and the only one bothered by my display. There wasn’t a thing I could do to make her the person I needed.

“I’m not even getting high,” she said. A defense she’d employed at various times over the years. I guess it was supposed to soften me to the destruction she’d sown. It only made me angrier. You’re pawning our family heirlooms, thieving, covered in abscesses, and missing your granddaughter’s life... TO NOT EVEN GET HIGH?!

This terror and pain needed to be for something. She should at least be getting high.

It was only a half-truth, of course. Her tolerance was through the roof, and she often only had enough money to avoid getting sick. I was saddened that she’d devoted most of her life to something that rarely made her feel good.

I know something of that.

I’d been dosing male desire since about the same age as she began finding escape in substances. You can certainly ruin your life with a man. It’s simply a socially sanctioned and encouraged form of annihilation. It also no longer got me high.

In April, when Brian and I had our four-day immersive breakup experience, I felt nervous about dating again. Cursed with knowledge, I could no longer ride the wave of male attention with a more complete understanding of the safety concerns, both emotional and physical, that came with it.

We walked his dog in the field behind his house and played a fun and bizarre game of “They’re a 10, but...”

“He’s a ten, but he wears Hey Dudes... could you do it?”

“She’s a ten, but she won’t leave the house for even an errand without doing a full face of makeup... ”

“They’re a ten, but they eat like your pickiest child?”

“They’re a ten, but they’re trying to build an Instagram following?” Unimaginable (too imaginable).