Blogs

...

i turned 27 yesterday... May 11th. it was not a good first day of this year of my life. on the 10th, i drank some spoiled soy silk fruit beverage. i had a progressively worsening stomach ache the rest of the nite. i finally passed out after taking a total of 8 off-brand stomach relief chewable tablets. i felt like someone had stuck a knife in my stomach...

passing out was not good though... my new girlfriend had slipped into my parents' house and down into my room. she had DUI school at 8. i fell asleep in the other room. she failed to hear her alarm. she missed DUI school. i got caught for having her spend the nite.

life has been a struggle lately.

i'm too distracted to dwell on the details.

my weight is down to 150 pounds with clothes on and stuff in my pockets (no shoes though). i'm 6'2" (really like 2.5"). this is not healthy.

I have had Asthma since I was an infant, but its really been in the last six/seven years when I began to once again suffer life-threatening flare up's/Attacks. Luckily this time around things aren't as serious as they have been, but it has not been a pleasant 72+ hours, that is fo' sho'.

My first symptoms started on Sunday morning, and I'm fairly certain in regards to the culprit-the trigger, if you will, of my current ailments.. It's either Dust, or its...

On Saturday Night I went out to pick up a few bags of the usual dope I get for my girlfriend and myself-its a double sealed, stampless bag, which I've been getting for the last few months. Though the quality rises and drops a little here and there, its always basically the same product, and the same cut-which is important for my own peace of mind. However, on this particular night, my dealer did not have his usual bags, but rather the same shitty product he had been pushing for a few weeks earlier this summer. I wasn't pleased but I got it anyway, and walked briskly back to our appartment. We pulled out the works and shot each other up in the bathroom.

The next morning I woke up with a wheeze. While this is not unusual (our mattress is located right next to the windows-which were open, as well as the ventilator), the annoying whistling sound that becomes so fucking intolerable would not be pacified by the administration of my Symbicort pump (Budesonide/Formoterol) nor my Ventolin pump (Albuterol Sulfate). Over the course of the day, things got increasingly worse, to the point where a mere 10 foot walk to the bathroom would leave me doubled over clutching my chest. By Monday, I made up my mind to go to the hospital with the assistance of my girlfriend. By that point I was not in such bad shape, meaning, I could still breath in enough oxygen to feel moderately comfortable enough. However, I start getting phone calls from my mom and my methadone counselor who informed me that there was p no way he could let anyone, even a family member pick up my dose for that day, and that I also couldn't be guest medicated at a nearer clinic. That combined with my mothers usual neurosis sent me spiraling into a terrifying panic attack. I sat at the corner of the bed, tears streaming out from my eyes, pulling off my shirt as I was begining to sweat profusely. My girlfriend, having never seen anyone in the midst of an acute asthma attack started to panic, and asked 'What can I do!?'. We had one bag left of (the normal, "good") dope, and I knew that it would take too long for clonazepam to chill me out, so I yelled 'Fix me a Shot!!'

I know that for those reading this, the thought "Wow, real fucking SMART" might cross your mind, and I get it, I really do. BUT, if you have ever experienced an Asthma Attack before, than you know it is an incredibly terrifying experience, similar to having a heart attack while drowning. I manage to hurl my body into the bathroom as my poor girlfriend prepared the shot as quickly as possible, all the while feeling hotter, sicker, and dizzier. My breaths were no longer breaths but gasps. I didn't give a fuck whether or not the dope was good or bad in the long run. All I knew was that at that very moment it would allow me to calm down enough so that I could make it downstairs to get into the cab, which would take us to the hospital. My girlfriend helped me apply the tourniquet (my flannel sleeve-I have never used 'ties' until this year, now that I only have a few veins left, all of which are rather hard to hit. For those of you who are fortunate enough to still be able to rotate on your forearms, please do NOT use a tourniquet. You will thank me in the end.), and I pierced the vein quickly, drew back that crimson flower and sent the heroin flying through my veins, into my heart and then up into my brain. Within seconds my convulsing figure sort of slumped against the wall and then crumpled completely in reliefe...I could breath again.

Anyhow, the Emergency Room really didn't do much for me that I hadn't already been doing myself, except that they prescribed me more prednisone, which I was running out of. I was also a bit pissed off because initially when I told them that I was on methadone and had not been able to make it to my clinic that day, my assigned doctor refused to medicated me. However, upon leaving, and discharging me, I got up to get my coat (I had been reclining on a hospital bed), and I began to shake like crazy, and immediately began letting out violent, dry coughs. My girlfriend caught on to me as it looked as though I may have fallen, and a group of nurses, all of who'm were very sweet ushered me to get back into the bed. The head nurse asked if I was experiencing any withdrawal symptoms (which I was just begining to at that time, you know, that gritty, sweaty feeling on your skin, especially behind your knees and calfs..).

'Yes', I said.

'Well, you wait here. The problem is that your body's used to getting a consistent dose of methadone every day. If you don't get that, it's going to make it much harder to have the strength to cough up all that mucous that's stuck inside your airways'

She then found another doctor who seemed to agree with this idea, and tried to call up my clinic to confirm my dose. Of course by this time it was well past 5 PM, and the clinic closed at 3pm, which was brilliant, so the best the doctor could do was give me a useless 20mg dosage. It's really true, when your on methadone, especially under a blocking dose like I am, every fucking milligram counts. If I use methadone rectally or intravenously (WITH[ a Micron Filter of course..), than I can get the same effects and shave off 5-10mg (with IV, I can even feel pretty nice off of 30mg). However, when it comes to oral administration, unless you are given within 5mg of your usual dose (and once again, this applies primarily to those of us who are on lower dosages), you most certainly feel that deficit.

Anyway, the next morning my mother offered to rent a Zip Car and drive my girl friend and I into the city so that I could finally get my methadone, the FULL dose. I made it with only fifteen minutes to spare, and of course, before the nurses could medicate me, they made me go through some physical examination first, which resulted in me losing my spot in line. Eventually they gave me the green light to get my 'done, so I walked back to the line, or rather, I leaned against the wall to support my weight, and tried to push myself in the general direction of the medication hall, once again, clutching my heart, and wheezing so hard it sounded as though I was whistling some really shitty drone metal song. There was one mother fucker left on line, I NEVER, EVER, ask to go ahead of anyone on line, and in fact, I often offer others who look in bad shape to go ahead of me. However, on this day, I felt like it wasn't so much to ask if I could go get medicated first (after all, I had been on line way earlier, and I was the staff who had taken me out to examine me).

So I went up to this "Gentleman", who looked to be around 49 years old and in good shape, and asked "Excuse me sir....(WHEEEZ-cough-huuuuu)...would it be.. Possible..lf you..could let..me... Go ahead of you...? They took..l me off...of line because....I am having an asthma attack....and I am really, sick...I normally would...not.. Ask.."

And do you know what this stupid, worthless, SELF-CENTERED JUNKY MOTHER FUCKER SAID!??

"Sorry man, but no. I missed my dose yesterday, I'm feeling pretty nasty".

He then feigned a tummy ache by rubbing his belly and whining in pain.

"Whatever", I said, "I missed yesterday too."

****​

Well, it's now Wednesday Evening and I'm back at my appartment. My girlfriend is making some Cups of Noodles, and were going to try and find an entertaining film to watch on Netflix. We've been pretty much stuck to indoor activities due to my asthma, the two times we did go out and walk three blocks to cop really fucking did me in, though I'm pleased to say I am getting a bit of my endurance back.

Through all of this my girlfriend has been with me all the way, even practically carrying me at some points. I am so lucky to have such a wonderfully bright, funny and beautiful young woman for a mate. She's taken such fucking good care of me, and just fills me with this warmth inside that I thought another person was incable of giving me prior to meeting her. However, she's consistently broken down my nihilistic and jaded world view, and I am honestly just so greatful to have her in my life (I'm also greatful to YOU Bluelight, specifically to the bluelight blogs, as that is where babettehaze and I first started talking-and I first thought she was a boy lol).

After serving nearly 6 years of Active Duty in the IDF, I felt my military career would not be going anywhere having been detained and sentenced to military prison after attempting to smuggle hashish into Israel on a tank, an episode I may have written about in past entries. As a native Arabic speaker with an IQ of 147 I was fast tracked as a junior officer in AMAN, military intelligence.

I had begun my career as a Kravi, a combat soldier in a paratrooper battalion (50th Bn, NACHAL Brigade) but I was deemed too intelligent to serve as mere cannon fodder. Lucky me. Before induction they test us with a 4 part psych test (females only have 3 parts), one part being your IQ. The highest score you can get is a 90 which correlates to an IQ of 135. If you score a 90 you are later tested to find out exactly what your IQ is. I had a bit more thn 4 years as a Kravi, then was attached to Central District in Occupied Southern Lebanon as a liason with the SLA.

The SLA, Southern Lebanon Army, was our Lebanese puppet, commanded by Lebanese Maronite Christians but consisting of both Maronites and Shi'a Musllims (Shite) in the rank and file. The SLA had a prison, Khi'am Detention and Interrogation Centre, where Arab terrorists were handled and my assignment was to supervise the SLA interrogators and make sure they didn't go overboard when torturing.

I was still only a Command Sergeant, equivalent to perhaps a Lieutenant in the US Military vis a vis responsibilities while still being an NCO rank in the IDF. To be deployed in my role I was made a brevet Lieutenant which gave me the responsibilities and power of command of a junior officer without actually promoting me, as I was placed on a list fo the next Officers' Course.

Without getting into the shit I experienced at Khi'am, I was busted and after spending my few weeks in military prison was re-attached to my Kravi battalion, the 50th. I have never thought about it, but as I'm thinking now, it was during my time at Khi'am that my addiction got heavy. Heroin freebase, aka Heroin #2, was cheaper than cigarettes in Southern Lebanon at the time and my helpful mates slash subordinates in the SLA were happy to sell it, often giving it to me free as "baksheesh," which is usually translated from Arabic as "bribe" but is more akin to "gratuity." If I allowed a Shi'a soldier (only Shi'a sold drugs brecause all heroin, opium, hash and cannabis was growm in the Beka'a in Eastern Sector, near Syria and the people there were and remain almost entirely Shi'a) to have Friday- the Islamic Sabbath- off, boom, a gramme and/or a fat chunk of red hash.


After returning to Kravi I tried to smuggle hash into Israel inside the fender skirt of a Merkava II tank. To protect the treads the tank crews would bolt on armour plates that acted like skirts and parts of these skirts had internal pockets, spaces, which acted to strengthen the plate overall. Place what you want in a pocket, re-weld plating over the pocket and voila. Sadly, the IDF had gotten hip to this by 1987, the year I was caught.

By 1989 I realised that I had no future in the IDF and so I cashiered out and joined my squadmates in Thailand on walkabout. A couple of them had gone into Reserves in 1986 but others were cashiering out with me after 6 years. During our sourjourn in SE Asia the Intifadeh I, aka First Intifadeh, began in Israel. The word "Intifadeh" means "to throw off," or "castoff" in Arabic, and was used in the sense that "Palestinians" were trying to castoff the suppoded Israeli "Occupation."

I say supposed because under IHL/LOAC (Laws of Armed Conflict, a genre within International Humanitarian Law), n "Occupation" can only occur when one nation subverts the sovereignity of a second nation. The land in question has never held any other nation but Jewish States. Apart from that it has only existed as a neglected and forlorn corner of vast foreign empires.

Intifadeh I began after a Jewish man was stabbed at least 100 times while shopping in Gaza City. The next morning an Israeli lorry was backing down a narrow alley in Jabaliyah Camp in Gaza, not far from the murder scene. The lorry knicked a "Palestinian" taxi and it was off to the races.

We received our Reservist Call Up messages in Thailand, actually I and another mate were in Cambodia. We linked up with our mates in Bangkok and flew home, and instead of deploying to regular Reservist Brigades we were re-attached to the 50th Battalion and re-enlisted as Active Duty.

Fast forward to 1992 and (almost) another six years have passed. I was able to make it to Captain, and commanded a company within the 50th Battalion. An IDF company consists of 120 to 130 men including officers. After a couple of months of playing with my kids I bought a house in Bat Yam, a coastal city, and allowed my ex-wife to live there with the kids- as long as no man ever visited the house- until the kids reached 18. For myself, I moved to the US and initially lived with an aunt in the South Bronx, in New York City.

My uncle was a big coke dealer. In fact, when he was arrested and convicted he was labeled as the Cali Cartel's American manager. My uncle Harold's father (Harold Ackerman) had emigrated to Colombia during WWII, from Bessarabia where my mum was born. In the 1970s Harold and some of my other cousins emigrated to the US and settled in Dade County.

After my first month in the US, with few job prospects other than my family's businesses- which I tried to avoid because I stubbornly wanted to be a self-made man- I flew to West Palm Beach and visited various family members in the area, Palm Beach, Broward and Dade Counties. One afternoon at my Aunt Marla's condiminium in Fort Lauderdale Uncle Harold stopped by for dinnner. I had only met him twice since we were usually on different continents. I had heard a lot about him, he was supposedly doing well with his 3 dress shoppes in local malls but my younger cousins told me he was primarily making his living selling drugs.

Since coming to the US I had only been using opiates/opioids sporadically. In Florida I had an auntie who was married to a pharmacist who was part owner of his own pharmacy but I quickly used everything they had (except Paregoric, disgusting even when sick) and was trying to find a way to buy opiates/opioids in the street. This was at a point when Colombian heroin only began to find its way into the US and Southern Florida was much, much different than it is today. When Harold came over I went against my better judgement and asked him if he knew where to find heroin, after explaining how I had become addicted after being wounded twice in Lebanon.

To be continued...

Don't really see any reason not have a blog - so I thought it might be a good idea to test it out. Plus I kinda want that blog post thing below my name...tee-hee ;P

I wonder what it is about this time of year that just makes me want to tell the world to fuck off before putting a gun to my head. You'd think the imminence of summer and vacation and the sun finally coming out would make everything better but apparently not. Exams, house-hunting, job-hunting, internship-hunting and kicking my smack habit once and for all is all I've got to look forward to in these next few weeks and I just don't fucking want to deal with it. And because I'm a massive idiot and didn't plan my day right, I now find myself at the end of an oxy binge and a few months of non-stop opiate use, from codeine to heroin, with nothing for tonight. So on top of wanting to kill myself with my drugs around, I'm gonna have to deal with not having them tonight and starting withdrawals and it's just going to be hell. Am already freaking out just at the prospect and they haven't even kicked in yet.
I don't know how I'm going to get through this. Once I finish my exams and hopefully get all the other shit taken care of I'm just going to go back home and stay with my parents over the summer and get into fights with them every single night. It's not going to be any better. It never fucking is. So what's the point? I don't even know what I'm working towards or why I'm even bothering to go to uni. I don't want my life to go on like this but there's no way out. Except drugs. And now I have to stop that too. Feels so fucking unfair.

THE ADVENTURES OF MY FATHER'S WOOD
BY RLP

PART 2 (TWO)

And they all lived happily ever after.

The end.

It's been a while since I have participated much at all with this account for various reasons (mainly lots of life turmoil and an ex who still stalks this account).

However, since I have my blog set to "friends only" viewing, I feel comfortable writing about this here. Since the age of 21, I have been dx'ed at various times of having:
*Seasonal Affective Disorder
*Bipolar Disorder
*ADHD
*Situational depression
*Insomnia

Most of these dx's came from psychiatrists. While I do love my current psychiatrist dearly (he's a really chill dude who tells me he's missed me every time I come in! :D), I'm just going to say it.
PSYCHIATRY IS QUACK MEDICINE.

**If you do have a condition (such as epilepsy or narcolepsy) which can be scientifically determined via a neurologist, disregard what I am about to say.

ANYONE can read the DSM IV (the gold standard current diagnosis manual of psychiatry), and read through a list of common symptoms for recognized conditions, and basically diagnose themself. I am not saying psychiatry is invalid, nor am I saying psychiatrists are quacks. What I am saying is psychiatry is basically educated guesswork, and all the labels listed above may or may not "define" me at any given time.

Recently, I've started to believe that I DO NOT have (anything but a mild form of) ADHD; rather I personally believe I have the mildest of Asperger's. Aspergers = the highest functioning (most "normal") form of autism, and can easily be hidden or overcome. I grew up in a household with four other children, so I learned to deal with my natural "oddballness" by being funny. Thus, while I am a natural shy introvert, I generally have the reputation of being odd, but funny and smart.

(Like most other shy introverts, sometimes my knack for "observing more than speaking" has garnished me a reputation of being either dumb or snobby. I'm fine with that. People are people. We all make snap judgements, whether we like to admit it or not, and true humanity= feeling empathy for those who lack empathy for us back.)

Anyway, I don't carry around ANY of the dx's which I listed above with either pride OR shame, because they are meaningless to me. I AM ME. I am a bit weird, and I have problems, but I also have many good qualities.

For years, I shamefully carried the "mental illness" weight on my shoulders while actively living in denial. Denial breeds insecurity. Please, for all that is good in the world, DO see a doctor, if you feel there is something wrong. DO NOT, however, believe my parents' generation's belief that doctors are gods.

Ironically, recenly I found out that I have a PHYSICAL condition, albeit minor, which treating has done WONDERS for the mental, emotional, spiritual, AND physical Jenah! I am hypogycemic. In layman's terms, it is the opposite of diabetes. I MUST eat or drink something every couple of hours or I will become faint, grouchy, and, yes, mood-swingy. I DO tell employers and coworkers about this condition, because it is essential for me to be able to bring a smoothie or two into work (SO MANY THINGS can go into smoothies, and they are not messy!).

Anyway, now that I no longer live in fear of my "labels," I've truly been able to live my life to the fullest. I truly enjoy most aspects of my life and don't waste time feeling sorry for myself. While I DO have a lot going on, I always believe Gxd wouldn't have given me this life if I couldn't handle it. (Yes, that's digging into religious territory, but you could replace the word Gxd with Fate, Mother Earth, karma, etc, and the meaning remains unchanged.)

In the words of Drake,
I've "started not to give a fuck and stopped fearing the consequences."

"People who are late are often happier than those who have to wait for them."



...


I can't even make this ish up!

:D

Happy Day of The Dead my friends! one and ALL.

I was just looking through my contributions past in SLR and came across this:

I've noticed that a majority of men in our society do not like to be bested by women.

The need to be superior is deeply ingrained into our psyche from a very early age. I also suppose that there is a strong genetic disposition toward this attitude.

I think women of intellect begin to know this when their success brings them into direct contact/competition with men.


"In a man's world...simian aptitudes are rated high, and so not too many women get in. To succeed as a lawyer, for example, a woman would have to throttle two of her chief attributes: her disdain for the petty accumulations of useless knowledge, and her sharp feeling for the truth. What men in their imbecility consistently mistake for a deficiency of intelligence in women is merely an incapacity for mastering small and trivial tricks." - H. L. Mencken


"You want a wife who's intelligent, but not too intelligent." - Richard Nixon

Click to expand...

Stay strong, but not resentful or regretful ladies. Your day is already upon you.

i am really terrible when it comes to packing. i have two duffel bags laying on the floor of my room and drawers open, tho nothing has made it into either bag.

i have a lot more i want to write. but feeling a bit of writer's block at the moment.

i am packed. two giant duffel bags and one rolling suitcase. hopefully none of it is over weight. and tomorrow i am going to have a grand time unpacking and dewrinkling all my clothing. other things that i couldn't fit into my luggage have been packed away and stored in giant plastic bins. they are being stored in the closet until i either come back to get them or pay to ship them to me. lastly, i itemized the rest of the stuff in the apartment and came up with a monetary value that i want for it all.

to an extent, i am looking forward to what the future brings. on the other hand, i feel... guilty? saddened? that we both found it so easy to walk away from things. i think about how we could have worked things out. changed various things about ourselves to make our relationship work. and how we decided it was better (easier?) to go this route. but i don't know why i should care about trying to do what is normal. i keep saying we've always done things our weird way and this is no different.

My earliest memories of Brendan are of him walking up Town and Country blvd, with his hood up. I can see him laughing his obnoxious guffaws and reveling in the irritation he caused in everyone around him. Feeling so intellectually superior, so right in all his arguments. He was one of the first people who ever truly challenged me.

We wandered all over that neighborhood. I got to know about his mom, who disappeared for days, rented out her car, and pawned all of their tapes to make rent. I learned how Brendan could detect the smell of burning crack rock from two flights of stairs and three shut doors, how it used to cut him up inside.

We grew weed behind Wal-Mart. He was able to sell it and drink beers in the lifeguard stand. We asked strangers to buy us 40's of Steel Reserve. He crip-walked for the police after we got pulled over in Catonsville.

Then I remember that trailer in Edgewater. Taking out an inflatable raft on the Gunpowder in December--unable to feel our fingers carrying it back through the woods. Spending Christmas in tears with barely enough Suboxone to stay well... tossing and turning on the carpet and trying unsuccessfully to get drunk on something ice-brewed. By then we were scoring crack with his mom and her new boyfriend.

When I decided to move down to Florida I had Brendan's blessing but the real heartbreak came when he came down and then broke his arm, wound up unable to work and had to move back up north. I thought that he was doing alright but it turned out later he had been smoking weed and drinking beers.

He told me about one time, when he tried to buy booze at the U-Gas on Yamato and Federal; it was after five AM or something and they weren't supposed to sell beer to anyone. The guy behind the counter though, he showed Brendan a digital camera with pictures on it of guys bent over spreading their ass cheeks, and said "if you want beer, you know what you have to do."

Brendan is one of the most gifted people I've ever met. He could do whatever he wanted, like really. When he got up to Maryland again he wanted to keep getting drunk, keep getting sent to psych wards, and he wanted to get some girl pregnant. Which is what he did. It is gut wrenching to imagine the hole he has to climb out of: I managed to pull my life together but by comparison at this point I did a lot less damage.

So it was his birthday on the 30th. He's got himself a job now. I think he said he's been sober something like thirty days. Emily and I got him a Target gift card. He is trying to position himself to win custody of his daughter... his baby's mom moved to York, PA and Brendan cannot leave the state of Maryland. She is apparently no prize herself.

When people ask me about Brendan, I'm often surprised at how worried they are about him. I don't know why, but I don't really fear for him. I think I know for some reason that he will be okay.

There are a handful of people that I have really connected with. Brendan and I went through so so much together. He's the type of friend who you can go years without seeing--but when you're back together it's like you didn't spend any time apart. I think our souls are bonded... but I suspect he has that effect on many people who meet him.

I have so many stories about the guy... he's such a loveable nutcase. I want only the best for him and his daughter, but for some reason despite all the things I know about him, despite the depth and scope of his demons... I really think things will be alright with him. I hope so... he has so much to offer the world.

If there is a benefit in describing magnolia subjective effects(as a chronic poppy seed tea drinker) here I go:

First effect was definitely the strongest and sedative,the bark quality was very uniquely dense and beverage gray.
One major difference to benzos is I really love appetite increase this was different! Less groggy, as its said to be counterable with caffiene(not using)
I later could not sleep for the life of me! Distracted by the sound of film playing in the next room. I felt contemplative about mostly nothing except stillness, "how I imagined ketamine as a young person?" but it's very different.

I then chased this effect with a lot of more local looking magnolias, these were very shaded, red and thin bark that with the best effect of mostly a pleasant taste.

Later with Magnolia (officinalis definitely) bark pills, Petrolic in taste. The effect was noticeable, much happier in their effect than the dark sedative tea.
First it seemed uniquely quick acting in contrast to valerian, tolerance like this happens usually over a day not within a couple hours. Its obviously potent than valerian. Doses after the first seemed to only make me feel more sober but I retained a very good sense of calm.

Im going to sumarize it all up in this blog.
IF ANYONE KNOWS pharmacognostic DATA OF Central american MAGNOLIA SNUFF/SHAMANISM like in the psychedelic salon podcast -Ott: "A Drug Enhancer Called Chocolate" please pm or post here or my blog





I bought magnolia bark pills, they came as a very light while powder. At the time I was using monstrous amounts of tulsi oil,had been clean from a couple days of etizolam, and just on a daily opiate fix.
Who's to say about the effects surmounting to all of this with etizolam, but really cortisol was at the time affected by the tulsi oil.The first dose 1.4 was intoxicating... elative in a joyous sense!

Very potent compared to valerian but fleeting. It seemed as if more doses made me less intoxicated.
I dont remember craving more or less poppies, but had the night before used ~150% my dose just because of the etiz insomnia.
Doses and doses of both went by, I remember lots of very smooth somatic calm with spatiotemporal emphasis, an only worry was the nature of magnolia as an angiogenic agent, combined with the oil of tulsi as an oxidative agent in such high doses was on my mind and I perhaps was correct in my assumption of this.
I went to a crowded concert and the general effect was feeling very very warm I would expect from the tulsi, and asking a bunch of humbling dumb question, shaking alot of hands.
Later without compulsion for more opiates while in coitious I was experiencing irritation like as a cold feels, centrally in previously damaged sinus tissue area also been exposed to carcinogens etc. The next day I began my stopping of poppies, due to the nature of using etizolam and the rest, successfully switching to subutex within a few days. Magnolia never came to mind, but it maybe was the the nature of the substance.

more of a short story, moving to words

Can't figure out how to delete this. Just wanted to save a draft but then I thought everyone could see it....ahh.

I've started writing up some of my experiences with newer chems. I found it was really quite challenging for some RCs to find solid information about dosage and duration, without spending a long time picking through big and dandy threads and reading about the duration when people have redosed several times.

It can be found at the URL below, and contains information about most of the rare chems I've tried a few times.

http://novelpsychs.wordpress.com/

I woke up this morning and did a line, I said now it's time to feel so fine, and kill some time, and write a rhyme

They say I crossed the line, sleepin' and eatin' on phets, I say it's to help, but it's a lie like the rest
I'm trying to escape the pull of the hole, drinkin' and sniffin' just to find some hope in my heart
I'm desprate for progress, a small bit of change, any at all, but it seems out of my range
I just want some freedom, maybe a check and a home, but it seems all i'm in for is games
I think about quitting, and saying goodbye, but I'm afraid of that way, so instead I get high
I'm troubled and trapped, bricked up and burdened, but I've never been petty, and I've always been sly, so there's no reason to drop out and post up in the sky
I don't want pity and I don't need your understanding, but if you're going to slow me, I'll need you understanding, I won't keep you close, and i'll push you away
I've never written verses, and sure I wish I was Trae, but i'm just a kid whose lookin' for his day
------
I tried in school, but I lost my drive, I never understood why I took the dive
Now looking back I see I was foolish, stupid and young, nothing more than a doofus
I skipped studying to sneak out and smoke, see me coming home that morning, still drunk as a joke
I needed a sign, a warning to stop, but all I wanted was what the big kids got
It seemed like alot, cars, money, and whatnot
in the end I was wrong, it was trouble and strife, jail time and probation, kids with no wife
Overdose, sickness and the loss of a life, wait a sec, now I don't think that's right
I looked up to them then, and in ways I still do, but my road was mangled, without a re-do
------
When I get out of my head, the world seems big, and it never slows down
I wish I had the wisdom to live in the town
I never planned for this, and I'm aware of the risks, living a life a mere two steps from the sticks
I never thought I'd end up here, I never saw the truth, even the goodhearted and witty can get dealt a hand that's shitty
I don't know how i'll cope, maybe schooling or dope
But my life isn't mine for me to take away from the world, I suppose those close to me now are at the ones at stake
I have no right to cut a hole in their hearts, over my fucked up mistakes
I'll try I suppose, and i'll give it my best, but life's been at it longer, might even lay me to rest
------
I'm different, whatever, I'm cool, whatever
You think I have potential? That's a goddamn lie
I ride the waves as the deep sea presents them, I try to survive, and not grow to resent them

edit

My business law professor is a nice woman. She is a total cat lady, though. Which is cool--I am a cat guy.

So when I realized I had missed an assignment, I sent her an email that said "I'm sorry for missing the assignment, I don't really have a good excuse. I'm turning it in anyway, though. Attached is a picture of my rescue cat. "

She accepted the late assignment.

So my grandmother just arrived from Seattle and is staying with us for about a month. Well I'm going back to uni in a week so I won't be around for most of it but still, in the meantime I have to share my room with her and spend time with family.
I love my grandmother, she's sweet, but I'm just so not in the mood to see any of them right now. This is my first night at home in...four days. Bearing in mind I live in another country so I don't see them that often anymore. I've just been doing everything I can to get away from these people and now it's even more crowded. And she brings with her the reminder that my grandfather, the one person in my family who understood me and was proud of me, isn't with us anymore.

I don't even really know why I'm complaining about that. So many other things I feel like complaining about right now. Like the fact that my father hasn't so much as looked at me since hitting me and threatening to cut me off financially last week-end after finding me on my computer at 2 am (yes, that's the extent of it). Or the fact that I spoke to my ex last night for the first time in over six months and it's bringing lots of unwanted thoughts back into my head. Or the fact that someone I really care about seems to have disappeared and I'm really worried about him...and care about him much more than I should if I want a shot at happiness soon. Or the fact that I haven't been able to be sober for a single second in I don't know how long, and that I just know I'll go back to shooting heroin as soon as I get back to uni. Or the fact that I just don't want to be alive right now and don't see any kind of enviable future ahead of me.

I feel like going to the top of this building and just screaming my feelings about a couple people, feelings that I don't think I can share with them but that are eating me up inside. And I feel like screaming that I'm a fucking drug addict and just have people know it and accept it. But that'll never happen.

Ugh.

A continuation...

After explaining how I had become addicted to opiates/opioids and how I was looking for a way in which to find some in South Florida. Harold did not even smoke cannabis, he merely sold cocaine and despised the use of it. Naturally he wasn't enthusiastic about my request but at the same time recognised that regardless of how I had arrived at my addiction- I was an addict. Harold told me would ask around and get back to me on it.

Meanwhile, the aunt and uncle I was staying with pushed me into getting a job, and of course that WAS why I had gone to America in the first place. In my clan- Dwek- like most Sephardic and Mizrachi clans, all adult men contribute a percentage of their base earnings into a family fund. Part is used for investment, a smaller part for emergencies and the dividens on the investments are split between re-investing and paying out a stead income to fully vested clan members.

In our "Hamula," or Clan Association one cannot be fully vested until at least age 35 but it usally takes until age 40 depending on pre-mature withdrawals. At my age at the time- mid-20s- I was as broke as it gets. At the time Israel was transitioning from Socialist to Laissez Faire Capitalist Economy and inflation was in the triple digits, unemployment through the roof and there was nothing to keep one hopeful of better days. Our unit of currency, the Shekel (now New Israeli Shekel aka NIS) was worth roughly 1/8th of $1. Mexico has a stronger economy than Israel at that point in time.

Many young Israeli men were seeking their fortunes abroad, and I was simply one in a multitude of hopeful young men trying to better themselves. Since the place in which I was staying- Delray Beach- was a retirement mecca would be employers were usually thrilled when I applied. Within a couple of days of beginning my search I not only had a job, I had 3. My dayjob was as a stock clerk slash cashier at a Walgreens pharmacy on Delray Beach's Atlantic Boulevard, the town's main drag, directly across from the retirement community I was staying in.

My evening job, 25 to 30 hours a week, was with a trucking company, Watkins, as a dockworker. By hand and by forklift I loaded and unloaded lorries. On weekends I worrked at a second Walgreen's, on the other side of Delray Beach, on A1, the famed Florida hiway up the eastcoast.

At the time, Minimum Wage was $4.25. My dayjob brought me $170.00 a week. My night job at Watkins paid me $6.45 an hour and I was thrilled to get it. Usually it afforded me $200.00 (give or take an ioya of change). My weekend job, at the other Walgreens- also paying me Minimum Wage- earned me $100.00. Altogether, I was grossing about $470.00 a week and was happier than a pig in shi*. Still, sleeping on aunties pull-out sofa in the spare room, which they used as a sitting room and watched TV well into the evening, was grating on my nerves- especially when I stripped all their pharmaceuticals bare.

I was getting more and more desperate for that blissful relief that opiates/opioids offer in the early stages of that chemical romance. At my dayjob I often worked in the attached liquor store. When I saw someone who looked like he got high- on anything- I would ask him if he knew where to get some heroin. The Southern Florida of the early-1990s was radically different than it is today. If I continued with my desperate pleas I was sure to find myself in a reverse sting.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I spent $1,300 and change for a round trip Fort Lauderdale to Newark (New Jersey) flight. This was long before the $69 fares- obviously. I would leave at dinnertime on a Friday, arrive in Newark close to 10PM, and kill time at the airport until 5AM. At that point I would take an express bus to New York Port Authority on Manhattan's 42nd Street. Upon arrival there I would go underground and into the subway. Taking the #7 crosstown to Lexington Avenue at Grand Central Station I would hop on a #4 or #5 train. Getting off at 86th St I would walk across the platform and transfer to the local train, the #6. At the 4th stop, E116th Street, I would get off and voila, I was in "El Barrio," East Harlem. Walking west to 3rd Avenue, I would turn left and walk uptown 1 block to the McDonalds on the corner of E.117th Street. I would wait inside the restuarant until about 10AMand then walk 1 block east on E.117th Street and I would drop $900 to $1,800.00 on 1 or 2 "bricks" of "Unknown" brand heroin.

A New York City "brick" consistd of 10 "bundles," a New York City "bundle" being 10 glassine envelopes of Heroin, roughly 100mg within each. Ergo, a "bundle" is supposed to equal 1 gramme and a "brick" equals 10 grammes, aka a "finger." If one simply goes across the Hudson River and buys heroin they will find that a New Jersey "brick" is only 5 bundles, though a "bundle" is still 1 gramme.

To be continued...

Okay, so update on the DEA… Since Rx drug abuse has started to effect rich, white kids, it’s a problem. To “stop” this problem, the Drug Enforcement Administration (a bureaucratic organization that employs mostly ex-military or ex-law enforcement personnel… not doctors) has set production limits on the manufacturers of Controlled Substances.

Let’s take Oxymorphone Hydrochloride (what i take... 15mg of the instant-release formulation a day) made by Roxanne Pharma as an example (besides my dose, these numbers are invented for the sake of the example). The DEA tells Roxanne that they can only make 500 kilograms of Oxymorphone HCl a year, which is 500,000,000 milligrams. i take 15 milligrams a day. So, that comes out to 5,475 mg a year. This means that nation-wide, only 91,324.20 people can take Oxymorphone HCl at the dose I take. The thing is, i was about to get my dose bumped another 5mg a day… So, i would need 7,300mg a year. 68,493.15 people could take that dose every day. Currently, ONLY Roxanne Pharma makes Oxymorphone HCl IR; despite it being a generic drug that any company could make. Endo Pharma, who held the patent on the drug originally (its brand name is Opana), has had the IR formulation on back-order for a year now. With the limits imposed on manufacturers, the wholesale companies are only releasing so much of the drug to pharmacies. Yesterday, when I got my prescription for 45 10mg Oxymorphone pills, the pharmacy only had 15 (and this is a mom&pop pharmacy i use due to their low prices and the fact they stock hard to find pills). i was told i could turn my script in and get the 15, but i would lose the other 30. luckily, the pharmacy and my pain clinic are in the same building… i raced downstairs and had the prescription split into two scripts, one for 15 pills and one for 30 pills. the other problem caused by the DEA’s actions is this… we live in a capitalist nation. supply&demand dictate prices. the artificial shortage created by the DEA means my prescription has gone from costing $210 to $270 a month. and the DEA wonders why diversion (the selling of Rx medication on the black-market) is such a problem? ONE of my 10mg pills could be sold for $40. if it weren’t for the fact i need them, it would be a temptation.

This action by the DEA does NOTHING to stop the diversion of Rx drugs. Drug manufacturers, drug wholesale companies, and pharmacies have no control over who gets Rx medication and what they do with it. A pharmacist just does what a doctor has told him/her to do; dispense X amount of drug Y to patient Z. Doctors are the ones that have the most control over stopping “Doctor Shoppers” or people who are “Scripting” out of anyone… and even they don’t have much of an ability to stop diversion. They are having to under-medicate a countless number of people with chronic pain issues as they live in constant fear of a visit from the DEA. I joked with my nurse practitioner yesterday that when my mom had to bring me her credit card (my insurance got declined), she looked/acted like she was bringing me cash at a crack house. The NP laughed, and said that when she tells people what she does for a living, some look at her like she has said she’s a prostitute or some other line of illegitimate, dirty work.

The pharmacy would not let me drop off the prescription for the other 30 pills… I had to bring it home. Now, I’ll have to call every morning at 9AM and hope the pharmacy has gotten some pills in. Then, my mother will have to take off work to go fill the prescription.

You know what happened when Purdue Pharma made the new, abuse-proof Oxycontin (which were still completely abusable)? The United States saw a drastic spike in Heroin use. This Heroin came, for the most part, from Mexican Cartels. You cannot STOP people from using drugs… and as long as there is a demand, there will be a supply. The War on Drugs is an extremely messy civil and international war. How many more lives will be lost and/or ruined by it before our country remembers Alcohol Prohibition and how repealing it did not cause the country to implode… it actually took money from violent gangsters and put it into the hands of tax-paying businessmen (who are now responsible for a majority of the lobbyists who oppose the decriminalization of drugs. if you’re doing drugs, you can’t buy as much booze. <eye-roll>).

We don’t live in a nation of liberty and justice… You’re higher than me if you think we do.

What do you think the solution to America’s “Rx Drug Problem” is? Is it even a problem? If you could walk into a store and buy drugs like you buy cigarettes, beer, wine, and/or liquor… Would you? Do you believe that harm-prevention (educating people so that they know the REAL risks of drug use and if they use drugs, they use them as safely as possible) or complete abstinence should be taught in school (the drugs caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol being included)?

Saturday April 27th, 2013
React Wisconsin & Brew City Bass Present…

The Irreverence LP Tour
Introducing "The Crown" Stage Production

:: DIRTYPHONICS ::
[https://www.facebook.com/dirtyphonics]

:: LE CASTLE VANIA ::
[https://www.facebook.com/LeCastleVania]

:: ETC!ETC! ::
[https://www.facebook.com/DJETCETC]

:: DELETAH ::
[https://www.facebook.com/Deletah]

===============================
TICKETS >>>>>>>>>http://bit.ly/14AoxNm
===============================

The Miramar Theater
2844 N Oakland
Milwaukee Wi
8:30 pm Doors / ALL AGES
773.598.0852 for info

Follow me for info and contests ::
www.facebook.com/reactwisconsin
www.facebook.com/BrewCityBass
www.twitter.com/reactwisconsin
www.reactpresents.com

edit

the devil does what you ask of him.