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Sadly, I kinda fucked shit up with my family. There are no more second,third and forth chances for me. I grew up not really 'living' life and spending time with my family because I staid high all the time, I dont remember any 'fun' family vacations after I started doing drugs. It's like the second I got high, my life changed forever. This guilt n shame still plauges me to this day, If I had only... or If I never IV'd.. I somehow think things would have been diffrent for me.
I don't know if this makes me weird, but I check out my family's facebook pages, I see that they are having so much fun, going on vacations, going out to eat, movies, shows hell even down to florida where my distant family members live (i'm talking about my mom,sister,stepfuck,and brother). Well, what about me? I check my phone and no text when I read on sisters wall: (PACKING FOR FLORDIA TO SEE cuzn#1&2 MOMS blahblah,BROTHERS blahblah, STEPFUCK is blahblah), Maybe my invite got lost in the mail or the other guy with my same name and last name got it. At first this kind of shit really pissed me off, got me angry. Wanted to drive there or fallow them down to florida and park near them and be like...oh hey guys, well this is akward. for shits n giggles, maybe thats to weird.
Now it doesn't bother me like that, now it makes me feel like total shit because here my family is having fun living their lives together...with out me. yea i know it's not all about me, and due to my deppresion and other emotional issues it's hard for me to honestly understand that.. I mean will it take until I'm 40+ years old before they are going to reckonize me for once? I don't want a handout or no money from them, all i really want them is to acknodlege me, hell maybe a message on facebook, or a text asking how i've been..in the past usually when that happens the only 4 letter word that comes out it 'good', and last time my mom sent me text asking me how my day was,was almost a year ago. before i came clean to her that i was on methadone.(im off the shit thankgod but still facing everyday problems because of it).
What I'm trying to do today is live without the fear of my past,(which i'm having a hard time doing). THERE still is hope, somewhere?maybe i'm looking for in all the wrong places.. I'f i'm not feeling any of the love i'm looking for from my family, then maybe I should look for it else where. Maybe a new start is what i'm looking for? A new begining somewhere else then this place. If I only had a chance to get away I would.
Maybe..maybe something out there is waiting for me, I need to find a way out of this slump i'm in and get to it.

I'm starting this blog/thread as compilation/drop for arbitrary topics. This entry is just a copy of a post i wrote in DITM (thread at: http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/threads/648897-Armstrong-Doping-Allegations-Escalate )

feedback/discussion of any sort is encouraged and appreciated.

crimsonjunk said:

I like the old car racing saying "If you aint cheating you aint trying".

Click to expand...

eh i like the gist of that, but it disgusts me that it's cheating in the 1st place. all pro's/con's of performance-enhancements aside, the fact of the matter is that, while the IOC and USADA are able to forbid athletes from using, they absolutely *cannot* promise any athlete that his competitors are not using. Quite the contrary- in reality, it is all but guaranteed that some will use despite regulations. Therefore you've setup a rule that punishes one for observance - I would hardly call breaking such a rule "cheating". And for the USADA and IOC to pursue this specific violation of the World Anti-Doping Code so vigorously is a disgrace.

A part of me almost wishes he held his ground, but jesus christ are people doing everything they can to crush him - “There comes a point in every man’s life when he has to say, ‘Enough is enough.’ For me, that time is now." So he's not contesting this, and this world champion, cancer survivor, elite athlete, hero/idol is now being drug through shit in almost all social/cultural contexts, he's been stripped of all titles since like the 90's, he's being dropped (and looks like sued!) by all his former sponsors, he's gotta step down from livestrong foundation for the sake of it (not that it hasn't been dealt a huge blow by all of this - i'd hope it hasn't but imagine it has).....and he cannot even ride again - he is banned FOR LIFE.

Nice journey Lance, it's terrible it had to end like this - at least it was all good b4 this bullshit started.

LIVESTRONG

A continuation...

To convert to Iglesia ni Cristo, or "INC," one attends 27 one on one sessions with a pastor in which one is taught (brainwashed) Church doctrine. Known as "Doctrine" (how clever of them), these lessons cover the whole gamut from soup to nuts. One is first taught how 1st Century Christianity quickly apostacised from the "Original Church" introduced by none other than Christ Jesus. The pastor discusses how Catholicism is the creed most responsible for this apostacy and a bunch of other similar subjects.

At about the 10th lesson they start teaching about the founder of the cult, Felix Y. Manalo and how he is the last of the celestial messengers and how only through his teachings can one survive the impending Apocalypse. I'm always curious about how cultists rationalise failed past predictions of impending doom. Having been founded in the same era as the Jeh-vah Witnesses, Manalo adopted that cult's millenialist claptrap and even adopted the predicted year of 1914 as the year in which the world would end. Of course we are still here but at the time new adherants were so taken up with the talk of hellfire, hail and brimstone that they sold all possesions and waited atop roofs and trees for the predicted Rapture to sweep them up to the Heavenly Kingdom. It is a miracle that such cults manage to survive those failed predictions, but then cultists are not the most rational of creatures.

At the 27th lesson the pastor will schedule your Baptism, which like many Pentecostal Churches involves actual immersion and not just a sprinkling on the forehead. After Baptism one is then a full fledged member of the cult. As Mariz's father and I discussed the issue I made it quite clear that I am firm in my beliefs and not searching for a new outlook. I told him that conversion for the sake of marriage isn't something I had ever considered and that I view it as a disgusting capitulation of will, integrity, and values.

Interestingly, I would come to discover that the INC abhors such conversions and will not allow anyone to convert simply for the sake of marriage. Why then did Mariz's father, a pastor himself, push the issue? I told the pastor that I could not see myself ever even considering such a thing, and about how countless Jews have died rather than convert. I even told him about Isaac Lopes. During the Spanish Inquisition Spain Ethnically Cleansed itself of all Jews. On one ship heading to Asia was a 17 year old Jew named Isaac Lopes. Stopping in the Balearic Islands to take on supplies the ship was overtaken by zealous Catholics who dragged all Jews to the square of the largest town. They were offered conversion or death. Most converted- even if only a token conversion. However, Isaac- on principle- refused and because of it was burned at the stake.

At the end, Mariz's father and I agreed to put the issue on hold for the moment and to re-consider it at a later juncture. Breathing a sigh of relief I re-joined Mariz's family in the "sala" (parlour/living room) and continued watching DVDs. After supper I excused myself and took my leave. Guests are considered extremely important, how much more so if the guest is a potential son in law? If I had stayed in the sala the family would not go to sleep as they normally would have and I didn't want to impose upon their hospitality.

At around 10PM I saw the doorknob on the door of the guesthouse begin to turn, as if someone were trying to jimmy the door. Luzon is nothing at all like Mindanao. At home in Mindanao I keep an M653 (mini-M16) on my nightstand, safety off. On Luzon I do not even carry a pistol. Still, the first thing crossing my mind was a kidnapping attempt. I called out loudly, "What do you want?" In response I heard Mariz loudly whisper, "Shhhhh! It's me!" I quickly unlocked the door and asked her if everything was OK. To my suprise she just as quickly sidestepped me and entered the guesthouse. As I have mentioned before, being alone before marriage is verboten and in some cases can cost an unfortunate man his life.

Not long ago in Manila, two teams of neighbourhood boys were playing a game of basketball, the Philippine national sport. As games sometimes do, the match became violent and the two teams pummled each other. The team on the losing end consisted of INC members. The INC team left the court with their tails between their legs but soon returned with a couple of vans full of armed men. The INC members kidnapped 3 members of the winning team and placed them in the basement of their church as Easter festivities took place above them. Just by chance, a middle-aged woman had just left the church and saw the 3 men being dragged into the basement via a side entrance.

Waiting for her ride, the woman heard horrendous screams coming from the basement and decided to report what she had seen and heard to the Church's pastor. Counseled to "just forget it" the woman went above his head and reported the incident to the Church hierarchy in Metro Manila's Quezon City. To make a long story short (is this even possible with Rachamim?), the 3 kidnap victims had been tortured with a battery charger on their genitals and an oxy-acetylene blowtorch to various parts of their bodies. They were then placed unconscious into burlap sacks which were then secured, and summarily tossed into a river where they drowned. The point being that the INC is NOT an organisation to trifle with.

With this on my mind I turned to face Mariz only to find her sitting on a sofa with a shy smile. Hmmmm, what to do?...

To be continued...

A continuation...

On September 3rd, when I should have been serenading Lovely on her 23rd birthday on the beach outside her window I was en route to Zambales Province to spend 4 days in the Iglesia ni Cristo compound (Church of Christ, a homegrown cult). I was keenly aware of being targetted for conversion but was trying to get Lovely out of my mind and what better way than another girl- even IF she is a demented cultist hahaha.

I took a commuter bus which in the Philippines means sharing the bus with livestock (seriously) and all manner of people. In Mindanao busses are frequently bombed, grenade attacks or just mayhem from the barrel of an M16 (thanks Uncle Sam). In Central Luzon though the biggest danger is a catastrophic accident or a pickpocket- tame compared to Mindanao. Arriving in the municipality of Iba Mariz and her parents were there to pick me up from the bus station in their minivan and away I went down the rabbit hole weeeeeeee...

Stowing my overnight bag in the compound guesthouse I joined the family for a lunch of "lechon manok" (rotisserie chicken) and potatoe/egg salad and Sprite. One great thing about the Philippines is that softdrinks still come in glass bottles, and I have become addicted to Sprite though I won't touch it in any other nation. After I accompanied Mariz to her church choir practice, along with her mum and 9 year old sister Mickey who sings in the childrens' choir. I didn't realise it at the time but accompanying them was, in her co-religionists' eyes, a proclamation of sorts, telling them that Mariz and I were an item. All the giggling was a bit strange but that is the same no matter who you are around in the Philippines. Filipinas are so naïve, or innocent depending upon your perspective, but it can be misleading. In some ways they are just as "fast" as their Western counterparts.

A lot, maybe most Western men have this idea that Filipinas are submissive and only aspire to serve you a sixpack on their knees while blowing you. In reality? I have never met a submissive Filipina. Sure, they will not normally disagree but that is only because culturally Filipinos as a whole hate direct confrontation. They will nod their heads yes but that "yes" means absolutely nothing. Filipinas have a custom called "Tampo," or "Magtampo," which has no English translation but is akin to a 5 year old child sulking. She will act childish and refuse to talk for several hours unless begged and cajoled. This is how almost all Filipinas express displeasure and if you aren't willing to play the game you will not have a sucessful relationship. Basically, that is the cliffnote version of why Rizza and I imploded. I would ignore her when she got Tampo with me. I don't kiss ass very well.

It is also true that you will hardly ever hear a Filipina scream in anger though they CAN be acidic like the bitchiest Western girl given the right situation, just with a calm voice. Another disconcerting fact of life for a Western man with a Filipina lover is the disparity in standards of living. In virtually all Western/Filipina relationships the Western man will be much better off financially. This translates into not only fully supporting the lover but often times her family as well. When the relationship begins the man is expected to court the family as well as the woman and this involves gift giving, or "Pasalubong."

At lunch, before choir practice, I had gifted Mariz's mum with a small Chanel no. 5, and her father with a Seiko watch. Mickey got a Hello Kitty watch with the thick band which is mad popular amongst Filipino kids and teens now. I gave her parents a special camera to give to 17 year old Mia who is studying Mass Communications at the Church university, New Era in Metro Manila's Quezon City. For 23 year old MJ, my mate's girlfriend, I left an Ipod and a Samsung Galaxy cellphone, since she was responsible for introducing Mariz and I. In the future one boquet of flowers and take away food is sufficient.

Western men mistake such things as "buying love," you aren't. You are taking part in an ancient custom. Some of the more primitive tribes in the Philippines give spears and swords to the men folk and cooking implements and cloth to the women. I am lucky, or WAS lucky in my marriage because Rizza comes from a rich family. Before I married her she was vacationing in Gstaad and Zurich. I never HAD to give a thing though I did invest in joint business ventures with her parents. I am very fortunate to have married into a great family even if the marriage disintegrated.

In any event, after choir we retired to the "sala" (parlour/living room) to watch DVDs which is basically all we could do at that point, every second accompanied by her mum and 9 year old Mickey. When Mariz's father arrived home he and I had one of those uncomfortable "man to man" talks. I am the father of 2 daughters (and 4 living sons) so I know how distasteful it can be initially speaking seriously with a man who wants to fuck your daughter can be. The man is always kissing your ass, ready to sell his right nut to get your approval just to help ease your virgin daughter's panties off.

Luckily my younger daughter is only 14 (she is my youngest child, at least for now). One presumes she is chaste and since she lives in rural Mexico I do think it is a fair assumption. My eldest daughter is 23 and an officer in the IDF, an equivalent to a 1st Lieutenant and a Platoon Commander in the world's only fully co-ed Infantry Battalion, "Caracal." The battalion was sublimated to my brigade, NACHAL (Nahal) so that until my retirement in 2007 I kept close tabs on her. That year I married her off in an Arranged Marriage per our custom to a Senior Officer in Sayeret Golani, an Infantry Special Forces Battalion. I knew the man since the late 1990s. My son in law is a good man, 34 years old. My daughter could have gotten a discharge having married but was, like myself and one of her brothers, aiming for a military career.

So we had that distinctly unpleasurable conversation about my "intentions." Basically, I was told it is marriage or nothing, and IF it was marriage I have to convert. I am as amenable to conversion as I am to getting a swastika tattooed on my forehead...

To be continued...

So I ended up smoking marijuana again last night. Friends conviced me to do it again. The last time I smoked before was December, 2011, not a good experience.
I started feeling anxiety as soon as I let the smoke from the last drag out. I had a canteen full of vodka (6 liq.oz / 180ml), I drank it all in less than one minute to calm myself and it worked. Later I also drunk some beers (dont remember how much).
I blacked out for, like, 80% of the time. When I got home I fell to the ground due to extreme diziness and I vomited a couple of times. Then I passed out.
It was exactly like the last time. Looks like weed is really not for me.

Now 24 hours later I still feel like the THC is still in my organism. I feel retarded, groggy, despersonalized, fatigued.

edit

The interior may never be clean again but the exterior can be...

What does that mean?

I guess I'll never be cleansed of my sins but a girl has got to try, right?

So I have this crazy feeling again. It is the feeling that my whole life is a lie, I'm a big phony, I have no friends, no one really knows me (not even parents or family), that God put me on the 'wrong spot' on this Earth, 'what the hell am I doing here', might as well just leave for somewhere else no one's gonna miss me anyway, I'm a fake, everything I do or say is dishonest...etc

I would just try to shove this feeling away from my counsciousness but it is so true, so pure.

If you're reading this, you may as well stop now because this will probably read more like a personal journal than a public blog.

Anyways, ever since uni ended and i stopped wrestling, my endurance/cardio system has sucked. I'm almost 30 and have smoked for about a decade. I'd never cared much until a couple years ago - i always had strength and a six-pack, so i just paid lip service to cardio and never really gave a shit about true "health", only "looking healthy". As i become an old man i find that i have the same desire for "actual" health as i used to for "looking healthy".

About a year ago i started toying with long(er)-distance biking, and quickly decided i would compete at some point. through the past year the focus went from biking to triathlon (swim/bike/run), and i decided I WOULD do a triathlon at "some point". Very recently, maybe a month ago, i decided for sure i would do a triathlon soon (ie sometime in 2012), and i found out which one is my target/aim. I finally spoke of this commitment to someone last night, and goddamn does it feel real now!!

That said, this will be a mashed-up blog of training entries, and the generic garbage i used to post as facebook statuses(sp?) (i "quit" facebooking earlier this year lol).


EVENT:
RACE FOR THE BOOTY TRIATHLON (LoL)
Manatee State Park, FL
Race is:
Swim 0.2mi; Bike 20mi; Run 2.0mi

16 yrs old... drank, had sex, did some drugs for the first time..... and joined bluelight
17 yrs old... first trip to rehab ( mostly due to my parents being freaked i was doing cocaine....also graduated highschool
18 yrs old... started community college and moved from indiana to florida
19 yrs old... began iv drug use and 2nd trip to rehab + first trip to detox
20 yrs old... began suboxone maintenance
21 yrs old... college
22 yrs old... went to detox due to close friend overdosing and my own loss of control of iv habit then was taken off suboxone, benzos, amphetamines.... it was fucking horrible i gained 30 pounds and eventually lost that weight... took me about 9 months to feel like myself
again... also moved to colorado which included excessive drinking and relapse........ and graduated from greenlighter to bluelighter after 6 years!
23 yrs old... get pregnant and clean move back to FL to finish school... and i will keep u updated..

Were all born into this river without knowing how to swim And eventually we learn how to keep this water under our chin Some times this river is so cold to be in Freezing my soul, solidifying my skin Regardless of how far I see, I never see my travels in Were carried by the current, being driven by the wind The scenery we pass, we'll never see again So we store it up as memories and don't let go of them Were under a spell thinking the river should go straight We set goals and desires to control our own fate But all the pain we experience as a result of our expectations Because it's the rivers nature to twist and turn The shit can burn And I know it I have the same conflict But I try to sit and flow with this rivers natural process And sometimes when I watch myself float downstream I see the beauty of it all, and it feels like a dream And at that time I appreciate the rivers course Some part of God, reality, momentum, force I stare up at the naked moon, and she stares down at me Outside false boundaries and (I'll look outward to see)? The universe is not something separate from yourself I know you feel alone, but that's why I'm here to help I know you feel alone, but just look up at the stars And everything that is out there is what you really are


We gotta learn to see the beauty in each moment of life Everyone has different pasts and we're seeking the light The world is divided between peasants and kings But the truth is everyone is looking for the same thing Now I want you to know The role you play is part of the whole Without you it couldn't be, and I mean that with compassion So if you need anything, I mean anything at all I'm here for you; all you gotta do is ask man I'm here for you, in the same way that you're here for me Each person in an intricate piece of infinite I feel that if you could see what I see Then we as humanity could be free I'm here for you, not for any self centered reasons Because existence is interdependent and all related, Connected in its different manifestations of one single mind You ain't isolated from the world even though it feels like that sometimes


I see the hurt when I look into your eyes How you struggle to hold it and keep in bundled inside It drives a dull blade deep in my heart; it makes me want to cry So I offer you a hand to help wash away the rainy skies I'm running out of words, but I haven't yet made my message clear So if none of this makes sense, I just want you to know I'm here As a musician, as a friend, as a teacher, as a student To grow and realize everything is in constant movement Each problem that we face is just a part of this movement It seems helpless, but if we stick together we'll get through it And return to the essence from which we've been uprooted And wake humanity from these illusions The second you can look into the sky and see your own reflection You know your head is in the right direction The river riding always moves, but with it I live And everything is perfect, just the way it is


We gotta learn to see the beauty in each moment of life Everyone has different pasts and we're seeking the light The world is divided between peasants and kings But the truth is everyone is looking for the same thing Now I want you to know The role you play is part of the whole Without you it couldn't be, and I mean that with compassion So if you need anything, I mean anything at all I'm here for you; all you gotta do is ask man I'm here for you; all you gotta do is ask man I'm here for you; all you gotta do is ask man

i recently read an old post of mine saying it wasnt that hard to stay safe using iv drugs.... and now guess who has hep c much to my surprise....
ps... i know i post alot about being preg and having hep c but these are two very big parts of my life right now!
... before getting pregnant i used to party and get fucked up way crazier than my bf but now... i dont party at all and he doesnt really party but he still comes home drunk once or twice every couple weeks and it really upsets me! he knows this and i think is actually having a difficult time not drinking and i am getting frustrated but he literally helped save me and he is a great guy sober
tomorow will be 17 weeks!

I know this pedo. Should I cut off my friendship with him? He just fantasizes about little pre-pubescent girls. This is not a joke.

Oh and I can't stop thinking about pedos, it's like an obsession. How can I stop this?

Formulated just as quickly as Plan A, was Plan B. Cats have got names right? I will count the cats as I bring them up and remember the name of each cat so that I don’t lose track like the last time. BRILIANT!!! I thump back down the stairs and grab Funchee, the black one, and take him up stairs. He quickly tries to run back down and I push him back and close the door. Back down stairs I grab another cat. “Sammie…number 2”, I think as I put her up stairs and close the door behind me.

At this point my mind is worn out. Things are moving very well and walls have waves in them and on them. It is all but impossible to keep my mind on the task at hand. Those 2 things, coupled with the fact that the time dilation is making the last 5 minutes chasing these beasts feel like I have been at it for hours, is making this fool’s errand about as much as my brain could handle in its current state. I trudge on trying to complete this task and grab another cat but again at the top of the stairs I forgot where I was in the order. I put that cat up stairs and tried to count the cats up there to give me an idea of how many were left. But of course, they are not in the kitchen anymore. And again it escapes me that if I just keep bring up cats until I run out of cats to retrieve I will be through with this cluster fuck.

Unable to think pass my current predicament, I race around up stairs looking for the cats that had been brought up and they are nowhere to be found. My state had grown worse and I start thinking that maybe they got outside. But there was no way they could get out because no one opened the……..DOOOOOOR!!!!!....... The DOOOOOOOR!!!!! I forgot the close the basement door. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!

Ran back into the kitchen and down the stairs for the 50 quadrillionth time and BAM….there they were all 5 of them… Safe and sound. I had found the missing cats. Hallelujah!! They weren’t outside…my wife would have killed me if they were gone. Me, all high and shit and the cats go missing? I might as well pack my shit and go! What a relief! I love my kitties! *kiss * *kiss* *kiss*…..wait! Are we still in the basement?!?!?! FUCKING COCK SUCKING SON OF A BITCH MOTHER DAMN SHIT HELL……

I am done. My mental ability is gone. Each trip up and down felt like an eternity, I had only just enough energy left to get up stairs to the couch. I kneel by the couch and think about what I am going to do. I am mentally exhausted because apparently, counting to 5 is impossible while on mushrooms. My mind racing to come up with a solution to this impossible problem and never once did I think of just leaving them down there until they found something more entertaining to do than drive me out of my fucking mind.
The white flag was up. It was over. I needed the big gun. It was 2 or 3am, and she had to get up and go to work in the morning but I had no choice...I needed an adult. I have to wake my wife. She would make it all better. She will tame those damn hellions and all will be fine......but it wasn’t fine.

I went up stairs to our room and woke her in the gentlest way possible. By jumping on the bed and yelling “help!! I took mushrooms!!!5 cats in the basement and I can only count to 4.” Not the way I had envisioned it going down in my head but I was happy to get that much out without forgetting the reason I woke her up In the first place.
Sleepily she marched down the stairs and I lead her to the kitchen where the basement door was still wide open. All I could do was stand at the door and point down the stairs. I think I may have whimpered a little too with my gesture. She was not amused! I thought I was finally going to get closure. She would get the cats from the basement and I would be saved but NOOOO…..my savior turn to tormentor as she said the only words in the word that could crush me into an even more pitiful state. “well…Go get ‘em” she said. She didn’t understand that I was fighting this fight for what seemed like days now and wanted nothing more than to curl up in the corner and cry until I fell asleep.

She had no clue how close I was to a break down. Tears welled up as crossed the threshold of the basement door and descended again into my personal hell. I scooped up a kitty and carried it slowly up stairs setting it on the kitchen floor. One, my wife said in a long drawn out voice like she was talking to a 2 year old. Back down I went and grab up another “bundle of joy” and slinked up the stairs only to be shamed again by a long drawn out 2. By the third cat, short audible “poo, poo” sounds were coming from me as I was almost to the breaking point. My wife had begun to laugh at me and seemed to laugh harder each time I came up even more beaten than before. When the last cat came up I was greeted by a sighing “5” and a “now was that so hard” from my wife. I tried to apologize but she waved me off with a stern “we’ll talk about this in the morning” and walked up stairs to bed.

The cat ordeal was over but the trip was far from it. I was immensely gratefull to my chat buddies who talked me into halfing the dose because the rest of the night was filled with confusion and mind fuckery and intense time dilation. Not really a bad trip as bad trips go, but not at all enjoyable. I think I can cross mushies off the list of viable boredom relievers. I won’t be doing them again anytime soon that is for sure.

Sooo I am out in durango Colorado. I had to get away from all the bs in Miami. There is def not a whole lot of trouble for me to get into here.
I really don't think there r even any illegal drugs here barely specially considering weed is mostly legal
I must admit tho I have been feeling some very real cravings I want to shoot up
I think it's all part of an I want what I can't have mentality
There is a guy in Miami I still think bout and he doesn't reallyeven like me back anymore
I am also a lil lonely out here I don't know many people so it's not easy at the moment
One thing I really like tho is I can stop pretending out here when I was at the the 3/4 way house I had to go to all those meetings which I hated and act like I really cared about that stuff and believed in it
Now here at least i can have a drink or two at night and the thing is I don't take it too far it's not like once I have one drink I have to get wasted and I really think I would feel those cravings either way
Also I am considering staying out here more long term possibly attending fort Lewis college which is a bit strange considering I was only 12 credits away from graduating U of Miami but it may be healthier and safer

Now, this happened more than a year ago so the details may be a bit fuzzy. It was April when I started this journey. During the winter I became a member of the shroomery.com forum and was learning all I could about going magic mushrooms. I tried it once before and grew only a yellowish green mush that smelled of sweaty socks but this time would be different. I had a spore print sent to me and was off to the races.

I had tried mushrooms once before about 10 years prior and the experience was rather enjoyable. I have had way too many bad experiences with LSD to ever think about trying it and from what I remembered the mushroom experience was much less chaotic and harsh for me than the majority of my acid trips had been. After following every tip I could gather and about a month and a half of waiting, I have viable mushrooms drying in the food dehydrator.

The whole journey, from spore print to fruit, was done for reasons I don’t yet have a great grasp on. I was thinking at the time that growing them would impart some spiritual meaning into my experience. It had been a long, long time since I had taken any illegal substance and I wanted it to be special in some way. Growing them myself was an attempt at providing that, I guess.
The night I took them I really wasn’t planning on doing so. I was borde out of my wits and chatting with on-line friends. I told them I was going to eat my mushrooms but didn’t know how much to eat without a scale. I took a few pics of my intended dose and posted them and immediately got advice to cut that dose in half. So, with my wife asleep, I went down to the kitchen and made a concoction of purple slushy and powered mushrooms and gulped it down. I came back up and told the chatters that the deal was done and that I was taking shower and would be back once the fun started.

In the shower about 5 minutes when I felt a rush like I consciousness was being pulled away from my body. I was fighting to keep it with me. It felt as though is I had let it fly away I would have had a full out of body experience but for some reason I felt compelled hold on to it. I quickly turned off the water and looked down at my feet. They seemed miles away. That is when it hit me that the shrooms were kicking in!

Out of the shower and I put on the same clothes I came in with and headed up stairs. The shower Is in the basement of the house and there is a door at the top of the stairs. Opening the door, the light from the kitchen blasted my eyes and I got a good gauge of how far along in the experience I was. I would see that the kitchen floor looked smooth and had a liquid like texture. But before I could survey any more my black cat ran down in the basement.

I didn’t want to forget about him down there and it never really thought that I could just leave the door open and shoo any members of our herd that wandered down there after my trip. I trudged down the stairs after him and scooped him up and started back up the stairs. Half way up, a brown blur flew down the stairs as another cat dove to the basement. I tossed the black one in the kitchen and went after the brown one. While s picking up brown one, the black cat came back down the steps again and I scooped him up too. Now I am carrying 2 cats up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, the door is wide open and I see our other 3 cats had come to investigate the commotion. As I made the final push to the top they all jumped into action like they planned it in advance. I started laughing hysterically, let go of the cats in my arms and sat on the top step as I watched all the cats bounce down the stairs. I found the whole situation so funny. Here I am coming up hard on mushrooms. I can feel the confusion building every second and now I have to figure a way of getting all 5 cats out of the basement.

By the time I had collected myself and devised a plan my face was hot and objects were starting to move. The time dilation had manifested and minutes were seeming to take longer and longer. My plan was to go down and capture one cat at a time and usher them up stairs. Once I got to five. I raced down and grabbed the first cat I came across. And ran to the up to the landing and toss it, pretty forcefully, up the last 3 steps into the kitchen so it would get the point that I didn’t want them down there. Back down I went and did the same thing…that’s 2 down and 3 to go. I was getting more confused by the minute and on the fourth cat…..I had forgot how many cats I had previously ushered up the stairs. *face palm*

On my way back down I decided to count the cats down stairs and that would let me know how many were upstairs. Unfortunately, the whole time I had neglected one key detail in my foolproof plan….The door was still open. Just as I reach the basement floor, the whole heard can stampeding down again. Plan A was an utter failure.

Spring light's shine through the train windows, and long shadows jet out upon the Gowanus Canal, turning the industrial wasteland into something exciting and beautiful. I can smell a fresh scent in the air, even through all the pollution and haze, and though I feel so damn lethargic, I get this great sense that something new is coming. It effects the way I walk. It effects the way I talk, like I've grown wings, Red Bull style. As I exit the platform, and leave the station, i see the people walking about the city, their legs swinging back and forth in unison. It's as if they're all tiny pieces to an elaborate steam powered machine. It's so strange, and so horrifying.

I leave my outpatient shaking with anger. The blood is pulsing so hard through my arteries, that I can feel them contracting and releasing, reluctantly feeding oxygen into my extremities-if that is what they do. I get out of the train again, and cough up some mucous that had been festering in my bronchials and spit it out on the ground. I head up ninth street, not paying any mind to the moonlit concrete, 'cause I'm not looking for peace. I have to bite my tongue, and pacify my fingers with a ciggarette so I dont send out erratic hate filled text messages, I throw my phone into my pocket and speed up my pace. I walk along prospect park west and move against the traffic, the idea that my purest form of self only exists digitally, and on a few crumpled up peices of paper begins to bother me. Finally, I reach Flatbush. The cheap restaurants and neon lit store fronts seem to bring a calm over me, and though at that moment I realize I hate my parents, I dont mind, because there is so much to be distracted by.

I wake up this morning, and head once again into the city for school. I walk along the side of my campus and stare into the vacant eyes of other privelaged, jaded, students. I imagine myself, as if in some foreign film, screaming at the top of my lungs "DONT YOU SEE? I AM YOUR KING, CRUCIFY ME! ". But then I laugh to myself, cause I'm just so fucking clever

My mom just called. My Uncle Bill just passed away. He was really bad with Alzheimers, but he and my aunt Margaret, (my mother's last surviving sister) had been married for 64 years. He was a bad ass motherfucker too. Trouble on tw0 legs and a hoot to be around. My mom's kin all come from up in a holler in the mountains of Virginia. I always knew it as "Sandy Ridge" but I doubt it's even on a map now. My grandfather and his father too, well fuckin everybody, grew tobacco. My grandfather and my uncles made shine. After the Vietnam war, my uncles grew weed with the tobacco. They weren't hippies tho... they were all good with a gun and protected what was theirs mercilessly. (I saw my uncle Cammel shoot and kill a dog just walking by, because it was walking by.)

Funny, they don't like to talk about it. In the summers of 2009 and 2010 I went to Florida where my uncle Jerry, uncle Gracen, and uncle Demma live. Demma was Bills illegitimate son by my aunt Flo. Bill was already married to my aunt Margaret when Flo came up pregnant. She was a teenager. She had the baby and my grandma and grandpa said it was theirs. Flo wouldn't discuss paternity and would tell you to mind your own fucking business if you asked her twice.

I thought Demma was really one of my mom's brothers. He is actually my mom's nephew. As Demma got older and older, it became just painfully obvious that Bill was his father. OMG. Margaret and Bill had moved up to Michigan and started a family and Demma didn't see Bill except like once a year at the family reunion. But Christ, Demma was shaped just like Bill, was a mirror image of Bill's facial features except Demma got Flo's red curly hair. All my kin in Virginia are/were tall and thin with red curly hair. Bill was from Kentucky. He was short and stumpy, walked stiffly, and had large eyeballs. Demma is just like that! As adults they both looked like hobbits and whispers started to surface.

Flo never spoke of it. Hillbillies, at least all the ones I've known and loved during my lifetime, do not tell their secrets. My parents had moved us to California, but we went back to Virginia almost every summer during my whole childhood. My cousins and I ALL gave Cammel a wide berth. We fucking knew he wasn't right. If he offered one of us a cold soda (which was an extremely rare thing to find, since electricity didn't come to the that holler until 1980) we would in NO WAY get close enough to him to take the soda! Well, guess what? uncle Cammel did time for molesting his own daughters, from when they were three years old. Guess what else? I nor my cousins were surprised. But we never said a word about him to anyone. We just kept away from the sick fuck. Nobody had to warn us. I don't know how, but we taught each other without any details. Some of us didn't have the vocabulary to explain one goddamm thing but none of us got near him. We did not tell anyone anything about him. Hillbillies do not talk shit on their own kin. SO Flo never said who Demma's dad was, and she died drunk driving.

Now Bill is gone, and he never acknowledged that he was Demma's dad. I am sure he would have denied it if confronted about it, because he would never admit to Margaret that he slept with her sister. Hillbillies will not tell on each other and they don't like the law at all, but they are bad about fucking. They are the randiest group of human beings you could ever want to meet, or avoid, whatever. My grandma had 11 kids in 10 years. Children born in their house built of boards and flour paste and newspaper with an outhouse down the path a ways. The house had no running water but there was a creek nearby. The stove in the kitchen burned wood all day every day and my grandma cooked a lot whenever I was there, because all her kids came home every summer and brought their families.

It seems so strange to me. I loved my grandmother and grandfather. I loved the smell of the curing house where the tobacco hung after harvested. I loved to hear my grandpa play banjo and sing. Even though I grew up in southern California, I thought Virginia was fantastic. I could leave the house in the morning with my cousin Jen and we could stay gone all day. We drank from creeks, which were abundant. We ate berries. It is almost impossible to believe that my precious grandparents lived the way their parents did, and the way their parents did, right there on Sandy Ridge, since before the Civil war. An indentured Irishman got land there after a stint in New York during which time he married an English girl. I guess the move down to Virginia included family from both sides and a few stragglers, plus a misplaced native american woman. I saw a really old, faded picture of her at about 90 years of age. She was strong. They all were strong. I can't imagine going on a wagon ride for days just to get to where you are going and have to clear the fucking forest! Clear it they did. Acres and acres of thick forest, trees hand felled one by one. Houses built and outhouse pits dug. All of that was happening and the people were having 14 and 15 kids. More hands make light work? My great grandma was a midwife. She assisted her daughters and daughters in law during childbirth. If nothing else, she had a lot of experience with her own 12 kids. I guess as time passed and she became the eldest matriarch she'd be obliged to assume the role of midwife, would she not?

ah shit. I need to stop writing and go pee. I wonder if I will continue this, or delete it, or just leave it alone.

My mom has come to my home to be here for my daughter's baby shower. I have been having to take care of her. She never makes it to the potty on time. She stumbles. She's weak. She can't get up or down by herself. She's had a lot of health problems and she has a lot of pain.

That being said, she takes so many pills I don't understand how her doctors allow her all these meds. Oxycodone, hydrocodone, methadone, plus benzos lorazapam and xanax, plus ambien when is a hypnotic on her.

And she drinks a couple of bottles of wine every day with her meds.

Right now she is asleep next to me. Passed out cold. She gets fucked up to the max every day. She walks and talks and acts out scenes from something, I don't know what, late at night.

Thisi is the last time she will be in my home. My kids have all been hugging her and being loving... we all know it's the last time she'll be with us all together. She knows it too and she made me drive us past our old house, where I grew up. I knew she wanted to see it for the last time. She often has tears in her eyes because she knows this trip has proven to all of us, the whole family, that she can't travel anymore. In fact she needs a caretaker. I don't know about any of that stuff.

The baby shower is Saturday and I will be driving her home to nor cali Saturday night after the shower. I have to drive home Sunday because I have to be to work Mon morn. It is such a mournful sight... her back curving over, her stumbling walk, her confusion.

Her confusion is most disconcerting. She doesn't know how to count anymore. She counts her money, then puts away and then counts again 6 more times, mumbling to herself the whole time. She can't remember my kids or my sister's daughter's names. Her confusion is getting a bit worse with the passing of the weeks.

All I know for sure is that I'm losing her. She's here now but it won't be very long... I don't know what it feels like to lose a parent. I wonder how I'll find my through this labyrinth of loss.

I didn't realise I posted blogs here almost 2 years ago. I thought things would get better with time, but no. I wish I knew why I was like this. Well, I think I know but it doesn't help me.. but maybe I need to find the route cause..

I'm so tired. Slept for sn hour and a half in the last 48 hours.

God I wish I had more drugs. Wait, no I don't, that's part of why I feel so shit. I don't know what to do. The one thing I love, which makes me feel good, which I can truist on, which just let me be happy and ~be~ is fucking me up more and more.

I don't want to think about life sober, it's horrifying. Not having anything to hold back on.. I never dealt with my problems before, all I've done is go from one shit self destructive mechanism to another.

I don't feel like a person anymore. I guess that's what I wanted though- to block out emotions, but now -- ??! Argh I can't explain/ put into words. I just wish I had an off sleep, that I could go back and bitch slap the younger me, or go back before then and just be someone happy, sober, healthy, with a good conscience, not guilty, anxiety free, with a strong sense of identity and self acceptance. All I feel is anxiety or that depressiing nothingness. No natural happiness. I know I need to stop bitching, but I don't understand what the fuck I want/ feel. This sort of helps.. I can start to rationalise obvious depressive/ negative thinking, unblock stuff by forcing myself to put things into words. It doesn't help though. But i guess it does.

Saying I don't feel anything is a lie, before I just broke down and cried- I guess that means I'm not a psychopath. Woooohooo.

I think maybe I should man the fuck up, book an appointment with this substance abuse support place close by. And fucking just get out of the house and do something meaningful. I'm such an ungrateful person. Either I try and change things now, or just give up. Im sick of being in the middle. I need to choose a side, instead of being in limbo.

A continuation...

In addition to that tired mantra of "You never loved me" Lovely began blaming me for the July 6th breakup. "Raki, you know it was YOUR fault."

Rachamim: "How was it MY fault?"

Lovely: "You are a Chickboy (Filipino English for "Ladies Man)!"

Rachamim: "I was faithful and I never even had a female friend while we were together. Please stop making excuses. You are the one who walked away but is it really important now? What is your point here? Just to stick the blame somewhere? To get a clean conscience?"

Lovely: "Raki, you played with Jackielou, with Joysa, with Mai (one I haven't discussed here), and you expect me to believe that you weren't playing WITH me?"

Rachamim: "Jackielou? You know the story. The girl was a compulsive liar. She said she was seperated, she wasn't. She said she had only two kids, hiding her infant son every time I went to her camp (she lives on an army base). She pretended her sister's home was her own! She took money I gave her and blew it on bullshit! "

"Joysa? Joysa admitted to you that she was doing cam shows for foreigners (I don't believe I mentioned THAT nugget)! She was finessing me for a visa and cash, fuck that lowlife and her family of whores!"

Mai is a girl I know from Davao City but who now lives in Makati. I hadn't seen her since 2002 when she was Rizza's friend. In 2011 she contacted me online but- Thank G-D- I never tried to see her in Makati. Online I discovered a tonne of nasty shit about her and just stopped communicating which led to her stalking me on Facebook hahaha, such bullshit drama. Lovely contacted her as well as Jackielou and Joysa. Filipinas have this terrible habit of needing to talk to all recent exes. Obstensibly it is to "get closure" but it is actually about rubbing it in the exe's wounds.

"Mai? Mai, the girl who edited her photos to portray herself as a petite alabaster skinned beauty but who looks like an American mullatoe and stands 5'8"? Riiiight! Oh, let us not forget the bulk email with hot photos she was sending around the world haha, or the India in Malaysia who ran up a $10,000 phone bill jerking off with her!"

"Get a grip Lovely. You know what? I do not need this shit! I'm in Makati! That's right, here to suprise you on your birthday despite my ulcer and poor eyesight resulting from the Sepsis you precipitated with your nonsense! Goodbye!!!"

Needless to say I didn't go see Lovely. Two days later, invited back up to Zambales, I was sitting in Mariz's "sala" (parlour/livingroom) and wondering what was happening to me...

To be continued...

My writing seems to pour out when I am tired beyond tired. And after three 12 hour shifts pair with restless leg syndrome I am going on about 4 hours of sleep in the last 2 days and feel like writing another blog.
In recent news, a young girl died after drinking 2 monster energy drinks. Normally it would just be another blip in the endless tragedies that fill the news these days. But this one hit bit closer to home. If you read my other blog you would know that I am a former MDMA user. It’s been 12 years but and I have all but lost hope of ever getting to sample that lovely chemical again. And that girl’s story is another nail in the coffin of my dream of using MDMA again. I heard the story again today on the radio as I was going in to work. I tuned it out as I thought it was just another recap of what I already heard but a word in peaked my interest again. I heard the word “regurgitation” and began to listen intently.
I did not hear the exact heart problem the girl suffered from that, paired with an excessive amount of caffeine, caused her unfortunate demise but the only one I know that the word regurgitation fits with is mitral valve prolapse with regurgitation. Guess who has that, yours truly. So my MDMA dream is most possibly a death sentence.
Don’t get me wrong, I know taking drugs is inherently dangerous and I have been told by doctors that my condition can be aggravated by stims but this is the first hard evidence I have seen that it is possibly fatal to combine stimulants with MVP. Before now I believed that I could get away with taking reasonable amounts of MDMA in a controlled setting. I can exercise as much as I want. I use to drink A LOT of caffeinated drinks. So much so that the constant elevated sugar level was pushing my pancreas to its limit. I rarely drink them now just to avoid the sugar but after being away from them for a good long while I can feel my heart thumping hard and fluttering about. I get days where it dose that for no reason at all too so I suck it up and go on like it isn’t there.
Now with the recent outing of “The Silk Road” I finally have a way to get MDMA. When the news first broke about The Silk Road I saw some threads here saying it shouldn’t be trusted and that LEOs would be all over it. I am sure that is the case but the 97% success rate of product deliveries and the fact that I am desperate to get molly makes me think that the risk is worth the reward. There are literally thousands of people on reddit telling of success and I think one more fish in the sea isn’t going to get noticed. I was in! I was getting money together and going to get bit coins and take a shot at it. Needless to say, with this little girl’s passing I have slight reservations now.
I still think I would be fine. I recently had a physical for a new job where the nurse practitioner was delighted to find out that I have MVP so that she could let her students listen. She jumped at the chance to listen to my heart through her stethoscope. She listened and listened and said she could barely hear the tell tail click that give away my hidden ailment. So apparently my case is milder than most. I can still drink caffeine without much more and a little discomfort at times but most of the time I don’t feel a thing. I smoke like a chimney and it’s the same way. Now these are mild stims at best and spread out throughout the day not a huge amount in one go. But taking MDMA is a whole other ballgame. The choice is mine to make. Take the risk with the Spector of that girl’s death looming in my mind or stay on the long, mundane, and boring road I have become accustom to? THE SUSPENCE BUILDS!

I wanted to change my password for this account.
Having forgotten which account it's attached to, I ended up going through every e-mail account I've had over the past five years.
But I couldn't remember the passwords to those.

Then I ended up coming across all sorts of happy messages between myself and various persons; certain people who "loved" (wanted something from) me were overseas, whilst others just liked sending e-mails, and so I saw preserved in their entirety some past version of myself, happy and smiling and holding someone in the photographs that were there.
Photographs of myself and various past lovers, all of the way back to the original - the first, the only, the one who suffered the most...

Life is ultimately not worth living when the past is full of love, of purity, naivete, sweet, harmless fun and kisses and the future is filled with dull, boring people, the world is drained of its colour like an old boiled sweet on the floor of a rusty car, the girls in those photos; M**** can no longer wear that cheer-leader costume because she's ten years older, a lot wider, and works in a laundromat with bags and wrinkles under and around her eyes. She never smiles anymore.lllllllllllllll

I look so happy in these photos, and I know it's not the drugs: they never made me happy (never made me unhappy) but on a long enough time-line, everyone's life turns to shit.

I've literally spent years attempting to help everyone. But people don't change. First question out of rehab is "Hey, *****, how can I shoot these Subutex?"
"Aren't you missing the point of being prescribed them?"
Then he died, too, of course.
People just die and leave you alone, or they live and leave you alone. Hurt and jaded and full of p Alone with a library full of all human knowledge - fine.
Maybe someone could tell me why people always make the exact same choices; "mistakes" in the eyes of others.

Weighing it up, life and death are equal.
Is suicide really a bad thing?