As a reward for my kickass finals-season productivity of late, I've been on an IV bender alllllll damn day. Banged 2- and 4-FA (would have preferred my lovely meth, but I couldn't re-up today) three times this morning & afternoon--went a little too far on the last one; ended up vomiting and cold-sweating in the library bathroom until I popped a few of my (legitimately prescribed) kpins. As usual, vaped lightly throughout the day as well (also medicinally, though self-prescribed, living as I am in the deep, deep South).
Then tonight. Over the last five hours, I've shot close to .4g heroin (I'm only a chipper [famous last words, I know] so my tolerance is lower than the dose implies, but this BTH is low-quality and heavily cut--as well as also micron-filtered, meticulously sterilized, and cheap af). Started with my usual .1 shot and have been impulsively redosing about every 45 minutes since, just enough to chase the rush while getting exponentially more fucked up. After the second I was too cozy in my bed to get fresh needles, so I started reusing my pins (which I
never do). Another one, and I was too high to shoot straight; I said 'fuck it' and kept digging for veins in both arms, leaving fresh lines of holes over my already-egregious track marks. I found veins and promptly lost them, registering until my rig was dark with blood, which started to clot and freeze up the plunger. I was glued to the bed, too entranced to grab more alcohol pads or even wash my hands; I nodded hard almost as soon as I pulled out the needle, sometimes with the tourniquet still tight around my arm, all polysporin-and-bandage aftercare forgotten.
It's been an hour and a half since I started writing this--even with one eye closed the letters on the keyboard are swimming out of focus; I keep nodding off midsentence and forgetting what I wanted to say; and my hands are busy fighting the glorious, elusive itch like some game of Opioid Whack-a-Mole. Sixish shots in and though I'm already fixin' for my next, my responsible-adult voice tells me it's three-thirty a.m. and I have class and work and chores and emails and CSS and fucking Esri ArcGIS software to deal with tomorrow. So I think I'ma venture into the frigid, silent night for a cig, then have one last shot (ketamine from a badass pharmaceutical vial, 'cause dissociatives synergize so nicely with opiates, and 'cause I'm again craving that sharp pin and flash of crimson in the rig something fierce) and, once I return from K-land, I'll pop my nightly Seroquel prescription and effortlessly pass the fuck out (because even after almost half a gram of heroin, I'm still wired from the amphetamine binge 12 hours ago, putting me in this paradoxical state of constant nodding while unable to actually fall asleep). I mean, look at all this shit I just wrote. I sound just as tweaked out as I do doped up
Tomorrow's forecast? Fingers crossed:
METH, finally.
TL;DR: Six shots of heroin + residual IV'd amphetamine from early afternoon = a night of sweetest nodding and the verbose, rambling story of its happenings. Tempted to bang some ket too before I crash, because why the hell not?