I Get High With a Little Help from my Doctor

An ongoing theme in my grief thus far has been guilt surrounding any positive outlook I may have.

I love singing and everything the vice brings into my life. Singing fills me with joy and engages me in so many ways as I strive, continuously to become more talented. With singing comes performing, which I still find unnerving even though I still do it because there is so much joy in the act of performing and from watching audience members I have moved with my singing. Striving, performing, emotion, the act of giving and the act of receiving are all of the wonderful aspects of singing and when I am fully engaged in all of those aspects, grief is nowhere to be found. However, a pattern of mine has been attending the open mike, having a wonderful time and crashing upon my return home wondering how I could reach such heights when my poor husband got sick, endured pain and ultimately lost his chance to experience such joys.

Last night, before I left to go out, my emotions were all over the map and I arrived at the decision to quiet them with half of an Ativan. I knew I would be drinking wine at the open mike, but I don’t drink a lot, just one or two glasses a week, if that. Considering coke addicts, heroine addicts and a host of other kinds of addicts, I figured that half of a pill once or twice a week, whose prescription suggests that I take a whole pill, three times a day, isn’t really going to harm me in the long run, even when I wash it down with the sweet, fermented fruit of the vine. There are other, more effective ways I could destroy my own life if I felt so inclined, and even then, I would need a death wish or suicidal tendency firmly in place, which I no longer have, thankfully.

As a result of my decision, I had a lovely evening of singing, hearing others sing and socializing and I was able to bring the effects of last evening to bed with me, uninterrupted by guilt, longing and sadness. I liked it. I deserved it. I always deserve that.

So, what’s the harm in gleaning hope from my little bottle of happiness? I know what the potential harm is, but so far in my life, I have not displayed any addictive behavior. I am going to trust myself from now on, always keeping my doctor and therapist aware of my new decision because the good thing about taking my Ativan last night is that as a result, I was able to create and sustain a happy memory untainted by darkness. The more memories I can create like that, the further the “senseless” part of my grief will dissipate into my past and the more confidence I can cultivate in my ability to live a life mostly filled with fun, accomplishment and happiness. I can do this. I am not a junkie and I can do this.

And as long as my doctor keeps filling my prescription, I feel safe deducing that she does not feel that I am a danger to myself. Especially since the last time she filled it was in August and I am still in possession of 18 out of 30 pills.