Since realizing that meth and I had a fucked up and abusive relationship almost six years ago, Miss Tina and I have been on again/off again lovers. Like anyone that has ever lived through or seen another go through "battery syndrome," it is always shocking but rarely surprising when an individual returns to a lover that is abusive. The comfort of the familiar and the numbness that comes with it do not require the courage to face the unknown and our own internal tapes that tell us that we deserve no more than the abuse we receive at the hands of those people and things that purport to love us.
A couple of weeks ago, my partner was struggling with some of the areas in his life that are challenging for him. In general, he is an amazing, well adjusted, smooth sailor that has done his share of living and figured out lots of things for himself. He's 13 years older than I am, so he has had plenty more time to figure lots of things out. But, like most folks, he has some work still left to do. In this particular case, he was struggling with some issues that impact both of us. In general, we are both very loving and patient with each other when we come up against those places where we know we each have work to do. In this particular instance, I only had so much emotional fortitude banked up, and it ran out.
Now a well adjusted and right-thinking person would have perhaps gone nuclear on his partner, perhaps thrown some shit around, broke a dish or two, and raised some Hell. Perhaps a rational person would have gotten angry but then sat down to help work out an effective solution that allowed for his partner to have the space to work through his shit while also getting the support he needed so that his shit didn't overly impact my mental health.
Oh no! Not my crazy ass.
Instead, after about a week of being angry and bitter, I decided...you know what...you want to be in YOUR SHIT...WATCH THIS!
You think I am joking? I totally arranged a hook up that was going to include a threesome with Crystal Meth, and as I left the house to get high, I literally thought to myself: I'll show you!
Lord have mercy if that isn't the dumbest line of thinking possible. Let me break down that thinking for you into what it really means: Because YOU pissed ME off...I am going to go out and do some shit that is only REALLY hurtful to ME. So because YOU fucked up, I am going to go out and do something in response for which I am going to pay for the consequences.
Now math has never been my strong suit, and I hate word problems, but even I know that 1+Stupid=Dumb As Hell.
Since then, over the last few weeks, I have been full on struggling against my addiction. It has owned my ass in a really scary way over the last few weeks. Thank God I finally reached out to a good friend of mine, also a recovering addict, who, over the last few days, has been the angel I needed to get me to where I need to be. Thank you KF. I love you for it. For those of you that are concerned, I am fine now, I will be heading back to therapy, and KF and I will hitting up some CMA meeting together. I know this dance. It's old as hell at this point, and I am well aware of the things I need to do in order to keep on top of my mental health. There are also request that I have made of David so that our relationship is strengthened by him doing his work as well. If necessary, I will find a therapist willing to move in with us.
But all of that is really just the backstory to the real drama.
Over the years, I have, when partying met guys that I felt knew more about me than they should have. In fact, I have met "random strangers," via various hook up sites that have been very poor actors and about as see through as a lace thong, and so did a poor job of masking the fact that there were things that someone had told them about me. Queens will gossip, especially Meth Head Queens, and since coming out as HIV positive a number of years ago and making sure to include that emblazoned in my online ads, I really could care less about rumors that persisted from an earlier time in my life when I was basically in denial.
The shitty and scary thing was that this sort of moment kept happening despite where I lived geographically. In this Internet age, it isn't difficult to keep track of and fuck with someone via the web. With the ability to embed secret files and programs into graphics, encrypted communications, and a whole host of other sneaky freaky tools, if a computer savvy individual with a grudge or a crusade decides to e-stalk you...there is very little you can do about it. I thought, though, that living my life as rightly as possible, even when relapsing, by disclosing my status, letting folks know if I am dating someone, etc, I figured that I would be able to short circuit whatever rumors happened to be out there about me. Plus, Hell, I never had any hard proof that my interactions with these various men were anything more than a combination of my personal guilt at using heightened by meth fueled paranoia.
Then came this latest relapse. I was meticulous in my various disclosures. I was honest, up front, and clear about just about every possible aspect of my life. It didn't matter.
After one particular hook up, when I noticed, again, some strange behavior in the other person that was consistent with past behaviors that indicated that this person "knew" or had been "told" information about me. I had also noticed, in the past (and this might get graphic ya'll), some really strange behavior where an individual would, ostensibly, place a finger in my anus, but then would do this weird thumping thing with his other hand just outside of my anus while press, from the inside, against the skin...just as you would if you were breaking open something.
The first time it happened, I thought...stop being paranoid freak. The second and third time it happened with other people, I also let it go. When it happened again and consistantly, and I began noticing very strange purple stains on the insides of my jeans I got very fucking suspicious. When I caught a guy actually placing something in my anus after which I ran to the bathroom and saw that, indeed, the skin inside of my anus had turned purple, I knew that something was motherfucking up.
At that point, you'd think that you'd cut your losses and realize that despite your transparency, someone somewhere had decided that they were "Righteous Tweakers," and you were a "Tweaker of Sin," and they were willing to do whatever to keep you from doing what they do.
Just like my Mama, when you tell me I can't do something, it just makes me want to do it more. So, our dear Tweaker Crusaders upped the ante. They changed strategies. Instead of using a purple stain, they began using a solution that is meant to be used externally but when applied to internal tissue causes enormous swelling, effectively sealing up your anal cavity except for enough space for doing your toilet time business.
How do I know this? This last time I connected with someone the dude had a little bottle of solution that was curiously out of place amongst the lubes, poppers, and other ointments. After being in a compromising position, my stomach and booty started to feel funny, so I ran into the bathroom, sure enough, once again, my anus (and I am talking about the inside now...so basically the colon) was swollen to the point of starting to portrude, and let me be clear that NOTHING had happened at this point to justify any type of swelling. It's one thing if you have gotten your back banged out by a big dicked cholo that treated your ass like a low rider, it is quite another to have a .5% solution injected into your anus as some sort of Tweaker Retribution. As you can imagine, I was understandably pissed and dipped the fuck out.
I had a great conversation with my friend Shelly about all of this, and she agrees...how fucked up must you be to decided that you, as a drug addict, have the power,privilege, and moral righteousness to physically attack another human being. By all means, if I were not disclosing or was in some way acting in a malicious and damaging manner, I would chalk this up to a justifiable community response. But that was not what this was.
Of course, in the end, the real point is that by NOT relapsing, I don't have to worry about any of that shit. Simple solution, right? RIght.
And if that shit wasn't actually enough, these Tweakers have hacked my computer and iPhone. For years, I felt like I was being remotely surveilled, which is how various folks in various cities have reacted the same way when I have relapsed. But, again, I never had solid proof to back up my meth fueled paranoia. Now I do. This last week, I noticed my computer acting strangely. Then I discovered a program called iSteg on my computer along with a PDF explaining how to use it. iSteg is a program used to hide secret texts inside of PDFs and image files. It was from a website called www.hanynet.com, to which I had never directed my browser. When I finally was able to load the website (my webbrowser was being manipulated to keep me from it), I found it to be a small, personal website with several homemade hacking programs and two firewall programs. I downloaded the two firewall programs, which then allowed me to see just what was going on with my computer. And lo and behold my paranoia was absolutely justified. Before my eyes, I watched as a individual that lives within as block of me was attempting, and sometimes succeeding to connect to and manipulate my computer.
Let me tell you, after feeling paranoid as fuck for years and thinking that I was losing it...it is nice to have confirmation. Now I am bitter as Hell and ready to kick ass.
My first priority is to take care of my mental health and smack down Miss Tina. But TRUST that now that I have an address and am fairly certain I know who it is, and should I see him on the street, he better sure as hell make sure that I have taken my meds...because I am ready to fuck him up or get put down trying to do so.
I trust my instincts almost always. And, I will continue to do so from this point forward.
And, just in case my hacker is reading this, that moral high horse you have been riding...must have kicked you in the head. Get sober. Clean up your life, and get the hell out of mine.