Need Anything at Every Given Moment, Someone Loved That Hate I Am

Posted on June 1, 2009

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It was a seemingly innocent question that almost sent me into a rage at the counter while purchasing Saucerton’s new dog food and Sensei’s kitty food this morning in Studio City. A question that’s asked a million times throughout our days, and I’ve always wondered how many people are actually honest in the response, knowing how often I hold back my own brutally honest thoughts. I was pissed off for a number of reasons, I’ll go through all of them. The guy at Petco almost hit his face into my fist, all for asking three little words. I’ll tell you what I said in my head, and then what I said with my voice. And you can decide whether or not I made the right decision. He asked me….

How’s your day?

 

The answer in my head:

“How’s my day? How’s my fucking day???? Well, lets see. I was up at 6am so I could make it to an early SAA meeting where I am the only woman among fifty men and usually I’m fine with this but it really made me angry this morning because I’ve had at least three other chicks come up to me this week saying how they’d like to go but then of course never come through so I went alone, because I NEED to go. I talked about how I can’t pray on my knees because it makes me feel like I’m getting ready to suck dick and so I pretend that I’m in my coffin every night before I go to sleep because you never fucking know if you won’t wake up, and you never know what will happen when you do, so every night before I go to bed I say thanks because it could be the last time I willfully close my eyes. And then each morning when they spring open to a new sober day without sex or drugs or booze or ANYTHING to numb the feelings of hopelessness and desperation I feel at EVERY GIVEN MOMENT of the day I say thanks to the great law of physics that makes it so this bag of fucking dog food doesn’t float away into space. Then I went home and found a certified note waiting for me in the mailbox sent with love from the IRS because oh, by the way, if you are a responsible person and file to pay your taxes and then fuck up a little bit with you financial planning, they will hunt you down and take everything you’ve spent the past 8 years on your back to earn. So after I spent an hour and a half on hold listening to the Nutcracker Ballet, I finally got through to someone who said they don’t care if I’ve just gotten out of rehab or if I’m unemployed and they’d like their money in full in the next 10 days because SOMEONE has to contribute to that 30.1 billion that GM needs to stay afloat and god for fucking bid I don’t try to stay afloat too, but I’m not an American legend and I know I shouldn’t be bitter but if I had 5 extra thousand dollars I wouldn’t mind just giving it over but I don’t, I’m nervous that I’m going to be eating my fucking dogs food within two months.

And if you really want to know how my day went, lets talk about boundaries, and the fact that I never EVER learned to have any. So that when I go to AA meetings and people ask me what my substance of choice is I feel compelled to be honest and tell them SEX, sex and dick are my drugs of choice, and that makes me feel terrible about myself so I drink to numb that pain, and then I have to drink to numb the embarrassment I feel for acting like a fool the night before, and then I drink again to numb the fact that I have to drink to feel numb because I can’t handle my own fucking emotions and there are points in the day where I’m filled with so much self-loathing and shame that I can’t even look at myself in the mirror, and it’s not because I sucked dick for a living it’s because I LOVED sucking dick for a living because THAT was a numbing device for me too, and now I’m fucking dry and clean and sober and I have feelings and I HATE feeling them because I don’t understand what they are, what they mean, or where they come from. So I tell these fucking people that I’m a sex addict because I AM, and I am not ashamed of that. But then other people tell me that it’s possible I’ll fuck up their recovery so I need to keep shit to myself, and I say “it’s not like they aren’t gonna fucking see it on VH1 anyway, I can’t start keeping secrets now it’s part of my fundamentally dysfunctional mind and how am I supposed to make progress in one program if I have to keep the other program a secret?” only to be late for therapy, so late I can’t even go because it’s not fucking worth it so I came here to buy my dog some food and try to forget all this shit I just told you and YOU had to ask me how my fucking day is. How is my fucking day. Well I’ll tell you how my fucking day is. IT SUCKS BALLS. BIG HAIRY FUCKING BALLS. And I can’t even do that so ring up my fucking purchase and let me haul this shit out to the car. And NO, I don’t need any fucking help, I’m a big girl and can carry my own pet’s food. So thank you, and fuck off. How’s my fucking day.”

 

 

 

And my actual reply? 

“Not bad, how about yours?”

 

 


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