Itching For That Itch Again
Old pains and new heartaches make me remember wanting to forget.
An artist friend of mine takes photos of me and alters them to digitally create my persona, Ruby Noir. I insisted that some of them involve wrapping me in chains. That is how I’ve felt for most of my life.
Bound.
Trapped.
Stuck.
There are many reasons for it but I’ve been feeling one of them a lot lately.
I lost about a year of my life to Vicodin and other opiate painkillers. If it was an opiate and a pill, I’d swallow it but Vicodin was my favorite. I quit cold turkey, the withdrawal was hell on earth and I have never touched them again. What started as a legal prescription turned into a major addiction and I never want to go back.
Except every time I feel pain of any kind. And at least part of every day.
I remember very little about the year that I spent popping pills like candy. I remember that they made me itch and for some reason, I liked that itch. I remember sleeping. And I remember being numb.
My past is a nightmarish hellscape. Some of you may know my story, and others may not, but if you’re in the latter group — just trust me, I’m not exaggerating. Abuse and very real physical…
