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I was very suprised to see the site's co-owners announce a forthcoming sub-forum dedicated to rehab and sober living. One would probably think that it is a natural evolution and that it makes perfect sense. I beg to differ. Harm Reduction is the antithesis of the "Sober Living" mentality. I admit that I have no subjective experience with that whole mindset and way of life. Still, I have come close to it.
When I was released from prison I attended NA Meetings to assure my family members that I was not going to go apeshit. As those who have read my blog at length know, I became an addict as a result of medically prescribed opiates/opioids. Moreover, I was compelled to begin Opioid Substitution Therapy/Methadone Maintenence Treatment at a very young age. I became addicted at the age of 17, to morphine, and by 20 I was on Maintenence.
There have been points at which I also consumed illict substances, especially heroin, but for the most part it has been smoothe sailing as far as my addiction goes. Ironically, my experience with the American Justice System had to do with a relative's cocaine business and not my own usage.
I say all this as a means of full disclosure so that noone should think my views on rehab and "Sober Living" have anything to do with some personally traumatic experience.
I find that the whole "Sober Living" hyperbole is a crock of shit. I think that people- obviously- are not carbon copies of one another and that as such, it is impossible to implement a "one size fits all" method of dealing with addiction. The problem with "Sober Living" is that its proponents swear it is a cure all. It has a dismal success rate and comes all too close to a cult of personality revolving around whichever big kahuna is running the house.
Aaaah, "running the house," therein lies the largest problem; "Sober Living" is a huge moneymaker in what has become a huge boom industry. I resent bloodsuckers who profit off of the misery of others. If your life's work revolves around my life imploding I am not going to cotton to a fucken thing you have to say.
I realise that there is a significant segment of the population who sees nothing at all wrong with paying $300.00 an hour to sit in a plush chair and talk about bullshit for 45 minutes with a Psychoanalyst. Buying friendship has always struck me as a waste of time, energy and money. Yet others do not see it that way. For such people "Sober Living" might be just what the doctor ordered. Pay $5,000 a week to have someone stare at your pupils and interrogate you if you dare to return "home" at 8:07 PM instead of your 8PM curfew. No thanks.
Still, as long as such people do not try and impress their preferences upon me it is all good. Returning to Bluelight's decision...People that are gung ho for recovery cannot stomach alternative viewpoints on the subject of intelligent use of psychoactives, or ANY use of them. There are umpteenth sites in cyberspace catering to the quasi-Fascist tendencies of the whole "Sober Living" crowd. There are only a handful of sites however, that cater to intelligent consumers. In fact, most sites only focus on the using aspect, and not Harm Reduction at all. Bluelight is a one of a kind.
I think that the sub-forum we have already, devoted to healthy lifestyles, should suffice in that regard. Adding an entire sub-forum will attract a different type of member. I guess it sounds elitist but I just don't see the point and can only visualise negative results. Such people are already served.
When I was released from prison I attended NA Meetings to assure my family members that I was not going to go apeshit. As those who have read my blog at length know, I became an addict as a result of medically prescribed opiates/opioids. Moreover, I was compelled to begin Opioid Substitution Therapy/Methadone Maintenence Treatment at a very young age. I became addicted at the age of 17, to morphine, and by 20 I was on Maintenence.
There have been points at which I also consumed illict substances, especially heroin, but for the most part it has been smoothe sailing as far as my addiction goes. Ironically, my experience with the American Justice System had to do with a relative's cocaine business and not my own usage.
I say all this as a means of full disclosure so that noone should think my views on rehab and "Sober Living" have anything to do with some personally traumatic experience.
I find that the whole "Sober Living" hyperbole is a crock of shit. I think that people- obviously- are not carbon copies of one another and that as such, it is impossible to implement a "one size fits all" method of dealing with addiction. The problem with "Sober Living" is that its proponents swear it is a cure all. It has a dismal success rate and comes all too close to a cult of personality revolving around whichever big kahuna is running the house.
Aaaah, "running the house," therein lies the largest problem; "Sober Living" is a huge moneymaker in what has become a huge boom industry. I resent bloodsuckers who profit off of the misery of others. If your life's work revolves around my life imploding I am not going to cotton to a fucken thing you have to say.
I realise that there is a significant segment of the population who sees nothing at all wrong with paying $300.00 an hour to sit in a plush chair and talk about bullshit for 45 minutes with a Psychoanalyst. Buying friendship has always struck me as a waste of time, energy and money. Yet others do not see it that way. For such people "Sober Living" might be just what the doctor ordered. Pay $5,000 a week to have someone stare at your pupils and interrogate you if you dare to return "home" at 8:07 PM instead of your 8PM curfew. No thanks.
Still, as long as such people do not try and impress their preferences upon me it is all good. Returning to Bluelight's decision...People that are gung ho for recovery cannot stomach alternative viewpoints on the subject of intelligent use of psychoactives, or ANY use of them. There are umpteenth sites in cyberspace catering to the quasi-Fascist tendencies of the whole "Sober Living" crowd. There are only a handful of sites however, that cater to intelligent consumers. In fact, most sites only focus on the using aspect, and not Harm Reduction at all. Bluelight is a one of a kind.
I think that the sub-forum we have already, devoted to healthy lifestyles, should suffice in that regard. Adding an entire sub-forum will attract a different type of member. I guess it sounds elitist but I just don't see the point and can only visualise negative results. Such people are already served.
So I'm about to write some really deep insightful blog post when my new neighbor decides it's time to rearrange all the shit he's got disbursed around his back porch.
It's after midnight and raining out.
Fucking guy. So inconsiderate.
Of course, I'm no model of upright citizenry either. I have pissed off my share of neighbors. I remember a girl I used to shoot heroin with once threw up over a balcony railing onto a patio table below... that people were getting ready to have dinner on.
We ended up getting friendly with those neighbors though, copping quite a bit of crack with them over a year or so. Once they revived me from an overdose by pulling me onto my feet and pounding on my chest. I don't even remember the guy's name... his girlfriend's name was Cheryl, which we thought was humorous because back then that's what they called the powder cocaine on the street in Baltimore. Cheryl.
Sigh.
Now I have my ducks all in a row and there will be no crack smoking with the nuts in the apartment below. Instead I will fear the confrontation they are pushing me into. I'll obsess over it until it happens and then I'll cringe with the awkward reality that is upsetting someone who doesn't give a fuck how uneasy I feel.
That's how my mind works without the solutions I need. And I'm not getting enough of any solution in my life right now. My actions are driving a wedge between me and God, and it's retarded. I fucking know better. What is wrong with me? Ha! I know what's wrong with me.
How much of your use is purely mechanical?
Rat/switch/reward/repeat?
How many of your substance excursions have resulted in life-changing events?
And how many of those big changes were for the better?
That’s a lot of questions for a blog which is supposed to be about me. They aren’t entirely rhetorical questions either. I’m not suggesting that you message me with drug-soaked ramblings or philosophising.
In fact, please don’t message me. I feel obliged to answer every message I get, and to do so with some substance (that is a play on words, I am not dealing – never have, never will) so I find texting and messaging kind of exhausting. Hence, I am not on Facebook and if I have any say in the matter, never will be. Way too much information out there. Makes me dizzy.
So then, what’s the point of this blog?
Good question. (Great, now I’m having a dialogue with myself... )
There is no shortage of text out there on the net, or in the big wide world at large – in fact, there’s more than any individual could possibly consume in a lifetime, or even multiple lifetimes. In fact, there’s more than anyone would really want to ‘consume’. If you tried, you would be very sick indeed.
Because...
There’s a lot of shit out there.
Yes, I know that is a rude and judgemental thing to say. And I know that I am now adding to the pile with this here blog thing.
But...
I may have something worth saying. Maybe. Time will tell.
There may be a big gap between entries in this here blog thing, and there’s a very real possibility that no one will ever read it, and that I will forget about it, like so many other projects that I’ve started and not finished.
So why do it?
(again with the self dialogue... I really should see someone – possibly a psychologist!)
Good question
(shut up already!!)
Well...
If I may borrow an analogy which has been used at least once before by at least one very wise person
(and if I may not borrow it, then I will steal it – for a good cause!)
Birds sing. I write.
That’s a very truncated version of the ... thing. Hopefully it makes some kind of sense.
Bye for now!
(Who am I talking to...?)
Rat/switch/reward/repeat?
How many of your substance excursions have resulted in life-changing events?
And how many of those big changes were for the better?
That’s a lot of questions for a blog which is supposed to be about me. They aren’t entirely rhetorical questions either. I’m not suggesting that you message me with drug-soaked ramblings or philosophising.
In fact, please don’t message me. I feel obliged to answer every message I get, and to do so with some substance (that is a play on words, I am not dealing – never have, never will) so I find texting and messaging kind of exhausting. Hence, I am not on Facebook and if I have any say in the matter, never will be. Way too much information out there. Makes me dizzy.
So then, what’s the point of this blog?
Good question. (Great, now I’m having a dialogue with myself... )
There is no shortage of text out there on the net, or in the big wide world at large – in fact, there’s more than any individual could possibly consume in a lifetime, or even multiple lifetimes. In fact, there’s more than anyone would really want to ‘consume’. If you tried, you would be very sick indeed.
Because...
There’s a lot of shit out there.
Yes, I know that is a rude and judgemental thing to say. And I know that I am now adding to the pile with this here blog thing.
But...
I may have something worth saying. Maybe. Time will tell.
There may be a big gap between entries in this here blog thing, and there’s a very real possibility that no one will ever read it, and that I will forget about it, like so many other projects that I’ve started and not finished.
So why do it?
(again with the self dialogue... I really should see someone – possibly a psychologist!)
Good question
(shut up already!!)
Well...
If I may borrow an analogy which has been used at least once before by at least one very wise person
(and if I may not borrow it, then I will steal it – for a good cause!)
Birds sing. I write.
That’s a very truncated version of the ... thing. Hopefully it makes some kind of sense.
Bye for now!
(Who am I talking to...?)
i am going to play this out writing and see how it goes, maybe you have a similar experience with a memory, and maybe this sort of thing could be of help.
my story bellow is one that has played through my mind many times, but i never thought about it that far.
perhaps writing similar nagging or epiphany type memories and urges out could help build a bigger picture. but while writing this here, not allowing myself to just let-it-flow out, i have forgotten another important seeming occurrence i had in mind.
~
i remember being hysterical after a nap or 9 or 10, maybe 9 but i was no less then 8 or 9, i remember in detail being kidnapped by someone in a yellow car with my sister. then waking up, and not feeling the fear of a kidnapping, but her dying in a yellow vehicle - i was crying out of control, left my bedroom and went into the living room where my mom was, asking her why, pleading for her to tell me why! why she never told me about my sister - i was so upset, and felt so betrayed, i felt covered in a led-blanket, so fuuurrriiiooous, but pouring tears and simply so obliterated by emotion i couldnt even lift my arms.
i need to bring this up to my mom again, she was trying hard to console me and was rather astounded and confused...so it seems she would recall this.
at 5-6 i was out of control in fear worried about using drugs, i have asked my parents if the remember this but they dont. i felt so assured, that if i ever did drugs or drink alcohol i was going to suffer something awful. that was a long night it seemed, a few hours of the most terrible seeming anticipation, and utter regret.
which i did feel many many times later for using, and certainly still do, but nothing like that - that was pure dread, so real as if i had agreed to do so already, and new of the consequences in a very extreme manner.
my story bellow is one that has played through my mind many times, but i never thought about it that far.
perhaps writing similar nagging or epiphany type memories and urges out could help build a bigger picture. but while writing this here, not allowing myself to just let-it-flow out, i have forgotten another important seeming occurrence i had in mind.
~
i remember being hysterical after a nap or 9 or 10, maybe 9 but i was no less then 8 or 9, i remember in detail being kidnapped by someone in a yellow car with my sister. then waking up, and not feeling the fear of a kidnapping, but her dying in a yellow vehicle - i was crying out of control, left my bedroom and went into the living room where my mom was, asking her why, pleading for her to tell me why! why she never told me about my sister - i was so upset, and felt so betrayed, i felt covered in a led-blanket, so fuuurrriiiooous, but pouring tears and simply so obliterated by emotion i couldnt even lift my arms.
i need to bring this up to my mom again, she was trying hard to console me and was rather astounded and confused...so it seems she would recall this.
at 5-6 i was out of control in fear worried about using drugs, i have asked my parents if the remember this but they dont. i felt so assured, that if i ever did drugs or drink alcohol i was going to suffer something awful. that was a long night it seemed, a few hours of the most terrible seeming anticipation, and utter regret.
which i did feel many many times later for using, and certainly still do, but nothing like that - that was pure dread, so real as if i had agreed to do so already, and new of the consequences in a very extreme manner.
Let me try and put it in a metaphorical way, say I had been visiting a coffee shop for around about 9 years and then 6 years later someone else started visiting the same coffee shop and we didn't notice each other at all, then say I was given a job at this coffee shop and then started to notice this other visitor and thought he had potential to also have a job at the coffee shop so I actively encouraged him whilst I was still a member of staff at the coffee shop and relieved him of his doubts that the coffee shop was not in his natural language and that he could speak the language of the coffee shop fine. Then lets say that as I stepped down from the coffee shop staff but continued to visit the coffee shop as it was a nice coffee shop with a good atmosphere and this other guy became a staff member of the coffee shop.
Now imagine that after a year or more of conversing with this coffee shop staff member inside and outside the coffee shop, sometimes in an internet café too and built up some form of trust in him this man invited you to his house in another part of the country that you had no real knowledge of the locations of various places, but you went there to meet up with him because after all those years in the coffee shop building up a foundation of trust you and the owners of the coffee shop obviously trusted him enough to bring him on board as staff too, you decided to go ahead and meet up with said coffee shop staff member, and then he tortured you and almost killed you and said that I had to choose between coffee or death at his hand and he scared the living daylights out of you and then he made you act as his slave and then he took you to that internet café that was mentioned earlier and forced you to perform a sexual act on him which was documented by other members of the internet café who also visit the coffee shop regularly too. Imagine going through all of that and then escaping, admittedly after being robbed of 100euros and my £200 headphones and a sweater that he didn't like the look of, but kicked out at 3am in the morning on a Friday night. I had to struggle to find my way back to the train station to take me back to my own land and then my debit card was stolen at the station too so I had to manage to get back home just with the money I had drawn out of the ATM on the way to the train station and luckily had just enough cash, bar about £1 to make it back to my home safely
Imagine going back into this coffee shop as it had become almost a second home to you after visiting it for almost 9 year and being relieved that the member of staff had been fired and starting to feel safe in the coffee shop again, but then this ex staff member who was fired for good reason decided to come back to the coffee shop too and sometimes even sit at the next table and make comments about me in my area of the coffee shop, which were later deleted from the memory of the coffee shop regulars but not the staff that were still there. Imagine how hard and angry it made me to sometimes see this ex staff member who was sacked for allegations of sexual assault on a customer of the coffee shop, imagine how angry it made him when he kept seeing this ex staff member come and sit down in the coffee shop and make comments to the other visitors of the coffee shop as though nothing had happened.
I often wonder about the moral values of the owners and senior and even the regular staff member of this coffee shop for allowing this member back through the door at all and not banning him from entering completely after what happened with me, he could sit in that coffee shop for years more to come and eventually gain the trust of someone else that also visits the coffee shop and do exactly the same thing.
I'm just asking for a bit of human respect here really and some morality on your part, I know there is the innocent until proven guilty thing but the police have been informed and will make their enquiries. It just fills me with anger and makes me sometimes want to find an alternate coffee shop to the one that I loved so much for over 8 years, almost 9 when I see this other criminal visitor ex member of staff come in and act as though nothing has happened.
Now imagine that after a year or more of conversing with this coffee shop staff member inside and outside the coffee shop, sometimes in an internet café too and built up some form of trust in him this man invited you to his house in another part of the country that you had no real knowledge of the locations of various places, but you went there to meet up with him because after all those years in the coffee shop building up a foundation of trust you and the owners of the coffee shop obviously trusted him enough to bring him on board as staff too, you decided to go ahead and meet up with said coffee shop staff member, and then he tortured you and almost killed you and said that I had to choose between coffee or death at his hand and he scared the living daylights out of you and then he made you act as his slave and then he took you to that internet café that was mentioned earlier and forced you to perform a sexual act on him which was documented by other members of the internet café who also visit the coffee shop regularly too. Imagine going through all of that and then escaping, admittedly after being robbed of 100euros and my £200 headphones and a sweater that he didn't like the look of, but kicked out at 3am in the morning on a Friday night. I had to struggle to find my way back to the train station to take me back to my own land and then my debit card was stolen at the station too so I had to manage to get back home just with the money I had drawn out of the ATM on the way to the train station and luckily had just enough cash, bar about £1 to make it back to my home safely
Imagine going back into this coffee shop as it had become almost a second home to you after visiting it for almost 9 year and being relieved that the member of staff had been fired and starting to feel safe in the coffee shop again, but then this ex staff member who was fired for good reason decided to come back to the coffee shop too and sometimes even sit at the next table and make comments about me in my area of the coffee shop, which were later deleted from the memory of the coffee shop regulars but not the staff that were still there. Imagine how hard and angry it made me to sometimes see this ex staff member who was sacked for allegations of sexual assault on a customer of the coffee shop, imagine how angry it made him when he kept seeing this ex staff member come and sit down in the coffee shop and make comments to the other visitors of the coffee shop as though nothing had happened.
I often wonder about the moral values of the owners and senior and even the regular staff member of this coffee shop for allowing this member back through the door at all and not banning him from entering completely after what happened with me, he could sit in that coffee shop for years more to come and eventually gain the trust of someone else that also visits the coffee shop and do exactly the same thing.
I'm just asking for a bit of human respect here really and some morality on your part, I know there is the innocent until proven guilty thing but the police have been informed and will make their enquiries. It just fills me with anger and makes me sometimes want to find an alternate coffee shop to the one that I loved so much for over 8 years, almost 9 when I see this other criminal visitor ex member of staff come in and act as though nothing has happened.
Late Wednesday night, or by technicality, early Valentine's Day morning, my boyfriend and I got into an argument after he had asked if I was using again. I answered honestly. I said 'yes'. His reaction was most definitely negative; both hurt and angered that I had lied to him about being clean. He said that if I truly loved him like I said I did, I wouldn't choose to lie to him OR use... He's never been addicted to a thing in his life, so I tried to explain that it wasn't as cut and dry as he seemed to think. I was drunk, he was being passive aggressive, resulting in my extreme defensiveness, especially after coming clean with him and feeling ashamed and vulnerable. He ended up saying that I must be imagining my love for him, because there's no possible way I could feel it and act as I did in hiding my addiction with him. At that point, I went from upset to angry. I shoved his Valentine's Day gift in his hands and told him to get the hell out of my apartment, where I think proceeded to ensue on a three day long binge, where I consumed barely any food or water, and didn't sleep at all.
The only communication I had with him was via text message. By the time Saturday night had ended, he had only replied once, thanking me for a long message I had written, and that he needed some time to think about everything. He said that he had been crying almost constantly. My long message to him basically explained that it was entirely my problem and had nothing to do with him. I didn't use to hurt him, and didn't lie with intentions of deceiving him. I just wanted him to be happy, so I hid that nasty part of myself that I knew he wouldn't enjoy. I wanted to be perfect. I apologized.
He finally responded again on Sunday morning (today), with "I don't like this anymore than you. I hate it. I just really don't know what to do." With that, I asked him to be there for me, and that I realized that I can't take this on alone. I wanted to get clean, and I explained why. He asked if he could come over to talk about it. With some hesitation, I said yes, even though I was positive he would be coming to officially end our relationship.
At this point, I hadn't slept the night before, hadn't eaten all day, and frankly looked like shit. I scrambled to wash my face, brush my teeth, and look somewhat less haggard. When he walked in, he was silent. Just walked up to me on the couch, sat next to me, then sighed and embraced me. We held each other for several hours, mostly crying and holding on as tightly as we could. He told me how much he missed me, and that he couldn't soak up enough of me. And then something really pivotal happened... we have been together for 9 months, and he had still not told me that he loved me. I have said it for a couple of months now, but it isn't a common occurrence by any means. He lifted my chin so we were looking eye to eye, and he said, "I do." I looked at him, questioning, and he repeated himself. Upon realizing what he meant, I started sobbing. He continued, "I do love you. And I have for a while now. I've just been too scared to say it until now. How do I tell someone I love them when I have to trust that they'll take care of that love?"
At this point we were both crying, embraced, kissing away each others tears. He said, "I've never once doubted your love for me. I know that has always been pure. I know you've never meant to hurt me. I love you so much." And for the first time, I got to reply with a very emotional, 'I love you, too'.
Our next bit of conversation was his observations about me the last couple of weeks. He said that he noticed I had been depressed (even more than usual), and noticed that I was sending him a lot of old photos. I didn't notice that I was, but looking back on it now, I agree. He thinks that because I've been struggling emotionally since I am so thin, I felt like I needed to remind him of how I "used" to look. "You're just as sexy now as you used to be. You're beautiful. I'm attracted to the outside and the inside of you."
He continued, "You're going to have to do this for YOU, 100%. Not me. You don't use to get high. You use as a way to punish yourself. I hate that you hate yourself. I wish you could see in you what I see. I've never been ashamed or embarrassed of you. I would walk down any street with you proudly on my arm." We both started crying again. And he's right. I see it now. My remarkably low self-esteem and self-hate have launched me into a cycle of abuse that i'm fully aware is killing me, only to make myself suffer for a reason I'm not aware of quite yet. He told me how amazingly proud he was of me for telling some of my friends and for reaching out for help. "But you need to want this 100%. You can't keep going on this cycle, or it's going to kill you. I can't keep doing this. I'm going to support you no matter what, but I'm not sure if us being together right now is a healthy thing for you. Or us."
At that point, I pleaded that I would get therapy and sober up entirely for myself and just asked that he trust me. And at that point, he asked how he could trust me at that point? I cried harder, thinking about going at this battle alone. He held my body, weak and exhausted, soaked in tears. I cried for almost an hour. He was kissing me all over my head and neck, trying to cheer me up or merely showing affection, saying he couldn't kiss me enough. Kissing led to passionate making out, which led to a very emotional sexual romp, which included us orgasming simultaneously and crying while holding each other. After the sex, he noticed I was trembling and my heart was racing. He made me drink some water and the look on his face was so sad it made me want to look away so he couldn't see me in that condition. I asked him to be strong for me. He said he didn't know if he was strong enough.
(Have we cried enough yet?)
We ate a quick dinner as he had to leave for work (he works at a bar). He told me he had a million things rushing through his head and he still needed to think things through (my assumption it being mainly on the issue of staying together while I am recovering). I couldn't muster any words, just nodded. He kissed my forehead and left.
And now I'm here, sitting alone in my apartment. I turned on my music and the song that happened to pop up was Bright Eyes, "First Day of My Life". I thought it remarkably fitting, so I sent the lyrics along to my love. He has yet to respond, but I doubt he will. The last 6 hours he and I went through were remarkably draining but also in a positive direction.
The only communication I had with him was via text message. By the time Saturday night had ended, he had only replied once, thanking me for a long message I had written, and that he needed some time to think about everything. He said that he had been crying almost constantly. My long message to him basically explained that it was entirely my problem and had nothing to do with him. I didn't use to hurt him, and didn't lie with intentions of deceiving him. I just wanted him to be happy, so I hid that nasty part of myself that I knew he wouldn't enjoy. I wanted to be perfect. I apologized.
He finally responded again on Sunday morning (today), with "I don't like this anymore than you. I hate it. I just really don't know what to do." With that, I asked him to be there for me, and that I realized that I can't take this on alone. I wanted to get clean, and I explained why. He asked if he could come over to talk about it. With some hesitation, I said yes, even though I was positive he would be coming to officially end our relationship.
At this point, I hadn't slept the night before, hadn't eaten all day, and frankly looked like shit. I scrambled to wash my face, brush my teeth, and look somewhat less haggard. When he walked in, he was silent. Just walked up to me on the couch, sat next to me, then sighed and embraced me. We held each other for several hours, mostly crying and holding on as tightly as we could. He told me how much he missed me, and that he couldn't soak up enough of me. And then something really pivotal happened... we have been together for 9 months, and he had still not told me that he loved me. I have said it for a couple of months now, but it isn't a common occurrence by any means. He lifted my chin so we were looking eye to eye, and he said, "I do." I looked at him, questioning, and he repeated himself. Upon realizing what he meant, I started sobbing. He continued, "I do love you. And I have for a while now. I've just been too scared to say it until now. How do I tell someone I love them when I have to trust that they'll take care of that love?"
At this point we were both crying, embraced, kissing away each others tears. He said, "I've never once doubted your love for me. I know that has always been pure. I know you've never meant to hurt me. I love you so much." And for the first time, I got to reply with a very emotional, 'I love you, too'.
Our next bit of conversation was his observations about me the last couple of weeks. He said that he noticed I had been depressed (even more than usual), and noticed that I was sending him a lot of old photos. I didn't notice that I was, but looking back on it now, I agree. He thinks that because I've been struggling emotionally since I am so thin, I felt like I needed to remind him of how I "used" to look. "You're just as sexy now as you used to be. You're beautiful. I'm attracted to the outside and the inside of you."
He continued, "You're going to have to do this for YOU, 100%. Not me. You don't use to get high. You use as a way to punish yourself. I hate that you hate yourself. I wish you could see in you what I see. I've never been ashamed or embarrassed of you. I would walk down any street with you proudly on my arm." We both started crying again. And he's right. I see it now. My remarkably low self-esteem and self-hate have launched me into a cycle of abuse that i'm fully aware is killing me, only to make myself suffer for a reason I'm not aware of quite yet. He told me how amazingly proud he was of me for telling some of my friends and for reaching out for help. "But you need to want this 100%. You can't keep going on this cycle, or it's going to kill you. I can't keep doing this. I'm going to support you no matter what, but I'm not sure if us being together right now is a healthy thing for you. Or us."
At that point, I pleaded that I would get therapy and sober up entirely for myself and just asked that he trust me. And at that point, he asked how he could trust me at that point? I cried harder, thinking about going at this battle alone. He held my body, weak and exhausted, soaked in tears. I cried for almost an hour. He was kissing me all over my head and neck, trying to cheer me up or merely showing affection, saying he couldn't kiss me enough. Kissing led to passionate making out, which led to a very emotional sexual romp, which included us orgasming simultaneously and crying while holding each other. After the sex, he noticed I was trembling and my heart was racing. He made me drink some water and the look on his face was so sad it made me want to look away so he couldn't see me in that condition. I asked him to be strong for me. He said he didn't know if he was strong enough.
(Have we cried enough yet?)
We ate a quick dinner as he had to leave for work (he works at a bar). He told me he had a million things rushing through his head and he still needed to think things through (my assumption it being mainly on the issue of staying together while I am recovering). I couldn't muster any words, just nodded. He kissed my forehead and left.
And now I'm here, sitting alone in my apartment. I turned on my music and the song that happened to pop up was Bright Eyes, "First Day of My Life". I thought it remarkably fitting, so I sent the lyrics along to my love. He has yet to respond, but I doubt he will. The last 6 hours he and I went through were remarkably draining but also in a positive direction.
Fuck. I have nothing going on except mundane meet ups with friends, shitty drugs, and a meeting w/ a job placement agency on the 24th.
now once I have a job and income.... you will see
now once I have a job and income.... you will see
I've struggled with drugs/alcohol as many as the rest of us addicts. It's like we don't have that cut off point in our brain to know when to stop. Well either way addict or not, I refuse to live a boring life watching American Idol raising 2 shit kids and working a miserable job - all for what? Material possessiveness that we just worked all that money for. I guess the technological advances are nice though. I am too cynical of the world when not high.
The way i see it is that we should all be working towards a self-sustainable life for the future; cause without the future, what was the point?
I know these men on top want money when they are younger and power as they age (quote from Phil. Prof)l. How is a younger generation supposed to break through the current hierarchy? We contact the salvia, dmt and ibogaine entities and get them on our side not for lame healing of sick and wounded but for social equality and political justice. Obviously this idea is sill but i go back to work at a call centre from home and it's obviously tiresome dealing with confused old people or better yet sell them something they don't need.
So this time i'm on a low dose of phenazepam and decent doses of ethylphenidate with the odd trip thrown in for good measure. This is enough to keep me going for now but how long till it blows to shit again? Hopefully never
A much more cheery phenazahorse than I was 2 months ago barely being able to stand sitting i was so irritated. So i'm going to wean off the ppam cause god it makes me stupid and forgetful and get on ritalin/adderall/dexedrine hopefully. Is it not possible that my anxiety comes from the fact i grew up in a chaotic household and had to manage with compulsive tendencies.
The way i see it is that we should all be working towards a self-sustainable life for the future; cause without the future, what was the point?
I know these men on top want money when they are younger and power as they age (quote from Phil. Prof)l. How is a younger generation supposed to break through the current hierarchy? We contact the salvia, dmt and ibogaine entities and get them on our side not for lame healing of sick and wounded but for social equality and political justice. Obviously this idea is sill but i go back to work at a call centre from home and it's obviously tiresome dealing with confused old people or better yet sell them something they don't need.
So this time i'm on a low dose of phenazepam and decent doses of ethylphenidate with the odd trip thrown in for good measure. This is enough to keep me going for now but how long till it blows to shit again? Hopefully never
A much more cheery phenazahorse than I was 2 months ago barely being able to stand sitting i was so irritated. So i'm going to wean off the ppam cause god it makes me stupid and forgetful and get on ritalin/adderall/dexedrine hopefully. Is it not possible that my anxiety comes from the fact i grew up in a chaotic household and had to manage with compulsive tendencies.
en Prison m'en suis allé
I'm gone de chez moi
je suis sorti de chez moi now
in Jail I am now -
Fail
in the cold dans le grand froid
pris ma rangée within Dark Hell
ne soyez pas si judgementaux
for Bitterness is partagée
au very trou me suis trouvé
ce simple hole this Very Shit
sombre Inferno
was my ticket to this Merdier
my neverending closed Spirit
and in this very hole I'll know
my wrong pleasures - those false sorrows
of the cold month of février
- never let down - never bestows
I'm gone de chez moi
je suis sorti de chez moi now
in Jail I am now -
Fail
in the cold dans le grand froid
pris ma rangée within Dark Hell
ne soyez pas si judgementaux
for Bitterness is partagée
au very trou me suis trouvé
ce simple hole this Very Shit
sombre Inferno
was my ticket to this Merdier
my neverending closed Spirit
and in this very hole I'll know
my wrong pleasures - those false sorrows
of the cold month of février
- never let down - never bestows
The idea of 12 Steps to recovery and sobriety all started in 1939 in the first edition of Alcoholics Anonymous: The Story of One Hundred Men and How They Have Recovered From Alcoholism(wikipedia.org/wiki/Twelve-step_program). Since that time period it has became a staple as a tool for use in recovery and led to the creation of NA(Narcotics Anonymous). NA is the second biggest recovery group,with AA being the first of course(wikipedia.org/wiki/Twelve-step_program). The great thing about the 12 Step approach of AA/NA is that you are not going through your journey completely alone because you will likely be able to find a group in your town or the towns around you going on during everyday of the week.
Now let me introduce the first four steps of AA/NA's program and explain the concepts behind them and their relation to addiction. The first four steps are all about one idea, greed. However, do not think of greed in its typical negative connotation but in a positive one where you are greedy about getting your recovery and taking those first steps. In your drug addiction you were greedy but in a way that was harmful and destructive to you physically, mentally, and spiritually. Recovery is about changing everything about yourself and to do so you must pour as much greed and make your recovery every bit as much about yourself as you made everything about yourself during your addiction. This is the mindset needed approaching the first four steps, THIS IS YOUR RECOVERY AND THESE STEPS ARE SPECIFICALLY MEANT FOR EACH INDIVIDUAL TO FOCUS ON THEMSELVES!
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol/drugs - that our lives had become unmanageable. This first part of this step is usually the easiest to admit/do for most people (but not saying by any means that any part of recovery is easy). However, it is getting past this first part where the challenge really begins. Anyone is capable of admitting the sense of powerlessness that comes with being consumed and eaten by alcohol/drugs. It takes something more than just admittance though to realize our lives had become unmanageable, it takes swallowing a good bit of pride.Which can be very hard to do for some people because they do not wish to face the fact that they had no control of their lives during their day to day activities, but in fact that the drugs were running the management position of every aspect of your thoughts, actions, and emotions.
Now let me introduce the first four steps of AA/NA's program and explain the concepts behind them and their relation to addiction. The first four steps are all about one idea, greed. However, do not think of greed in its typical negative connotation but in a positive one where you are greedy about getting your recovery and taking those first steps. In your drug addiction you were greedy but in a way that was harmful and destructive to you physically, mentally, and spiritually. Recovery is about changing everything about yourself and to do so you must pour as much greed and make your recovery every bit as much about yourself as you made everything about yourself during your addiction. This is the mindset needed approaching the first four steps, THIS IS YOUR RECOVERY AND THESE STEPS ARE SPECIFICALLY MEANT FOR EACH INDIVIDUAL TO FOCUS ON THEMSELVES!
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol/drugs - that our lives had become unmanageable. This first part of this step is usually the easiest to admit/do for most people (but not saying by any means that any part of recovery is easy). However, it is getting past this first part where the challenge really begins. Anyone is capable of admitting the sense of powerlessness that comes with being consumed and eaten by alcohol/drugs. It takes something more than just admittance though to realize our lives had become unmanageable, it takes swallowing a good bit of pride.Which can be very hard to do for some people because they do not wish to face the fact that they had no control of their lives during their day to day activities, but in fact that the drugs were running the management position of every aspect of your thoughts, actions, and emotions.
Ok, so in 2008 I decided to take the time to vote and express my political opinion. Well, I voted for Obama because honestly, McCain seemed like Bush made over with his ideas and goals for our country. Obama to me was the lesser of two evils and I agreed more with his ideas and goals than I did McCain's. It is rather sad though that we even have to consider the notion of which candidate is the lesser of two evils. So when Obama won in 2008, I was glad that the politicscum of my choosing had won. In 2012 I did not vote, but would have voted again for Obama as I disagreed even more with Mitt Romney and his views than I did with John McCain.
However, now I am beginning to question my decision of even helping Obama get into the White house those first four years with my vote. It just seems kind of scary some of the things that he is doing now, mainly with homeland security and the drone program. Obama can pretty much assassinate any individual he chooses to,including Americans that Obama says might have defected to terrorist groups. Another scary part of this, he can do it all with little or no congressional oversight, and almost complete secrecy between Obama and the CIA who carry out the drone attacks. What might be the scariest part of this whole scenario though is that the man Obama has nominated to head the CIA, John Brennan, has been working with the drone program since its start and is still deeply involved in running it. If he does get appointed to head the CIA then it will likely give the drone program even less transparency, when it should obviously be a more transparent program. This will give Obama even more power to carry out drone missions at his own discretion.
Now on this next point, someone please correct me if I am wrong. When our founding fathers first claimed independence and drafted the first copy of the Constitution their intent was not to allow one governing party nearly full and complete of the government. Their intent was to place hope in the dualism of human nature that separate competing parties would form thus allowing a bi-partisan government. They also were sure to place other checks and balances on the different branches of governments to further ensure that a single party wouldn't have complete control, much less a single person. After all, the founding fathers hoped that our dualism and general differences would keep us away from the one thing that seperate parties could agree upon as Americans, and that is that one person should not be in control and rule a nation. With this in mind, consider what power Obama already has and how much more power he will get if “Democrats” take further control.
Let me clarify at this point though, I am not saying that I oppose the Democrats and the ideas that they stand for, quite the contrary, I actually agree with their philosophy more so than the Republicans. The thing about it is though that Obama is only pursuing just enough of the Democrats ideas to appease them while in reality he is trying to further his own seperate agenda. In past times, the President, though he had power, was more symbolic than anything because he was able to be over ruled by Congress. In present times though, that symbolism seems to be shifting, creating a congress that is symbolic of an idea (Democracy) but the true power is in the hands of the President. Obama doesn't even really need a complete majority of Democrats in the House or Senate to further his goals. All he needs is a few more Supreme Court Judges who are “Democrats”(more like Obama pawns in the case of our Nations high court), the Pentagon, and the CIA to get what he wants done.I am fine with Democrats, but my point here is that many “Democrats” (or even those that lean more Republican for that matter) that are appointed by Obama show no alligance to their labeled party, but pledge their full faith to Obama.
In conclusion, it is beginning to look more and more as if Obama is trying to take away the power and system that is Democracy and replace it with a Socialist Tyranny that will result not in a holocaust of a single race, but a holocaust of an entire nation. I pray that I am wrong and that my hands are clean because if I am not wrong, this would be to great of a sin to be able to wash my hands of the deed. I would forever have to live with the fact that I helped vote in the person who would end America and reignite the spirits of Hitler, Saddam Hussein, and Osama Bin Laden all in one.
Pariahprose
However, now I am beginning to question my decision of even helping Obama get into the White house those first four years with my vote. It just seems kind of scary some of the things that he is doing now, mainly with homeland security and the drone program. Obama can pretty much assassinate any individual he chooses to,including Americans that Obama says might have defected to terrorist groups. Another scary part of this, he can do it all with little or no congressional oversight, and almost complete secrecy between Obama and the CIA who carry out the drone attacks. What might be the scariest part of this whole scenario though is that the man Obama has nominated to head the CIA, John Brennan, has been working with the drone program since its start and is still deeply involved in running it. If he does get appointed to head the CIA then it will likely give the drone program even less transparency, when it should obviously be a more transparent program. This will give Obama even more power to carry out drone missions at his own discretion.
Now on this next point, someone please correct me if I am wrong. When our founding fathers first claimed independence and drafted the first copy of the Constitution their intent was not to allow one governing party nearly full and complete of the government. Their intent was to place hope in the dualism of human nature that separate competing parties would form thus allowing a bi-partisan government. They also were sure to place other checks and balances on the different branches of governments to further ensure that a single party wouldn't have complete control, much less a single person. After all, the founding fathers hoped that our dualism and general differences would keep us away from the one thing that seperate parties could agree upon as Americans, and that is that one person should not be in control and rule a nation. With this in mind, consider what power Obama already has and how much more power he will get if “Democrats” take further control.
Let me clarify at this point though, I am not saying that I oppose the Democrats and the ideas that they stand for, quite the contrary, I actually agree with their philosophy more so than the Republicans. The thing about it is though that Obama is only pursuing just enough of the Democrats ideas to appease them while in reality he is trying to further his own seperate agenda. In past times, the President, though he had power, was more symbolic than anything because he was able to be over ruled by Congress. In present times though, that symbolism seems to be shifting, creating a congress that is symbolic of an idea (Democracy) but the true power is in the hands of the President. Obama doesn't even really need a complete majority of Democrats in the House or Senate to further his goals. All he needs is a few more Supreme Court Judges who are “Democrats”(more like Obama pawns in the case of our Nations high court), the Pentagon, and the CIA to get what he wants done.I am fine with Democrats, but my point here is that many “Democrats” (or even those that lean more Republican for that matter) that are appointed by Obama show no alligance to their labeled party, but pledge their full faith to Obama.
In conclusion, it is beginning to look more and more as if Obama is trying to take away the power and system that is Democracy and replace it with a Socialist Tyranny that will result not in a holocaust of a single race, but a holocaust of an entire nation. I pray that I am wrong and that my hands are clean because if I am not wrong, this would be to great of a sin to be able to wash my hands of the deed. I would forever have to live with the fact that I helped vote in the person who would end America and reignite the spirits of Hitler, Saddam Hussein, and Osama Bin Laden all in one.
Pariahprose
I know midget is no longer considered politically correct, but the title of "If I Had A Pet Little Person" just doesn't have that same kick to it (and I might feel guilty kicking a field goal with a "little person" but calling them a midget instead= guilt free field goals all day!). But if you have read this far,you can already tell this blog is not meant 2 b politically correct bc if it was, I wouldnt b as aroused as I am typing it.
ANYWAY!!!
If I had a pet midget I would have both a male and female named Ad and Ev,short for Adam and Eve ^.^ I wud keep them n my closet and let them free at my leisure(at least once a wk where Ev can go up on me while Ad sodomizes me from a stool). So what activites do I consider leisurely with midgets(besides picking one up,having my way with them,and just throwing them to the side like a used condom at Charlie Sheens house,if he even uses them)? Bowling with midgets entertains me,I let them wear a helmet during this though,makes for a harder impact. It also makes me laugh when Ad runs and the grass tickles his nuts ^.^ And this is just a typical week! LMFAO
You know what though,Im gonna b fucked when a midget reads this and gets their midget friends together and forms a gang 2 come and kick/ possibly fuck my ass...What am I going 2 tell ppl when Im walking like a constipated penguin,with two black eyes, and bite marks on my shins? I mean,would you tell ppl u got ur ass kicked and then sodomized by a gang of midgets....???
After thinking on that question for a minute I came to the conclusion I would tell everyone who asked. My logic: I tell them that I got beat up and lost my anal virginity 2 a group of midgets,they laugh, I then proceed to tell the gang of midgets, and eat popcorn (and possibly masturbate) while they beat up and have their way with them ^.^
Pariahprose
ANYWAY!!!
If I had a pet midget I would have both a male and female named Ad and Ev,short for Adam and Eve ^.^ I wud keep them n my closet and let them free at my leisure(at least once a wk where Ev can go up on me while Ad sodomizes me from a stool). So what activites do I consider leisurely with midgets(besides picking one up,having my way with them,and just throwing them to the side like a used condom at Charlie Sheens house,if he even uses them)? Bowling with midgets entertains me,I let them wear a helmet during this though,makes for a harder impact. It also makes me laugh when Ad runs and the grass tickles his nuts ^.^ And this is just a typical week! LMFAO
You know what though,Im gonna b fucked when a midget reads this and gets their midget friends together and forms a gang 2 come and kick/ possibly fuck my ass...What am I going 2 tell ppl when Im walking like a constipated penguin,with two black eyes, and bite marks on my shins? I mean,would you tell ppl u got ur ass kicked and then sodomized by a gang of midgets....???
After thinking on that question for a minute I came to the conclusion I would tell everyone who asked. My logic: I tell them that I got beat up and lost my anal virginity 2 a group of midgets,they laugh, I then proceed to tell the gang of midgets, and eat popcorn (and possibly masturbate) while they beat up and have their way with them ^.^
Pariahprose
It's 3am and insomnia has me in its hold once again.
I have to leave for work in an hour but I can't find the energy to prepare my shit. I'll end up throwing on my uniform and leaving 5 minutes late again. I just can't be bothered.
I'm one week out from my quarter century. It's amazing I'm still here, I never wanted to survive. I regret each and every day that passes by for the simple fact that I'm alive. I could never top myself though, not deliberately. Too much thought goes into it and the entire thing become much, much more complicated than just trudging through another day and living on.
I just don't fit in anywhere. I have friends, support groups and family, but no matter what, I'm always on the outside, looking in. I'm that one jigsaw piece that doesn't fit anywhere, hell, I don't even have the same picture printed on me.
My story, like many others, starts when I was born. 4:15am, 22nd February 1988. Two whole minutes after my twin sister was delivered stillborn. My mother didn't even know she was carrying twins. All through the pregnancy she was told to expect a daughter. I was just there, after the most horrific experience of my mothers life. I was her reminder of the pain, her stigmata.
My upbringing was fairly normal, growing up with 2 older brothers and an older sister, living just above the poverty line, with no father. Because of my mothers decision to have her tubes tied after 3 kids, and subsequently untied, my siblings were all 2 years apart in age, whereas I was 6 years younger than my youngest brother. I started out life being secluded. I was the young brother no one wanted to play with. Too young to do what they wanted. I was too young for their hand-me-downs so my mother put effort into getting me top of the line things when she could.
Once I was well into primary school I still had trouble fitting in with the other kids. I had 'friends' but I didn't spend much time with them. I became extremely interested in technology and electronics and would spend 95% of my spare time alone with various things pulled apart to see how they worked. At 12 I got my first computer and was hooked on the physical aspect of them. How could all this wire and plastic make images on a screen? I had to know. By 15 I was building PC's and selling them to make extra money. I was still awkward in high school, having 'friends' and trying to fit in, but I was still the odd one out. I could never figure out exactly what it was. It wasn't until I started dating that I started to work it out.
If asked to define my gender, I'd only say male because, well, I was born that way. In my mind though, I'm genderless. It took 5 years of doctors visits and counseling to be told that what I was experiencing was a documented mental illness. Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Now I had answers for why I hated myself so much, why I'd look at my body in the mirror and want to take to it with a razor. My main issue is my genitals, I don't want them. If they weren't there I could be what I want, completely androgynous and genderless. I was sent off to support group after support group but once again, didn't fit in with them. They had the same illness as me, but their cases weren't as severe as mine. I managed to become acquainted with a guy who's case was similar to mine. Where I despised my genitals and saw them as 'alien', he saw his left leg as 'alien'. It simply wasn't his and he wanted it gone. We bonded for a few short weeks and supported each other when we felt like doing something stupid. One day I went to the support group and asked why he hadn't come in for the last few sessions, I was told that he had taken a chainsaw to his leg and was now a ward of the state and permanently locked away. Just like that my support was gone.
I launched into depression, drinking my life away, passing from one relationship to the next in quick succession. Constantly moving, changing jobs. Eventually I came up with a plan. I decided to look into the surgery to be nullified. I found a surgeon that was willing to do the procedure, however, he would not do it before I was 25. I was 19 at the time so this would have given me plenty of time to think it over and decide whether I really wanted to go through with it. I left his office feeling better because I knew I had an option. I became heavily involved in the body modification scene and met with a doctor who specialized in 'alternative' surgeries. We talked for a couple of months and I opened up about my dysmorphia and the surgery I wanted. He was interested but could not perform it himself. He told me that he could perform other surgeries that would effectively turn me into a living Ken doll. This included nipple removal, ear removal and the removal and sewing up of my navel. I was intrigued and booked in to go through the specifics with him. After sitting down and taking about the recovery, dangers and restrictions of the surgery I decided to take him up on the offer. We hashed out a timeline and he booked me in for my first time under the knife, which was to take place in 6 months.
During that 6 months I fell in love with a woman and became engaged. I had not hidden my dysmorphia or the fact that I was about to undergo the first of many surgeries that would change my appearance. I thought she understood, or would at least voice any concerns to me. However, a month before I was due for surgery I got a call from the doctor saying he'd been contacted by my fiance saying not to perform the operation or he'd face legal action. I was stunned. Someone I thought was finally able to love me with all my issues had essentially stabbed me in the back. I lost my shit and ended up single and homeless. Falling back into depression I was offered a free plane ticket and a house in another state I decided it was time I moved and try to start anew.
I spent the first 8 months after moving in my house. Never leaving and only seeing my housemate. I got out of my depression and started working and socializing with my housemates friends because I knew no one. I was introduced to a guy who ended up becoming somewhat infatuated with me. He kept asking me out but I had not ever thought that I was gay. I was gender blind essentially, everyone, male or female, was attractive to me. I had just never given thought to dating a man before. In the end I said yes to a relationship with him after sitting him down and explaining my dysmorphia and making sure he understood that I was going to have the surgery as soon as I could. It turned out that he was born with a gender issue as well, however he was the complete opposite end of the spectrum. He was born with both genitalia and basically wanted what I had. He couldn't understand why I wanted it gone, but he supported me anyway. The relationship lasted a year and a half. In the end I left him because he had become manipulative and mentally abusive. I moved back to my hometown a month later.
The depression hit again and I went through another period of homelessness. Eventually I found a place to live, got my current job and started getting my life on track. I still rarely leave the house other than for work. I have a handful of friends that I can still hang out with after ditching them all and leaving for 4 years without a word. I have others I'd like to hang out with again, but things never seem to work out.
Now I'm here, one week out from being 25. The age where I can finally go for my surgery if I still want to. I'm not in a place in my life where I can comfortably go through with it anymore. I'd need 6 months off work, which I'll never get. I'd need support throughout all that time because I'll be bedridden. It's just not feasible. And because of that, I'm in a depressive spiral again.
It'd be so much easier if I just weren't alive, but even death is too complicated for me.
Fuck, now I'm late for work -_-'
Ignore these sleep deprived ramblings of a drunkard who is avoiding going to work. This all just needed to come out.
I have to leave for work in an hour but I can't find the energy to prepare my shit. I'll end up throwing on my uniform and leaving 5 minutes late again. I just can't be bothered.
I'm one week out from my quarter century. It's amazing I'm still here, I never wanted to survive. I regret each and every day that passes by for the simple fact that I'm alive. I could never top myself though, not deliberately. Too much thought goes into it and the entire thing become much, much more complicated than just trudging through another day and living on.
I just don't fit in anywhere. I have friends, support groups and family, but no matter what, I'm always on the outside, looking in. I'm that one jigsaw piece that doesn't fit anywhere, hell, I don't even have the same picture printed on me.
My story, like many others, starts when I was born. 4:15am, 22nd February 1988. Two whole minutes after my twin sister was delivered stillborn. My mother didn't even know she was carrying twins. All through the pregnancy she was told to expect a daughter. I was just there, after the most horrific experience of my mothers life. I was her reminder of the pain, her stigmata.
My upbringing was fairly normal, growing up with 2 older brothers and an older sister, living just above the poverty line, with no father. Because of my mothers decision to have her tubes tied after 3 kids, and subsequently untied, my siblings were all 2 years apart in age, whereas I was 6 years younger than my youngest brother. I started out life being secluded. I was the young brother no one wanted to play with. Too young to do what they wanted. I was too young for their hand-me-downs so my mother put effort into getting me top of the line things when she could.
Once I was well into primary school I still had trouble fitting in with the other kids. I had 'friends' but I didn't spend much time with them. I became extremely interested in technology and electronics and would spend 95% of my spare time alone with various things pulled apart to see how they worked. At 12 I got my first computer and was hooked on the physical aspect of them. How could all this wire and plastic make images on a screen? I had to know. By 15 I was building PC's and selling them to make extra money. I was still awkward in high school, having 'friends' and trying to fit in, but I was still the odd one out. I could never figure out exactly what it was. It wasn't until I started dating that I started to work it out.
If asked to define my gender, I'd only say male because, well, I was born that way. In my mind though, I'm genderless. It took 5 years of doctors visits and counseling to be told that what I was experiencing was a documented mental illness. Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Now I had answers for why I hated myself so much, why I'd look at my body in the mirror and want to take to it with a razor. My main issue is my genitals, I don't want them. If they weren't there I could be what I want, completely androgynous and genderless. I was sent off to support group after support group but once again, didn't fit in with them. They had the same illness as me, but their cases weren't as severe as mine. I managed to become acquainted with a guy who's case was similar to mine. Where I despised my genitals and saw them as 'alien', he saw his left leg as 'alien'. It simply wasn't his and he wanted it gone. We bonded for a few short weeks and supported each other when we felt like doing something stupid. One day I went to the support group and asked why he hadn't come in for the last few sessions, I was told that he had taken a chainsaw to his leg and was now a ward of the state and permanently locked away. Just like that my support was gone.
I launched into depression, drinking my life away, passing from one relationship to the next in quick succession. Constantly moving, changing jobs. Eventually I came up with a plan. I decided to look into the surgery to be nullified. I found a surgeon that was willing to do the procedure, however, he would not do it before I was 25. I was 19 at the time so this would have given me plenty of time to think it over and decide whether I really wanted to go through with it. I left his office feeling better because I knew I had an option. I became heavily involved in the body modification scene and met with a doctor who specialized in 'alternative' surgeries. We talked for a couple of months and I opened up about my dysmorphia and the surgery I wanted. He was interested but could not perform it himself. He told me that he could perform other surgeries that would effectively turn me into a living Ken doll. This included nipple removal, ear removal and the removal and sewing up of my navel. I was intrigued and booked in to go through the specifics with him. After sitting down and taking about the recovery, dangers and restrictions of the surgery I decided to take him up on the offer. We hashed out a timeline and he booked me in for my first time under the knife, which was to take place in 6 months.
During that 6 months I fell in love with a woman and became engaged. I had not hidden my dysmorphia or the fact that I was about to undergo the first of many surgeries that would change my appearance. I thought she understood, or would at least voice any concerns to me. However, a month before I was due for surgery I got a call from the doctor saying he'd been contacted by my fiance saying not to perform the operation or he'd face legal action. I was stunned. Someone I thought was finally able to love me with all my issues had essentially stabbed me in the back. I lost my shit and ended up single and homeless. Falling back into depression I was offered a free plane ticket and a house in another state I decided it was time I moved and try to start anew.
I spent the first 8 months after moving in my house. Never leaving and only seeing my housemate. I got out of my depression and started working and socializing with my housemates friends because I knew no one. I was introduced to a guy who ended up becoming somewhat infatuated with me. He kept asking me out but I had not ever thought that I was gay. I was gender blind essentially, everyone, male or female, was attractive to me. I had just never given thought to dating a man before. In the end I said yes to a relationship with him after sitting him down and explaining my dysmorphia and making sure he understood that I was going to have the surgery as soon as I could. It turned out that he was born with a gender issue as well, however he was the complete opposite end of the spectrum. He was born with both genitalia and basically wanted what I had. He couldn't understand why I wanted it gone, but he supported me anyway. The relationship lasted a year and a half. In the end I left him because he had become manipulative and mentally abusive. I moved back to my hometown a month later.
The depression hit again and I went through another period of homelessness. Eventually I found a place to live, got my current job and started getting my life on track. I still rarely leave the house other than for work. I have a handful of friends that I can still hang out with after ditching them all and leaving for 4 years without a word. I have others I'd like to hang out with again, but things never seem to work out.
Now I'm here, one week out from being 25. The age where I can finally go for my surgery if I still want to. I'm not in a place in my life where I can comfortably go through with it anymore. I'd need 6 months off work, which I'll never get. I'd need support throughout all that time because I'll be bedridden. It's just not feasible. And because of that, I'm in a depressive spiral again.
It'd be so much easier if I just weren't alive, but even death is too complicated for me.
Fuck, now I'm late for work -_-'
Ignore these sleep deprived ramblings of a drunkard who is avoiding going to work. This all just needed to come out.
And yes I DID UTFSE so please DON'T even go there! What I found were stories/info from a couple of very experienced users that tried to explain their trips. I know the drug is a disassoiative which I guess is to say it takes you apart from or out of your body, so to speak. I even heard one dude (another hardcore type) say he does it daily, he loves to shoot it & when he does, he shoots up, goes all out, to the extent of apparently being completely unaware of the fact he is human, and feels no constraints of being confined to imprisonment of the flesh.
He said he just is & is like experiencing profound conscienceness, only without the limitations of the flesh-but most importantly without the imprisonment self imposed in mind. Anyone could have walked into his place, ripped him off, had wild orgies and charged admission, or worse, people having their ways with his body, only without him being aware of any of it. That's a bit too much for my taste, although I think I can appreciate why we as drug seekers would even want to entertain the thought of going off into some K hole. I am well aware of it being a bad idea to try that kind of drug alone, but sorry, I can't really trust anyone enough completely not to take advantage of what would of perhaps been a cool situation - alone.
I had mentioned to Erik, my male counterpart of myself I was curious to experience this K once, but there's none to be had around here, at least not among my peers in So Cali. He said he'd send some sometime, but I put it out of my mind, til 2 days ago, a Valentine card with a bag of fluffy white powder arrived. It's been years since I've had any sort of hallucinogenic experience, but things like K, DMT, or PCP, I've never tried. Alone, I can turn it into an inner spiritual guide of meditation of sorts--at least that was true with shrooms and acid, and the one time I tried X.
Erik didn't say a whole lot,though, just wrote simply it was good shit and that the 1st time for him had been kinda scary. That made me stop and think big time. Obviously, it's gonna have to be done at a flippin motel room so I don't have to worry about my flippin mommy dearest barging in and pulling the Queen Bee Biatch routine - especially not being aware or limited noticably under the influence. Aside from being a complete buzz killer and killing any spiritual communion/insight - is the possibility of getting in deep trouble, which I don't need.
It can be done up in a line I know, but it can also be IVed-albeit a shot of this in terms of amount would be ultra conservative, as in a very small dose. One guy told me years ago that when he shot K, he did trip right away, but that's as much detail/info as I got. I don't want to get yelled at to UTFSE by asking in the beginner's forum, because as I said, I tried that, but was hoping to gain insight relative to my first timer status. Also, not everyone understands no doubt the difficulty trying to obtain specific info on a lap top that was not flippin cooperating.
I don't expect I'll get much in the way of responses, but hell I thought it was worth a try. When I get finished fixing my usual brown than I'll update this blog as to what's been goin on as of Oct 2012. The short version: I blew up so to speak. The draining chronic fatigue, rediculous slave wages of $16K last year, combined with unrelenting financial demands, finally came to a head. I froze up, went into panic mode, couldn't drive, been on SDI since and reluctantly applying for SSI. This new doc I have thinks my liver is the cause of the chronic fatigue. I certainly wouldn't even dream of trying to get a liver transplant. For one thing, I'm anti surgery for myself and for another, I'm completely ok with letting a non drug user get one instead of me gettting one for obvious reasons. Anyway, back in a flash I think,
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He said he just is & is like experiencing profound conscienceness, only without the limitations of the flesh-but most importantly without the imprisonment self imposed in mind. Anyone could have walked into his place, ripped him off, had wild orgies and charged admission, or worse, people having their ways with his body, only without him being aware of any of it. That's a bit too much for my taste, although I think I can appreciate why we as drug seekers would even want to entertain the thought of going off into some K hole. I am well aware of it being a bad idea to try that kind of drug alone, but sorry, I can't really trust anyone enough completely not to take advantage of what would of perhaps been a cool situation - alone.
I had mentioned to Erik, my male counterpart of myself I was curious to experience this K once, but there's none to be had around here, at least not among my peers in So Cali. He said he'd send some sometime, but I put it out of my mind, til 2 days ago, a Valentine card with a bag of fluffy white powder arrived. It's been years since I've had any sort of hallucinogenic experience, but things like K, DMT, or PCP, I've never tried. Alone, I can turn it into an inner spiritual guide of meditation of sorts--at least that was true with shrooms and acid, and the one time I tried X.
Erik didn't say a whole lot,though, just wrote simply it was good shit and that the 1st time for him had been kinda scary. That made me stop and think big time. Obviously, it's gonna have to be done at a flippin motel room so I don't have to worry about my flippin mommy dearest barging in and pulling the Queen Bee Biatch routine - especially not being aware or limited noticably under the influence. Aside from being a complete buzz killer and killing any spiritual communion/insight - is the possibility of getting in deep trouble, which I don't need.
It can be done up in a line I know, but it can also be IVed-albeit a shot of this in terms of amount would be ultra conservative, as in a very small dose. One guy told me years ago that when he shot K, he did trip right away, but that's as much detail/info as I got. I don't want to get yelled at to UTFSE by asking in the beginner's forum, because as I said, I tried that, but was hoping to gain insight relative to my first timer status. Also, not everyone understands no doubt the difficulty trying to obtain specific info on a lap top that was not flippin cooperating.
I don't expect I'll get much in the way of responses, but hell I thought it was worth a try. When I get finished fixing my usual brown than I'll update this blog as to what's been goin on as of Oct 2012. The short version: I blew up so to speak. The draining chronic fatigue, rediculous slave wages of $16K last year, combined with unrelenting financial demands, finally came to a head. I froze up, went into panic mode, couldn't drive, been on SDI since and reluctantly applying for SSI. This new doc I have thinks my liver is the cause of the chronic fatigue. I certainly wouldn't even dream of trying to get a liver transplant. For one thing, I'm anti surgery for myself and for another, I'm completely ok with letting a non drug user get one instead of me gettting one for obvious reasons. Anyway, back in a flash I think,
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Yesterday was my birthday, I was feeling especially introspective. I decided to share a little of the thoughts that have been running through my head lately these days. As you probably have guessed by now, I have a drug habit. Specifically, I'm a Junky. Now people can debate over what that word means, and who is a Junky and who isn't. My boyfriend describes it as someone who literally can't think about anything besides their next fix of Heroin, dope, junk, smack, whatever you want to call it. How are they going to get it? Where is it coming from? How will you pay for it? How can I get it in me? Within the confines of those brackets, yeah I'm completely a Junky. Even when I'm knee deep in a job interview or at a family affair, in the back of my brain 100% of the time I am thinking about my next fix. I decided to see what some of the more common or reputable dictionaries had to say on the matter. Here are a couple of the samplings:
Dictionary.com -
For the word Junky:
1. Of the nature of junk; trashy
2. Drug addict, junkie, addict, freak, nut
For the word Junkie: (slightly different)
A drug addict, especially one addicted to heroin.
A person with an insatiable craving for something: a chocolate junkie.
An enthusiastic follower; fan; devotee: a baseball junkie
Okay - that was is a little more lenient. I am all of those things, I am a drug addict, I have an insatiable cravings, not only about drugs, but when I take to something, watch out. I'll use the year I raced (sailboats) 133 days in one year as an example. Or the fact that although it's a 10 hour round trip commute, I'll frequently jump in the car and get 40+ days a year in at Mammoth snowboarding. So you could officially call me an adrenalin Junky as well. Talk about obsession. Everyone knows a chocolate junkie, or a crafting Junky. But let's get a little more official.
The Oxford English Dictionary.
* A person with a compulsive habit or obsessive dependency on something: power junkies, a drug addict.
Ah the good 'ol OED. Like, the English, it's accuracy with diplomacy reigns supreme.
But sadly this definitive source of the English language will no sooner change any one's personal beliefs on what a Junky is than it will start injecting heroin on its own.
Urban Dictionary. This is where you go when you want to find the real State of the Union, since it's written For the People, By the People.. What does the critical mass consider a Junky?
*A heroin addict, one that is was and will always be. Before the crackheads and the crackwhores, Way before the dexheads and the E-tards wasting his life away, for pure bliss and contentment.
*Someone who dabbles with illicit drugs.
Ha! I've never met a single person who took the use of narcotics so lightly. But I like the way he's thinking!
I looked up one more reference for the word Junky. I searched for it under Google images. This is a sampling of what I found, amongst a variety of anorexic looking runway models.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydQXGV-oOog
**Side note: That coffee table was the first thing that came up, and it's actually mine, that I snapped a pic of and posted on another forum, lol. It struck me as just how amazing out of control somethings had gotten. Google was probably monitoring my IP address of something
**Now I don't know about you... But in all my 34 years I've never seen a Junky look anything remotely like those photographs. It's like a caricature of a Junky. Where did this concept come from? I'm not really sure. But the whole notion of anti-glamorization makes me nauseous. The naive and close minded judgement that if you choose to IV drugs you will:
A.) worthless to society.
B.) Most likely will whore yourself eventually and
C.) Will definitely die from it, soon.
Between this Google search and the Urban Dictionary, is appears the people have clearly voiced their opinions on heroin users. Lower than crackheads, lower than wife beaters, the lowest breed of society. And, without a doubt, it will cost you your life. I recently came across this quote while watching this documentary on the IV clinics in Canada:
"Of all society's outcast, few are more reviled then those who inject narcotics, even among other drug users"
For this reason I was a closet Junky for 10 years. I never had the same intolerance with opiates or addicts as my friends. So i used in the closet for 10 years. It wasn't until I started dating an-junky, that my whole world was unraveled. I was revealed for what I really was. An IV injecting, heroin using, full-time Junky. I sat with it for a while, had my boyfriend point out every Junky move I made, and acknowledged my all-encompassing thoughts and actions, I came to terms with it. But as I came clean (pardon the pun) to friends and relatives, I discovered just how deep the stigma ran. The black plaque of drug users.
IMHO, a junk habit is just that. It's not glamorous, it's not disgusting. It can have its draw backs. But, for me, it has some rewards. There are a lot of ex-junkies, people sober for weeks or for years, who say there are no real benefits, no true happiness comes from drugs of any sort. But I'm a drug user who has made the conscience decision to use drugs for the rest of my life, at least on some level (and reserve the right to change my mind). So at this point in time, I avoid the whole "complete sobriety is the only way to true happiness" argument. But I have witnessed in my own life, how they can make you unhappy.
My life has been no exception from the typical junky stereotype. I've lied, I've been fired, I've stolen, I've broken the hearts of those who meant the most to me. But I am working on fixing that. There are no directions on a ball of dope or a bag of tweak that give instructions on how to destroy or fix your life. Your only hope is to catch yourself one day and realize that you aren't different. Maybe you have a degree, maybe you make a few bucks, but in the end, we all have to deal with the same problems and face the ones we love.
My hope is that one day we can learn to control ourselves. To live upright and productive lives. This is my current challenge, minute by minute, hour by hour. But it's more than those around you that get hurt. Junk can have a crippling effect on the body. As everyone knows, sticking a spike in your arm filled with any drug multiple times a day can (READ: WILL) take it's toll on your body. I IV heroin 4x daily and meth 2x daily. Besides tolerance, which will be psychologically worse, the physical toll that will take, may be unreversable.
But man, I love to slam. I think I could give up junk before I gave up slamming. I think I've shot up three times while writing this. It's more than just the high from the drugs, but something psychosomatic. A sense of pride, or achievement. Something that says (I'm speaking for myself only here) "Not only do I have the skill to do this, I can deal with the pain, the misses, the bumps and bruising, the abscesses, the collapsed veins. On top of all that - I'm going to do it 6-7 times a day." But I can't IV right now. I tried for 3 hours for my last shot, even after the last resort (due to pride) and asking for help from my bf, it failed. Had to stick it up my arse. (no IM since it was mixed with meth). I almost never see that sweet red plume of blood rise in the syringe. My blood clots almost at the sharps touch and I get a clot and have to switch needles. I wonder to myself, why am I so in love with this process?? My thoughts on the matter turn into a complete dichotomy of justifications. But that thrill, that yearning, it's with me for life, and no other drug or RoA will ever do for me again. It may not be my wife, but it certainly is my lover and my life.
I IV every drug I take, and let's to be crystal clear here, I do (and always have done) A LOT of drugs. Besides some of the more obscure RC's, I've done just about all of them. And I'll IV just about all of them. Junk, meth, coke, mdma, LSD, pills... my next quest is DMT (in the processes of turning the base IVable at this moment). With all theses drugs, being shot into my arms, you can imagine the track marks and bruising that it leaves (not to mention the inevitable abscesses). My wardrobe is a daily concern. The stigma of IV drug use looms over my head like a rain cloud. The sideways glances, and concerned goodbye's get old. Even if they do have my best interests in mind. What people fail to acknowledge is that the act of shooting itself isn't harmful when done in moderation. There are those who can IV on a semi-regular basis, and keep their lives in control. Other drugs (like meth, cocaine, crack and IMO alcohol) can be far more dangerous. But the stigma of IV use will never change.
Everyone says I should change, I should quit. Not cut back, but abstain entirely from ALL drugs. But who would I be if I wasn't a Junky? That's my identity. It's who I am. Maybe I will want something different some day. But I've been on junk for over 10 years, and for now, I will keep my habit. And I will keep searching for my perfect incarnation of what a Junky should be. And hopefully one day, I'll strike the balance between social and personal contentment, and the recreational use of what some call "the hardest drug." 8)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puvRWiV19cI
A collection of pictures showing me preparing and shooting Heroin.
So let me take you back a couple summers ago in this little city in the heart of Alabama. Now at this time in my life I was just starting to become a full blown dope fiend. But I was still wet behind the ears this was when I was first beggining to feel the desperation that all addicts know. No money sick nothing to pawn. I had also already decided that I would be taking my ass to rehab very soon to get my suboxone taper and be cured. Haha like I said I was green and young just starting to realize that I had opened pandoras box. Well the day started like most of them did at Darrells apartment with Josh trying to scheme up a way to get money for dope. We tryed for a couple hours but nothing was working. I dont remember who said "lets rob him" at first we laughed yeah right. But as time went on it took on a more seriose tone. The planning began now the way the deals went down was we would pull our cars together driver side to driver side facing opposite directions on this side street. So we decided to crumple up a couple ones and just floor it and get out of there once we made the transaction. Now I justified this by telling myself I was killing two birds with one stone I would lose my only connection thus cutting myself off so I would have no choice but to quit when I got out of rehab. So me Josh and Darrell jump in my car and head to rob this scary ass ex-con gang member.
I remember it was very hot that day which added to the misery of my sickness. I was nervous as hell but kept a cool external demenor. We exchanged witty banter in the car trying to forget about the dangerous situation we put ourselves in. but the closer we got to the spot the higher the tension rose. Finally I made the phone call to him and set it up just like we normally did. I pull up to his driver side window make a quick exchange and lay on the gas peddle. I damn near spun the car out but saved it and drove as fast as the car would go running stop signs and red lights in the process. Somehow I didnt hit anyone with this horribly irresponsible action.
The best part of the story is that I ended up getting a phone call from old dude a couple days later saying that he wasnt mad and that we could come back down whenever we had money. Of course my dumb addicted ass took him up on the offer and somehow didnt get murdered. Better to be lucky then good sometimes.
I remember it was very hot that day which added to the misery of my sickness. I was nervous as hell but kept a cool external demenor. We exchanged witty banter in the car trying to forget about the dangerous situation we put ourselves in. but the closer we got to the spot the higher the tension rose. Finally I made the phone call to him and set it up just like we normally did. I pull up to his driver side window make a quick exchange and lay on the gas peddle. I damn near spun the car out but saved it and drove as fast as the car would go running stop signs and red lights in the process. Somehow I didnt hit anyone with this horribly irresponsible action.
The best part of the story is that I ended up getting a phone call from old dude a couple days later saying that he wasnt mad and that we could come back down whenever we had money. Of course my dumb addicted ass took him up on the offer and somehow didnt get murdered. Better to be lucky then good sometimes.
A continuation...
A few days ago the physician in Germany emailed me telling me that he was finally able to locate a Volume 5 of the periodical that the article had supposedly been published in. Apparently, he told me, they were just late in posting it on their website and slow in responding to inquiries.
Naturally I had a look see. Indeed, "Genome, Biology and Evolution" DOES in fact have a Volume 5 and much to my chagrin, the article HAD in fact been published. I then contacted the publisher, Oxford Journals, and asked if the paper had been subject to peer review. The Science Editor informed me that to the best of his knowledge it had been since that particular publication claims to do so with all submissions. However, since he only dealt with the book side of Oxford I should contact the Editor at "Genome, Biology and Evolution."
When he gave me the Editor's name, an America professor at Dussueldorf, it was the same man who had been given Corresponding Copies on all my communications with the German physician. Apparently the physician had been fed the paper by the publication. This is common enough but if a Blogger, or media source, doesn't disclose this I find it a bit disheartening. I'm anal retentive about full disclosure.
I sent the Editor email asking whether or not the paper had been subjected to peer review and if so, could he disclose the level of scrutiny applied to it. In other words, what would disqualify a paper from publication in that journal. He informed me that yes, it was subject to peer review but that those reviewing it do so under anonymity (very common) and that other than a single individual neither he nor the publication had any idea who or what was involved in the peer review of that particular paper.
The individual he was referring to is an unpublished Israeli Jew active- like the author of the paper- in Anti-Zionist political causes and organisations. I contacted the man and asked very generalised questions about the criteria utilised in judging the paper sound and worthy of publication. Predictably he never responded to my inquiry. It is not difficult at all to manipulate the process when you do not engage in blind assignation of peers. You simply opt for academics with well established views that mesh with those of the author.
So, my intuition was indeed wrong. The paper was not a hoax. It was actually published albeit in a manner that lacks integrity and which will be shrugged off by most academics. The problem however isn't its reception and subsequent standing in academia. Rather, the problem is the unwashed masses that educate themselves via Youtube/Wikipedia. AFP, as I mentioned, ran with the stort and slowly but surely it is entering discourse as "proof" that most Jews are not Semitic and therefore not descendants of Judaeans thereby having no moral OR historical justification for "occupying" Arab land. Never mind that there are more than 320 papers offering the opposite conclusion and that virtually all of these are accepted by consensus as defining the situation. All that matters is that 1 paper was published claiming that most Jews are actually Turkic-Mongols. I have to go clean my yurt and water my pony, ciao.
A few days ago the physician in Germany emailed me telling me that he was finally able to locate a Volume 5 of the periodical that the article had supposedly been published in. Apparently, he told me, they were just late in posting it on their website and slow in responding to inquiries.
Naturally I had a look see. Indeed, "Genome, Biology and Evolution" DOES in fact have a Volume 5 and much to my chagrin, the article HAD in fact been published. I then contacted the publisher, Oxford Journals, and asked if the paper had been subject to peer review. The Science Editor informed me that to the best of his knowledge it had been since that particular publication claims to do so with all submissions. However, since he only dealt with the book side of Oxford I should contact the Editor at "Genome, Biology and Evolution."
When he gave me the Editor's name, an America professor at Dussueldorf, it was the same man who had been given Corresponding Copies on all my communications with the German physician. Apparently the physician had been fed the paper by the publication. This is common enough but if a Blogger, or media source, doesn't disclose this I find it a bit disheartening. I'm anal retentive about full disclosure.
I sent the Editor email asking whether or not the paper had been subjected to peer review and if so, could he disclose the level of scrutiny applied to it. In other words, what would disqualify a paper from publication in that journal. He informed me that yes, it was subject to peer review but that those reviewing it do so under anonymity (very common) and that other than a single individual neither he nor the publication had any idea who or what was involved in the peer review of that particular paper.
The individual he was referring to is an unpublished Israeli Jew active- like the author of the paper- in Anti-Zionist political causes and organisations. I contacted the man and asked very generalised questions about the criteria utilised in judging the paper sound and worthy of publication. Predictably he never responded to my inquiry. It is not difficult at all to manipulate the process when you do not engage in blind assignation of peers. You simply opt for academics with well established views that mesh with those of the author.
So, my intuition was indeed wrong. The paper was not a hoax. It was actually published albeit in a manner that lacks integrity and which will be shrugged off by most academics. The problem however isn't its reception and subsequent standing in academia. Rather, the problem is the unwashed masses that educate themselves via Youtube/Wikipedia. AFP, as I mentioned, ran with the stort and slowly but surely it is entering discourse as "proof" that most Jews are not Semitic and therefore not descendants of Judaeans thereby having no moral OR historical justification for "occupying" Arab land. Never mind that there are more than 320 papers offering the opposite conclusion and that virtually all of these are accepted by consensus as defining the situation. All that matters is that 1 paper was published claiming that most Jews are actually Turkic-Mongols. I have to go clean my yurt and water my pony, ciao.
couldnt have said it better myself
- http://confessionsofaheroinaddict.w...20/when-i-walked-to-work-in-love-with-london/
And I was struck with awe at the energy of millions of humans in ant-hive satisfaction going to work and the great machines that moved blocks creating more space and more wealth and the people rushing here and there and the theatres and the homeless and the suited and booted and the tourists clicking in orgasmic fascination and the constant din of industry filled the air
And I walked and walked until I was at my office door, door, great glass door, and an old East London man or African man peered at me unimpressed from behind his desk and security screens and I would avoid his gaze, the noise in my head to great to bare talking and baring the self, and the lift doors were clothes around me and my loins would ache for sex and the sinking feeling in my guts the boredom of rough office carpet, alienation, complete, I made a coffee and sat down to waste the day earning money.
- http://confessionsofaheroinaddict.w...20/when-i-walked-to-work-in-love-with-london/
after the good times come the bad
You were always a crazy psycho
can you believe that, being a crazy psycho
just imagine a moment this very moment
when your mother tells you she knows you are a psycho
and doesn't want you to enjoy pleasure ever again
I hope you feel suicidal,
because what happened was wrong
and just after that- wrong, so very much more wrong
because you continue to haunt me and cause more pain
I took no pleasure, only pain, liberation was escape
There was no master slave game, there were no rules
nothing to stop the "game" you were a torturer
You know nothing about intelligence, you are the loser,
it left me and settled in you and will remain there forever
You are the spawn of satan
no one should ever see, hear or touch you ever again
NO ONE
sick fucker, I wanted my stuff, and then I would have left, maybe after beating you to a pulp, fuck you debaser, you are nothing, you are the loser.
You were always a crazy psycho
can you believe that, being a crazy psycho
just imagine a moment this very moment
when your mother tells you she knows you are a psycho
and doesn't want you to enjoy pleasure ever again
I hope you feel suicidal,
because what happened was wrong
and just after that- wrong, so very much more wrong
because you continue to haunt me and cause more pain
I took no pleasure, only pain, liberation was escape
There was no master slave game, there were no rules
nothing to stop the "game" you were a torturer
You know nothing about intelligence, you are the loser,
it left me and settled in you and will remain there forever
You are the spawn of satan
no one should ever see, hear or touch you ever again
NO ONE
sick fucker, I wanted my stuff, and then I would have left, maybe after beating you to a pulp, fuck you debaser, you are nothing, you are the loser.
The music is calling.
So is the pain.
So are the pills.
They scream a morbid symphony,mapping out my destiny,confined within the space inside my skull...
So is the pain.
So are the pills.
They scream a morbid symphony,mapping out my destiny,confined within the space inside my skull...
http://imgur.com/YCZIM
Yep. That's an actual shard of meth we picked up recently.
6am, I've been lying in bed for hours hitting the pookie, smoking a little meth. Been dreading the morning, since it will be my first morning without H in Lord knows how long. I've made the commitment once again (but this time by my own free will and volition) to quit my sweet Brown Sugar for 12 days. (Maybe 14, we'll see how I feel by the end of the 12 days).
My SO is quitting for way longer, (like around a year) and I'm trying to be respectful. This was his last day for meth (his weak spot at the moment) so he wanted to do it till the last minute, which I would too. But now all I want is to feel that lustful sensation of a spike penetrating my veins, and that beautiful sight of a red plume bursting through the syringe filling any air pockets, and giving you the signal of quick relief and release.
Perfect shots, like you have a fresh arm, ripe for the slamming. And thank goodness I had two in a row, deposit a nasty meth miss and an abscess currently. Yesterday I spent three hours trying to find a place for one fix without any luck, and by that time I'd split my shot into two syringes because of the amount and thickness of blood, drained half a syringe of blood clots, and IMing was out of the question. *just FYI for those that don't know.... you can't IM a shot with too much blood in it. Your body doesn't know what to do with that much blood, and trust me the outcome isn't pretty. Last time for left upper arm was swollen and oh so painfully sore for what seemed like ages. But better than a lot of abscesses I've had.
Times like that, where I poke for hours and hours, wasting much of the day, ripping apart my arm/hands/legs/feet/neck/whatever, that I curse it, and wonder why I do such things. But then, barely 2 hours later, I'm thinking about prepping my next shot. And no matter how much I swore I wasn't going to IV, I'll IM this time - I swear! - whatcha know... before you can say Bob's Your Uncle, I'm swinging my arm to pump blood into it and tying off.
So... I'm facing the morning without heroin. Without IVing. Without my morning sex practically. That orgasmic sensation to check me inbox, make my calls, face my colleagues and generally get on with my day.
That's why I'm here, at 6:30 in the morning now, smoking meth. Meh, it's not doing much for me, but I knew it wouldn't. I wasn't going to sleep anyway, so what's the harm? I have my drug therapy appointment today at 1p. I haven't told her about my commitment yet. I know she'll be happy. I hope I can do it. You can always find junk outside the center (The Center for Harm Reduction, it's also the Needle Exchange). Hope I have the will power.
But for now, I'm still facing my first morning getting out of bed to a stark, cold reality. There aren't even any sharps in the house if I did find that magic nugget.
Now to see if I can get an hour of sleep in before the SO wakes up, so we can get up together, and drink mounds of coffee to start this sobriety thing.Wish me luck http://imgur.com/dCYEU
Yep. That's an actual shard of meth we picked up recently.
6am, I've been lying in bed for hours hitting the pookie, smoking a little meth. Been dreading the morning, since it will be my first morning without H in Lord knows how long. I've made the commitment once again (but this time by my own free will and volition) to quit my sweet Brown Sugar for 12 days. (Maybe 14, we'll see how I feel by the end of the 12 days).
My SO is quitting for way longer, (like around a year) and I'm trying to be respectful. This was his last day for meth (his weak spot at the moment) so he wanted to do it till the last minute, which I would too. But now all I want is to feel that lustful sensation of a spike penetrating my veins, and that beautiful sight of a red plume bursting through the syringe filling any air pockets, and giving you the signal of quick relief and release.
Perfect shots, like you have a fresh arm, ripe for the slamming. And thank goodness I had two in a row, deposit a nasty meth miss and an abscess currently. Yesterday I spent three hours trying to find a place for one fix without any luck, and by that time I'd split my shot into two syringes because of the amount and thickness of blood, drained half a syringe of blood clots, and IMing was out of the question. *just FYI for those that don't know.... you can't IM a shot with too much blood in it. Your body doesn't know what to do with that much blood, and trust me the outcome isn't pretty. Last time for left upper arm was swollen and oh so painfully sore for what seemed like ages. But better than a lot of abscesses I've had.
Times like that, where I poke for hours and hours, wasting much of the day, ripping apart my arm/hands/legs/feet/neck/whatever, that I curse it, and wonder why I do such things. But then, barely 2 hours later, I'm thinking about prepping my next shot. And no matter how much I swore I wasn't going to IV, I'll IM this time - I swear! - whatcha know... before you can say Bob's Your Uncle, I'm swinging my arm to pump blood into it and tying off.
So... I'm facing the morning without heroin. Without IVing. Without my morning sex practically. That orgasmic sensation to check me inbox, make my calls, face my colleagues and generally get on with my day.
That's why I'm here, at 6:30 in the morning now, smoking meth. Meh, it's not doing much for me, but I knew it wouldn't. I wasn't going to sleep anyway, so what's the harm? I have my drug therapy appointment today at 1p. I haven't told her about my commitment yet. I know she'll be happy. I hope I can do it. You can always find junk outside the center (The Center for Harm Reduction, it's also the Needle Exchange). Hope I have the will power.
But for now, I'm still facing my first morning getting out of bed to a stark, cold reality. There aren't even any sharps in the house if I did find that magic nugget.
Now to see if I can get an hour of sleep in before the SO wakes up, so we can get up together, and drink mounds of coffee to start this sobriety thing.Wish me luck
http://imgur.com/dCYEU
Anyone ever have that one dude in your group of friends that never knows when to stop getting tore up,usually on a variety of things at one time(in my group this was me,lol) and just ends up passing out hella early with their shoes on(idk why but we had a rule that if u fell asleep with your shoes on during a party you were free game to fuck with)?And the more and more of a buzz you get,the more entertaining the thought of fucking with his passed out ass becomes...This is where the fun begins ^.^ Here are some of my suggestions:
1. While you have your friend close by that is passed out it becomes the perfect opportunity 2 see if farting in their eye really does cause pink eye later on.However,that is only the warm up for when u saran wrap them to a tree outside naked! Imagine waking up from a long night of partying and being hungover,cold,and wrapped to a tree only to discover the reason you are cold is because you are naked...( I have actually been saran wrapped to a recliner,with clothes still on, at a friends house b4. They then proceeded to pick me up about 4 feet off the ground and then drop me.I didn't even budge,lots of klonopins and assorted pain pills that night)...
2. A classic way to fuck with your passed out friend.This one would probably actually be easiest while they are heavily buzzed. Go out and get another tattoo but pay the artist 2 make it something completely different,insulting, and preferably profane than what your friend wanted. This way they will have a memory that will last a lifetime of the consequences of doing something in excess. Even when covered up,they would still know that its there!Some ideas for some tats: Sperm Dumpster with arrow pointing down on lower back,Fort Knocked Loose:US Sperm Bank Main Deposit Vault with custom Sperm related money money appearing to fall from the words at their lower back into their ass hole.Also you cant go wrong with a good ole fashioned cock tattoo anywhere on their body,just have some kind of dick related quote above it. It is imperative to remember to place the penis tattoo in an area as visible as possible so that everyone will ask about it.
3. I took this one and made it my own.Take your passed out friend strip them down naked, shave their eyebrows, and put them in a dress. That has been done before though,so I thought of an addendum for this one ^.^ Once these things are done tie their hands and feet, load them in the vehicle(DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE THOUGH,MAKE SURE THE DRIVER IS SOBER!), and proceed to a fairly public place. Once there make sure it is clear enough and simply dump them at the front doors of the business ^.^
4. This one would be messed up to do. Take your friend and place them in a room by themselves and mess up things n the room and plant a used but broken condom in their visible sight 2 make it appear that they had an extremely wild night of sex. When they wake up to this they will already be like wtf? This is when the other friends tell him that some girls came over last night and that (insert name of local super slut) was one of the girls and that they had slept with them. Also tell them about the conversation that never happened that they had with the super slut earlier in the party when she confided n them that she was HIV positive but despite knowing this he still slept with her because they were "in love"...Of course let your overly zealous partying friend know b4 they do anything irrational that it was all made up but should hopefully now recognize some of the consequences of sex in an extremely inebriated state and how much more risk can be created by adding unsafe sex to a situation,especially considering that there is no cure for some STDs...
5. This one would take a good bit of prepping to get right. Take a room in your house that is closely connected with an exit (the kitchen and dining room would probably work nicely) and then paint it all chrome, every last bit as to not risk throwing off the joke. Make sure it is cold enough that your friends nipples feel like snow peas and have a table or counter somewhere in the room that is also as cold as possible. On this table have a series of strange but apparently surgical/ exploratory instruments. Take your friend while they are still passed out, place them on the table, shave every hair on their body, and grease them up with baby oil. The most important part of this whole "joke" is to be sure you are dressed up as an alien standing over them when they snap out of their stupor.If done correctly, your friend should think that they somehow managed to get abducted by an alien and anally probed. No moral to this one, just straight up mind fuck ^.^
A few notes about these five things to do to your FUBAR Friend, don't attempt any of them on your own, use the power in numbers that comes from your group of friends to assist in pulling off these embarrassing "jokes" (calling them jokes is almost too twistid,lol). At least this way your FUBAR friend will pretty much have no choice to either take the punishment or dish it back out one by one on the group if they ever happen to pass out. Any extra additions to these five would be appreciated and I am sure they would only add to the hilarity of the topic.
Pariahprose 2-15-13
1. While you have your friend close by that is passed out it becomes the perfect opportunity 2 see if farting in their eye really does cause pink eye later on.However,that is only the warm up for when u saran wrap them to a tree outside naked! Imagine waking up from a long night of partying and being hungover,cold,and wrapped to a tree only to discover the reason you are cold is because you are naked...( I have actually been saran wrapped to a recliner,with clothes still on, at a friends house b4. They then proceeded to pick me up about 4 feet off the ground and then drop me.I didn't even budge,lots of klonopins and assorted pain pills that night)...
2. A classic way to fuck with your passed out friend.This one would probably actually be easiest while they are heavily buzzed. Go out and get another tattoo but pay the artist 2 make it something completely different,insulting, and preferably profane than what your friend wanted. This way they will have a memory that will last a lifetime of the consequences of doing something in excess. Even when covered up,they would still know that its there!Some ideas for some tats: Sperm Dumpster with arrow pointing down on lower back,Fort Knocked Loose:US Sperm Bank Main Deposit Vault with custom Sperm related money money appearing to fall from the words at their lower back into their ass hole.Also you cant go wrong with a good ole fashioned cock tattoo anywhere on their body,just have some kind of dick related quote above it. It is imperative to remember to place the penis tattoo in an area as visible as possible so that everyone will ask about it.
3. I took this one and made it my own.Take your passed out friend strip them down naked, shave their eyebrows, and put them in a dress. That has been done before though,so I thought of an addendum for this one ^.^ Once these things are done tie their hands and feet, load them in the vehicle(DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE THOUGH,MAKE SURE THE DRIVER IS SOBER!), and proceed to a fairly public place. Once there make sure it is clear enough and simply dump them at the front doors of the business ^.^
4. This one would be messed up to do. Take your friend and place them in a room by themselves and mess up things n the room and plant a used but broken condom in their visible sight 2 make it appear that they had an extremely wild night of sex. When they wake up to this they will already be like wtf? This is when the other friends tell him that some girls came over last night and that (insert name of local super slut) was one of the girls and that they had slept with them. Also tell them about the conversation that never happened that they had with the super slut earlier in the party when she confided n them that she was HIV positive but despite knowing this he still slept with her because they were "in love"...Of course let your overly zealous partying friend know b4 they do anything irrational that it was all made up but should hopefully now recognize some of the consequences of sex in an extremely inebriated state and how much more risk can be created by adding unsafe sex to a situation,especially considering that there is no cure for some STDs...
5. This one would take a good bit of prepping to get right. Take a room in your house that is closely connected with an exit (the kitchen and dining room would probably work nicely) and then paint it all chrome, every last bit as to not risk throwing off the joke. Make sure it is cold enough that your friends nipples feel like snow peas and have a table or counter somewhere in the room that is also as cold as possible. On this table have a series of strange but apparently surgical/ exploratory instruments. Take your friend while they are still passed out, place them on the table, shave every hair on their body, and grease them up with baby oil. The most important part of this whole "joke" is to be sure you are dressed up as an alien standing over them when they snap out of their stupor.If done correctly, your friend should think that they somehow managed to get abducted by an alien and anally probed. No moral to this one, just straight up mind fuck ^.^
A few notes about these five things to do to your FUBAR Friend, don't attempt any of them on your own, use the power in numbers that comes from your group of friends to assist in pulling off these embarrassing "jokes" (calling them jokes is almost too twistid,lol). At least this way your FUBAR friend will pretty much have no choice to either take the punishment or dish it back out one by one on the group if they ever happen to pass out. Any extra additions to these five would be appreciated and I am sure they would only add to the hilarity of the topic.
Pariahprose 2-15-13