ForEverAfter
Ex-Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jan 16, 2012
- Messages
- 2,836
NO Junk Mail - 22nd of April, 2014
(cannabis, smoked & psychedelic mushrooms)
I haven't injected drugs for a long time. Or, what seems like a long time to me. 3 months, maybe. I'm not counting the days, like a kid during reverse-Christmas. Fuck that.
Haven't had a drink for a while, either. Maybe 2 months. I get stoned every day, so my perception of time isn't great. Anyway, I started taking this anti-alcohol drug in rehab. Can't remember what it's called. But, it did the trick. As long as I took one every day, I couldn't drink. And if I did, I'd only experience the downsides. No euphoria. Just the sickness.
I stopped taking it after a while, once I'd retrained myself out of my old habits. Now, I have very little desire to drink. I can last out the year, easy. Alcohol is not something I miss.
Meth is a different story. I haven't had any since before rehab and I'm not going to, but there are demons in my head fucking with me. I have dreams about using that become nightmares when I wake up sober. I love methamphetamines more than any chemical drug. More than heroin. More than ecstasy. More than LSD. I can do without the rest of the junk, no worries. But, meth. It's still got me by the balls, sub-consciously. Although the dreams are decreasing in frequency, I entertain the delusion that it's possible for me to be a functional meth-addict. I'm not sure if this will ever go away. This isn't a chemical addiction. I can't shake it.
I'm off junk, regardless.
Went shroom hunting today, up north. I was only intending to do an initial scout for the upcoming season. Check for buttons and what not. Surprisingly, I found a whole bunch of old mushrooms. At least five days, since reaching adulthood. Some of them were bordering on decay, but that's never bothered me in the past. I have developed a strong stomach for breaking down questionable organic matter over the past ten plus years.
I popped one into my mouth, while my girlfriend wasn't watching. Otherwise she wouldn't have let me continue driving. Told her that I'd done it much later, after establishing my competency behind the wheel.
When I got home I sorted through the yield, disposing of rotten liquified segments, and put them onto the top layer of my evaporator. Twenty or so horribly mangled fungal specimens.
I've been scouting local areas for the past ten days, leading up to the pre-season. Found a single adult mushroom that had released it's spores two days ago. Ate it without hesitation. Felt the happiest and least-anxious I can remember feeling for what seems like eternity. I've been looking forward to having a decent trip since rehab. Relying on it, actually, to head off the gremlin perched on my back. I keep reminding myself that there was a time before the chemical age, when natural drugs were my predominant intoxicants: a happy time; unlike the hell that meth turned into. And, I caught a glimpse of it two days ago.
My girlfriend mispronounced a word and I laughed hysterically until tears poured out of my eyes. I couldn't stop. I felt extreme joy, to the level of embarassment.
It felt stupid to be so deliriously uninhibited.
It felt stupid, I guess, to be so happy for no reason.
There is no real happiness with meth. Just soleless passion. Just momentum.
Anyway, when I got home I ate another two mushooms and had a bath. My girlfriend departed for work around 4:15. The cats started fighting, thinking they were in an empty house. So I called out, reminding them to behave. Got out of the bath. Shrooms kicking in. Masturbated. Regretted masturbating. Masturbated again.
I haven't been writing for a long time. Finishing my long series of trip reports, collectively called Junk Mail, became an increasingly overwhelming consideration as time passed. Particularly since I didn't have meth to motivate me.
I intend to finish it at some point.
But, for closure's sake, I'm going to back-seat it and reboot.
It's 5:45 now and I'm well into a pleasant mild trip. I've smoked about half a gram of weed in the past four hours. The heater is blaring at 30 degrees, celsius. I'm wearing a dressing gown. I'm trading stock on the internet. Hallucinating more than my HPPD patterns and tracers. But nothing particularly significant.
Spatial distortions.
Increased depth perception.
Psychedelic wallpaper.
And the inanimate breathing effect.
The trip is a perfect entry-level experience leading into the new season. Not strong enough to freak me out, but strong enough to confront me psychologically. Like a good therapist, rather than a man with a blunt instrument. I feel totally safe within the walls of this trip. The things that scare me in my sober life, can be examined here. I can be honest with myself here. I can evolve. I can change. I feel extremely positive about the future.
I have never been in a better place. Psychologically, sexually or spiritually.
As far as finances go, I've started investing and trading online. I've been obssessively analyzing a couple of niche markets and maintaing a steady profit. It's hard work right now, but it will pay off in the end. My girlfriend and my parents support me endlessly.
I want to get married. And have kids. Buy a house. The whole deal.
Life is good.
For the first time, my future is a place I want to be.
I got accepted into a Masters double-degree at a good university. Enrolled late, so I had to catch up. I tried, but it was too much. Coming straight out of rehab into an intense full-time course. With classes, an hour drive into the city, starting at 8:00 in the morning.
I didn't want to let down my family or my girlfriend, who I consider family. So I tried to do something I wasn't ready for. And it was too much for me. So I deferred, finding myself idle and unemployed. Hence the trading. Turns out I'm a mathematical genius.
Next year, I will return to my studies. Stable and sober.
The brighter my future, the less likely I am to use.
Now I have so much to lose, I can't risk it.
People say meth destroys lives.
Well, I'm taking mine back.
In the name of Christ.
And all that is Holy.
Amen.
(cannabis, smoked & psychedelic mushrooms)
I haven't injected drugs for a long time. Or, what seems like a long time to me. 3 months, maybe. I'm not counting the days, like a kid during reverse-Christmas. Fuck that.
Haven't had a drink for a while, either. Maybe 2 months. I get stoned every day, so my perception of time isn't great. Anyway, I started taking this anti-alcohol drug in rehab. Can't remember what it's called. But, it did the trick. As long as I took one every day, I couldn't drink. And if I did, I'd only experience the downsides. No euphoria. Just the sickness.
I stopped taking it after a while, once I'd retrained myself out of my old habits. Now, I have very little desire to drink. I can last out the year, easy. Alcohol is not something I miss.
Meth is a different story. I haven't had any since before rehab and I'm not going to, but there are demons in my head fucking with me. I have dreams about using that become nightmares when I wake up sober. I love methamphetamines more than any chemical drug. More than heroin. More than ecstasy. More than LSD. I can do without the rest of the junk, no worries. But, meth. It's still got me by the balls, sub-consciously. Although the dreams are decreasing in frequency, I entertain the delusion that it's possible for me to be a functional meth-addict. I'm not sure if this will ever go away. This isn't a chemical addiction. I can't shake it.
I'm off junk, regardless.
Went shroom hunting today, up north. I was only intending to do an initial scout for the upcoming season. Check for buttons and what not. Surprisingly, I found a whole bunch of old mushrooms. At least five days, since reaching adulthood. Some of them were bordering on decay, but that's never bothered me in the past. I have developed a strong stomach for breaking down questionable organic matter over the past ten plus years.
I popped one into my mouth, while my girlfriend wasn't watching. Otherwise she wouldn't have let me continue driving. Told her that I'd done it much later, after establishing my competency behind the wheel.
When I got home I sorted through the yield, disposing of rotten liquified segments, and put them onto the top layer of my evaporator. Twenty or so horribly mangled fungal specimens.
I've been scouting local areas for the past ten days, leading up to the pre-season. Found a single adult mushroom that had released it's spores two days ago. Ate it without hesitation. Felt the happiest and least-anxious I can remember feeling for what seems like eternity. I've been looking forward to having a decent trip since rehab. Relying on it, actually, to head off the gremlin perched on my back. I keep reminding myself that there was a time before the chemical age, when natural drugs were my predominant intoxicants: a happy time; unlike the hell that meth turned into. And, I caught a glimpse of it two days ago.
My girlfriend mispronounced a word and I laughed hysterically until tears poured out of my eyes. I couldn't stop. I felt extreme joy, to the level of embarassment.
It felt stupid to be so deliriously uninhibited.
It felt stupid, I guess, to be so happy for no reason.
There is no real happiness with meth. Just soleless passion. Just momentum.
Anyway, when I got home I ate another two mushooms and had a bath. My girlfriend departed for work around 4:15. The cats started fighting, thinking they were in an empty house. So I called out, reminding them to behave. Got out of the bath. Shrooms kicking in. Masturbated. Regretted masturbating. Masturbated again.
I haven't been writing for a long time. Finishing my long series of trip reports, collectively called Junk Mail, became an increasingly overwhelming consideration as time passed. Particularly since I didn't have meth to motivate me.
I intend to finish it at some point.
But, for closure's sake, I'm going to back-seat it and reboot.
It's 5:45 now and I'm well into a pleasant mild trip. I've smoked about half a gram of weed in the past four hours. The heater is blaring at 30 degrees, celsius. I'm wearing a dressing gown. I'm trading stock on the internet. Hallucinating more than my HPPD patterns and tracers. But nothing particularly significant.
Spatial distortions.
Increased depth perception.
Psychedelic wallpaper.
And the inanimate breathing effect.
The trip is a perfect entry-level experience leading into the new season. Not strong enough to freak me out, but strong enough to confront me psychologically. Like a good therapist, rather than a man with a blunt instrument. I feel totally safe within the walls of this trip. The things that scare me in my sober life, can be examined here. I can be honest with myself here. I can evolve. I can change. I feel extremely positive about the future.
I have never been in a better place. Psychologically, sexually or spiritually.
As far as finances go, I've started investing and trading online. I've been obssessively analyzing a couple of niche markets and maintaing a steady profit. It's hard work right now, but it will pay off in the end. My girlfriend and my parents support me endlessly.
I want to get married. And have kids. Buy a house. The whole deal.
Life is good.
For the first time, my future is a place I want to be.
I got accepted into a Masters double-degree at a good university. Enrolled late, so I had to catch up. I tried, but it was too much. Coming straight out of rehab into an intense full-time course. With classes, an hour drive into the city, starting at 8:00 in the morning.
I didn't want to let down my family or my girlfriend, who I consider family. So I tried to do something I wasn't ready for. And it was too much for me. So I deferred, finding myself idle and unemployed. Hence the trading. Turns out I'm a mathematical genius.
Next year, I will return to my studies. Stable and sober.
The brighter my future, the less likely I am to use.
Now I have so much to lose, I can't risk it.
People say meth destroys lives.
Well, I'm taking mine back.
In the name of Christ.
And all that is Holy.
Amen.
