LavalampBarrels
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 12, 2020
- Messages
- 22
Once i got barred out while takin down whisky and lines w the gang back in chi and at sunrise, as i was on an early foray back into a heroin relapse, i decided to go to Englewood (one of our proudest south chicago neighborhoods) to hit the plug for crack and h. Well i was already goonin by the time i got there, not even sure how. Prolly drove.... smh. I vinegared up a nice speedball and shot it up in front of my dude KG and his cousin Twon... instantly i felt like i was on k... minimal motor control, felt like i was 3 inches tall, i fuckwalked over to the couch and flopped hard, last words, "yo, if i fall out, dont be afraid to call the cops"
..... some time later....
Waking up on a stretcher in nothing but a t shirt (and fuckin pants, cmon ppl) in November in Chicago. KG and Twon carried me down 4 flights of stairs and called 911 for me. This is the type of neighborhood that junkies wind up dead in fuckin dumpsters, picked clean of all valuables. Typically considered the worst neighborhood in chi but i can show u spots where they sell bars over the counter at gas stations and chicken joints that basically wont serve white people.... anyways, i digress... 2 intransal narcan administrations and an iv to the hand was what it took to bring me back.. i remember having a dream about my boss eating reese's peanut butter cups and then BAM! These EMTs relentlessly annoying the fuck outta me asking me shit, an obvious tactic to keep me conscious but at the time i didnt realize that. I didnt realize shit. Neither did one EMT, apparently. Hes was like, "is there anything in this backpack thats gonna stab me?" I was like, "idk, tread lightly " obviously im an iv drug addict dying on the street in Englewood, what would you do as a medical professional? Well this guy took it personally that i had needles in my junk bag. Idk, bless his heart, he saved my life, but maybe bless that brain a little harder. Anyways, long story short they get me back to life but im still LOOOOAAADDDDEEEDDDD... but just enough to play it cool, im like, "look man, thank you guys so much you just saved my fuckin life but i can't afford to go to no hospital," they're like, "well u can go with us or him," pointing to a CPD cop, nothing short of annoyed at having to be there.... i was like, "hospital it is! Let's do this! " i think it was just protocol, the hospital could tell i was fine, ran no tests, barely spoke to me and discharged me in probably an hour. This is where the actual shame begins...
I get back to my apartment im splitting w my little sister and some lame ass fat bitch and go to my room, rip off my clothes to wash up because, guess what? Unbeknownst to my junk ass it just happens to be Thanksgiving and I'm about to be headed to a family dinner, with my mom in town, at that. Ever so proud of her son going through treatment and staying sober and getting a sick job and living ultra healthy...
well, firstly, my sister sees the little electrode sensors on me when i take my shirt off and asks wtf? I was like i overdosed and was hospitalized, no big deal, just a little xanax, crack, heroin and buffalo trace, no big deal. She starts crying, i give her the fakest junkie "i actually care about things" hug ever and proceed to wash up. Didnt even know i had those things on me. Im tellin ya people, i was LIT! anyhows...
Thanksgiving dinner comes around. Everyone's there. Were eating squid and giamboutta and bacalao, all the gangster shit at my cousin Michelle's on Taylor St. (Little Italy)... im maxin out runnin my mouth and nodding all at the same time. I didnt know at the time but everyone was like, uhhhhhhh.. this kids faded af. I doubt they even felt ok serving me wine. Anyways, i take a free-fall into a plate of fuckin fusili and that was it, man. Tears start flowin like anisette shoulda been. Heres my italian side, all proud of the dude that got sober and turned his life around, watching me clown out as high as ive ever been. My mom was bawling. I barely remember. I remember the giambout, fuckin killer. My cousin throws down, i mean shell serve u a lamb head thatll make u cry. But yeah, i ruined the fuck outta that, would have been beautiful experience. Noddin hard as fuck and just rambling, dominating the whole table convo, a total embarasment...
But the worst was my mom crying. Ill never live that down. Sure, Italians have a penchant for the dramatic but anyone who loved their son woulda done the same. She threw in her linen and went off to cry her eyes out. I was honest and told her it was only a recent relapse, i prolly wont even get sick.... in other words, im just way more likely to die...
But yeah, lmk how it feels to look up at your beautiful, loving family, who came from everywhere fom brooklyn to Hollister, with a face full of fuckin fusili, pinned back like the alt-junk rock band weve all slammed thousands of dollars of opioids to (dont lie! And if u dont know em, check out Pinback, you absolutely cannot go wrong) with a dumb ass half confused half ashamed smile on ur retarded junked face. Thats was a loooooow point man and ive shot up cocaine and gatorade on a date... like 6 days ago. In a parkng lot in broad daylight. Ive served a table coked out of my mind, unaware of the copius stream of blood leaking down my foearm. Ive stolen jewelry from my own mother. In fact, ive stolen hella shit but only from people i love who i know will forgive me (aka pussy shit style). I once chopped out lines for this chick i was fuckin, telling her it was crushed up morphine pills, guess what it really was... ive lied about having drugs (no i wont watch u waste cocaine in ur nostrils) ive borrowed peoples vehicles to go to "the library" aka the robichauex housing projects, an extra 1.5 hrs one way with traffic, to cop. Only white boy, let alone in a subaru forester for miles haha. Shit what else... ive shot up az ice tea, highly recommended (im joking, fucko), used part of a sock as a cotton, stabbed my self unrelentingly until i looked like house of the living junkies, poured coagulated blood bsck out of a rig into a spoon, added water, boiled, drew right back up and went to business... i used to just disappear from parties like i was slick, to go cop. Everyone knew. Its hilarious how slick we think are...
Oh man, im sure theres more, i just cant even think and this post is prolly bordering on long enough by now. Props to you if you made it this far, tho! Your the true winners, here..
Stay safe ya fuckin druggies! I love this community, its been an immense help. I havent shot coke in 2 whole days! Naw but in all seriousness I went to my first meetinc in damn near a year earlier tonight. This cocaine shooting has to stop man.
anyways, peace in the middle east!
..... some time later....
Waking up on a stretcher in nothing but a t shirt (and fuckin pants, cmon ppl) in November in Chicago. KG and Twon carried me down 4 flights of stairs and called 911 for me. This is the type of neighborhood that junkies wind up dead in fuckin dumpsters, picked clean of all valuables. Typically considered the worst neighborhood in chi but i can show u spots where they sell bars over the counter at gas stations and chicken joints that basically wont serve white people.... anyways, i digress... 2 intransal narcan administrations and an iv to the hand was what it took to bring me back.. i remember having a dream about my boss eating reese's peanut butter cups and then BAM! These EMTs relentlessly annoying the fuck outta me asking me shit, an obvious tactic to keep me conscious but at the time i didnt realize that. I didnt realize shit. Neither did one EMT, apparently. Hes was like, "is there anything in this backpack thats gonna stab me?" I was like, "idk, tread lightly " obviously im an iv drug addict dying on the street in Englewood, what would you do as a medical professional? Well this guy took it personally that i had needles in my junk bag. Idk, bless his heart, he saved my life, but maybe bless that brain a little harder. Anyways, long story short they get me back to life but im still LOOOOAAADDDDEEEDDDD... but just enough to play it cool, im like, "look man, thank you guys so much you just saved my fuckin life but i can't afford to go to no hospital," they're like, "well u can go with us or him," pointing to a CPD cop, nothing short of annoyed at having to be there.... i was like, "hospital it is! Let's do this! " i think it was just protocol, the hospital could tell i was fine, ran no tests, barely spoke to me and discharged me in probably an hour. This is where the actual shame begins...
I get back to my apartment im splitting w my little sister and some lame ass fat bitch and go to my room, rip off my clothes to wash up because, guess what? Unbeknownst to my junk ass it just happens to be Thanksgiving and I'm about to be headed to a family dinner, with my mom in town, at that. Ever so proud of her son going through treatment and staying sober and getting a sick job and living ultra healthy...
well, firstly, my sister sees the little electrode sensors on me when i take my shirt off and asks wtf? I was like i overdosed and was hospitalized, no big deal, just a little xanax, crack, heroin and buffalo trace, no big deal. She starts crying, i give her the fakest junkie "i actually care about things" hug ever and proceed to wash up. Didnt even know i had those things on me. Im tellin ya people, i was LIT! anyhows...
Thanksgiving dinner comes around. Everyone's there. Were eating squid and giamboutta and bacalao, all the gangster shit at my cousin Michelle's on Taylor St. (Little Italy)... im maxin out runnin my mouth and nodding all at the same time. I didnt know at the time but everyone was like, uhhhhhhh.. this kids faded af. I doubt they even felt ok serving me wine. Anyways, i take a free-fall into a plate of fuckin fusili and that was it, man. Tears start flowin like anisette shoulda been. Heres my italian side, all proud of the dude that got sober and turned his life around, watching me clown out as high as ive ever been. My mom was bawling. I barely remember. I remember the giambout, fuckin killer. My cousin throws down, i mean shell serve u a lamb head thatll make u cry. But yeah, i ruined the fuck outta that, would have been beautiful experience. Noddin hard as fuck and just rambling, dominating the whole table convo, a total embarasment...
But the worst was my mom crying. Ill never live that down. Sure, Italians have a penchant for the dramatic but anyone who loved their son woulda done the same. She threw in her linen and went off to cry her eyes out. I was honest and told her it was only a recent relapse, i prolly wont even get sick.... in other words, im just way more likely to die...
But yeah, lmk how it feels to look up at your beautiful, loving family, who came from everywhere fom brooklyn to Hollister, with a face full of fuckin fusili, pinned back like the alt-junk rock band weve all slammed thousands of dollars of opioids to (dont lie! And if u dont know em, check out Pinback, you absolutely cannot go wrong) with a dumb ass half confused half ashamed smile on ur retarded junked face. Thats was a loooooow point man and ive shot up cocaine and gatorade on a date... like 6 days ago. In a parkng lot in broad daylight. Ive served a table coked out of my mind, unaware of the copius stream of blood leaking down my foearm. Ive stolen jewelry from my own mother. In fact, ive stolen hella shit but only from people i love who i know will forgive me (aka pussy shit style). I once chopped out lines for this chick i was fuckin, telling her it was crushed up morphine pills, guess what it really was... ive lied about having drugs (no i wont watch u waste cocaine in ur nostrils) ive borrowed peoples vehicles to go to "the library" aka the robichauex housing projects, an extra 1.5 hrs one way with traffic, to cop. Only white boy, let alone in a subaru forester for miles haha. Shit what else... ive shot up az ice tea, highly recommended (im joking, fucko), used part of a sock as a cotton, stabbed my self unrelentingly until i looked like house of the living junkies, poured coagulated blood bsck out of a rig into a spoon, added water, boiled, drew right back up and went to business... i used to just disappear from parties like i was slick, to go cop. Everyone knew. Its hilarious how slick we think are...
Oh man, im sure theres more, i just cant even think and this post is prolly bordering on long enough by now. Props to you if you made it this far, tho! Your the true winners, here..
Stay safe ya fuckin druggies! I love this community, its been an immense help. I havent shot coke in 2 whole days! Naw but in all seriousness I went to my first meetinc in damn near a year earlier tonight. This cocaine shooting has to stop man.
anyways, peace in the middle east!
Last edited:
