CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
2004 - Can’t Run Away from Yourself[1]
And then it was June twentieth, and I was free!
It was mind-blowing, this immediate lack of constriction. Now I could go hog wild- if I so chose.
Or, I could finally buckle down and try to find a way to stay clean.
Two distinct choices. Which one would I land on?
I was worried that if I detoxed and stayed on track, I’d have to give up staying with Donya and Marisol and doing my domme work. Even in my current marginally fucked up state, I already knew that I had to be “not there” if I wanted to get through my days in the dungeon without having a nervous breakdown. And if I wanted to be one-hundred percent clean and fully accountable for myself, then I had to find another profession- a regular profession in the straight world. There was no way sex-work and sobriety could successfully co-exist. At least not within my personal, fucked up psyche.
All of this was careening around my head as I jogged through Fort Tryon Park. Morning runs had turned into my one-person “deep thoughts” sessions- the time when I tried to figure out why I was so deeply emotionally fucked and whether I’d ever be able to un-fuck myself. These internal monologues caused me to miss Simone. We used to process so much psychological shit, just walking around the yard in Beacon. I really wished I could allow myself to hang out with her on the outside more.
I decided to give myself some grace and take five days of doing whatever the fuck I wanted. After that, I’d decide if I was ready to get clean for real.
Until then I’d be deep in my “Jane Says”[2] bag.
I’m gonna kick tomorrow.
[1] Bob Marley and the Wailers, “Running Away,” 1978
[2]Jane’s Addiction, “Jane Says,” 1987
