I think at this point my blood is 50% methamphetamine.
I hope that's not an omen of impending psychosis
NEVER AGAIN
everyone I knew was plotting to have me arrested and sent to rehab
also bugs
and the fuckin shadow people in the room; friends and family that did not belong there
but we had entire sensible conversations so it's cool
anyway I'm on a bunch on meth, I don't have a scale cause I lost my scale and I'd rather buy new sharps with the $
also more meth obviously
also shit like
6x 20mg propranolol (rx, 2 days worth)
4x .5 kpins (rx, 2 days worth)
like tums and ibuprofen and shit to settle my starvation nausea
at the end of this hell day (400 levels from 9:30am to 6:30pm with only a 1 hr break from 11 to 12 for lunch godfuckingdamn)
I think I'ma help myself to new batch H stamps
I need to chill the fuck out
I know from painful experience that if I stay up another night everything will be bugs
a 3rd night and I'm pacing my apt at night watching for ambushes cause I know they're coming for me in the dead of night
peering thru the blinds looking for K9s
visions of rehab I probably need but don't want yet dance thru my head
and after waking up in the ER from two ODs in a week and a half, a suicide stay in the psych ward, a misdemeanor arrest & jail time,
and oh also being bipolar type 1 (aka if I dont take my seroquel every night I get the full blown mania of the really-off-the-deep-end type where, it's strange but manic psychosis is very much like waaay too much meth, only with none of the fun or tinglies and all the shitty meth stuff like hearing my mother's voice and entire songs that don't exist playing from my showerhead and seeing flashes of people in my peripheral vision and paranoid delusions that Everyone Knows, and never sleeping or eating and barely even existing except inside my head, where I'm firing on a million cylinders (which of course is motivation and energy stolen from Tomorrow Self) at once, whiplash at the inhuman speed of my flight of ideas, feeling like I've Figured It Out and I understand now all the secrets--I get real intellectual and artistic on ice when I'm not getting insatiably horny--but the tragedy of it all is that I can't put the divine wisdom imparted to me, in a non-language I understand but cannot translate to English. And thus my ideas, my brilliance, and of course a natural perfectionism that meth only enhances--all combining in perfect concentration and stillness. I sit motionless in body but my head is whirling with clever turns of phrase and particularly apt metaphors (for which I gave myself a big ol' imaginary pat on the back) and winding threads of word that might, in my sober hands, become a coherent allegory offering a fascinating brand-new point of view on the topic of transdimensional travel--which, yes, is the topic upon which I expounded, totally still and not even switching from my awkward phone keyboard to my laptop, for NINE HOURS, in which time I did not finish a single sentence. I was allergic to punctuation, really just couldnt stay with one thought when I was having an EVEN BETTER ONE right now. So I spent an hour deleting and rewriting half a sentence, trying to determine if the best phrase is "gentle darkness" or "hushed and quiet" or "a haven of solitude and silence". I promise this was relevant to transdimensional travel, but I only know one guy who would be vaguely interested and I just ended up spamming a poor friend of mine with these texts. When the clock struck 8 I snapped out of it, running late, and all my hard-earned poetry (I feel often like I'm the next fucking Ginsberg with my druggie poetry--indeed, his benzedrine era stuff makes no fucking sense until you read it on meth and everything clicks 'cause this is how your brain is working right now too) ended up deleted into a single sarcastic sentence for a relevant photo I spent an hour editing but never got around to uploading on Facebook--even as tweaked out as I was, I could recognize that my sappy pseudospiritual meditations on childhood imagination and infinite inner universes and the power is within us when we go to our sacred space, or something, was an obviously very high post. Especially when I tried to upload it at four in the morning.
I know hallucination-type mania (schizophrenic break really) is like the worst thing to mix with meth
but it's in remission as long as I stay on my meds so I'm peachy in that department
anyway I've been locked in enough institutions to be justified in my paranoia
so no thank you day 3
anyway.