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Doctors. Drug dealers. Lawyers. Significant others. Friends. Family. Strangers, even. They'll all let you down. They'll suck everything they can from you and promise things in order to keep stringing you along and sucking you dry... Then when it's time to deliver, poof, nothing. So I'm going to change they way I deal with the world around me. Everyone, by default, is a no good fucking selfish liar until proven otherwise. That's my new motto. I'm not a liar. I don't lie to people. I'm probably honest to a fault. I'm fucking generous to people. I'm nice to them. I give them shit. Everything I fucking say I'm going to do, I do. This sounds kind of schizo, but whatever, I've found it to be true. I've trusted people and they've hurt me. And it keeps happening, over and over again. I suppose some people haven't hurt me on purpose. I guess it's just hurtful when you're so insignificant to someone that they don't give a shit about promises they've made to you. Fuck it. Fuck you, fuck them, fuck me, fuck everyone.
It's every man for themselves, so be it.
It's every man for themselves, so be it.
I suffer from ADHD, Ive been on Adderall for 4 years and every year my doctor increases my dosage, because it becomes obvious toward the later part of that year my actions are reverting back to that chaotic life. I'm at 80mg instant release and I've been on vivance, concerta, rittlin, and stratera, that last one made me real sick..... I showed instant improvement with adderall, so that was a keeper, however, I didn't know what I was in for.
I've been real good with my life up until this past year. I've noticed an odd smell coming from what I think is my pores and it's only during the 6-8 hours I'm on the medication, well, a couple hours after as well, which is why I think the smell is related to the increase of medication. The smell resembles a little like wet dog and a little like fart (bad egg). I've been through 3 jobs already this year because of my paranoia of smelling bad at work and I can only use so many colognes. Before you think I'm paranoid as a result of the medication (which was my first thought) I began to closely watch for faces , because most people just won't tell you you smell bad, but sure enough, they were there, followed by some avoiding behavior.
Could somebody tell me why I may be experiencing this, I'd like to keep things going they way they were and if anybody knows someone with ADHD, it's almost impossible to change something that works productively for them.
I've been real good with my life up until this past year. I've noticed an odd smell coming from what I think is my pores and it's only during the 6-8 hours I'm on the medication, well, a couple hours after as well, which is why I think the smell is related to the increase of medication. The smell resembles a little like wet dog and a little like fart (bad egg). I've been through 3 jobs already this year because of my paranoia of smelling bad at work and I can only use so many colognes. Before you think I'm paranoid as a result of the medication (which was my first thought) I began to closely watch for faces , because most people just won't tell you you smell bad, but sure enough, they were there, followed by some avoiding behavior.
Could somebody tell me why I may be experiencing this, I'd like to keep things going they way they were and if anybody knows someone with ADHD, it's almost impossible to change something that works productively for them.
I got my first oxy prescription a little while ago - really helped with my pain, plus a great buzz. Went to get a repeat today and the doc says he can't do a repeat without an authority. He says I will need to go see an orthopaedic surgeon and he can't guarantee that this surgeon character will be sympathetic to my needs. He is implying, I think, that the specialist will advocate spinal surgery for a bullshit sciatic nerve, instead of just giving me painkillers that help me manage the pain perfectly well. Apart from the fact that I enjoy the oxy and it works well for me, I don't want people messing around with my spinal cord and the nerves around it. Kind of a phobia of mine.
And I'm pissed off. If my doc couldn't give me a repeat, what the hell was the point of teasing me with one script! Grrr! Back to Tramadol
And I'm pissed off. If my doc couldn't give me a repeat, what the hell was the point of teasing me with one script! Grrr! Back to Tramadol
(forward:i used to be smart. one day, when i go to college to be a writer i'll be able to do this story justice. but for now, i'll just do meth and write it all as quickly and sloppily as possible without editing any of it. because i need to tell someone. it's almost impossible to follow, but if you can get the gist of it, it's pretty cool i think all i ask as that you don't judge my writing ability by this. this is not how i write. also, is this incriminating? please let me know if it is)just thinking about writing this made me tired.
i might die in the process, ya know? According to the super secret dextroverse forums DXM and meth combined can cause lot's of heart complications. oh well.i'm sick. when i started shooting meth, chest pain was a positive sign. meant that i was high. in the case of needles, the closer you are to death, the closer you are to nirvana. with heroin, it's blue lips, white splotches in the face, getting slapped by your friends.
speaking of shooting up.
white sands. new mexico. rehab. the surreal twilit desert. a city on a hill.
i met a girl. she was beautiful and she was damaged and just like me she was out of her element.
we were young, hip, attractive, intelligent drug users. i was in a men's rehab, she was in a women's rehab. both of us lived with middle aged-elderly drug addicts. uneducated. in sorry shape. we saw each other and it was a no brainer.
we started college, so we had free reign over our time. the rehab directors didn't know enough about college to regulate us. while everyone else was in group or in an a.a. meeting we were having sex in the designated smoking "gazebos" and in the desert.
she was above me. i had never met anyone cooler than me, so i was in awe. her music was better, her drugs addiction was much more severe, and her... oh god. i tried. i had shot up twice in my life. ketamine once, and a weak shot of meth in jail. i tried to pretend to be a junkie and i tried to understand her but i didn't. so i lied. and she knew. and she didn't trust me. and our relationship became depraved before too long. mostly because i didn't understand. if i had understood the mentality of a sober junkie i might have been able to win her love... but we moved out of rehab and in to an apartment and two weeks later she bounced back to albuquerque, back to heroin, and i relapsed and was committed to a mental hospital in roswell. she came back though. i broke out of the mental hospital and through a bizarre chain of events ended up selling my soul to jesus for a bus ticket back to my desert home where she was waiting. of course, two days later she was gone. she had just come to get her check. so i'm drinking. dxm and alcohol and i start talking to my neighbor who i thought was a good sober a.a. person. his girl had just left him too. we started talking. about suicide, i fed him coricidon, and before we knew it we were headed toward roswell to pick up his girlfriend from her mom's (the dope dealers) house. i took with me all my savings. i bought threehundred dollars worth of fire. and in a gas station parking lot i did my first real shot of meth. it drew back blue. sixty units. my friend later said he didn't know what he was thinking. he hit me. i coughed and saw my soul depart from my mouth, the world rushed and we undertook a perilous adventure. three guys doing massive shots in a cadilac with the dope dealers daughter (who smoked a bunch but had no idea we were doing shots)trying to leave roswell. after much drama we got the daughter from her mom's house, for some reason we picked up a ceiling fan, then we went to see her grandparents and her kid (by we i mean my friend and her, me and the driver dude stayed in the car and did more shots) then we had to get my property from the mental hospital. we sat around for about an hour before we became paranoid and decided to leave. we then visited the grave of my friends childhood friend who had recently been shot in a drug deal gone bad. then we drove through the mountains, high as fuck, shooting a blue pistol out the window. a cop flashed his lights, and i put my syringe in my ass cheeks, but he turned around. we got back to my desert town. i had about two hundred dollars worth of FIRE and probation the next morning. so i went all night without touching it(i couldn't hit myself anyways). my other neighbors a husband and wife in sobriety trying to get their kids back were giving me a ride. i pulled the husband off to the side, and told him there was something in my medicine cabinate and that if i went to jail to take it and get rid of it. i went to probation. i waited. the longest stretch of time i've ever experienced. my p.o. walks out in to the waiting room with a briefcase. he has to go. i'm saved. i call my friends. they pick me up. i'm walking back to my apartment when my neighbor pulls me to the side. "i did some of your shit". oh you idiot. you moron. why would you do that with so much at risk? why would you make me feel so bad? you relapsed on my dope and you're gonna lose your kids!! oh hey, since i'm not going to jail i'm gonna do some more dope. can you hit me? we did shots. we did 200 dollars worth of fire in a day. his wife found out. they argued. i stared out the peephole of my door for about twelve hours. i had twenty dollars left. i was in hell.
but of course! a solution. i went to my other neighbor. asked him if he could get heroin. i had never done heroin, but a girl had just left me for heroin, and heroin sounds like a great way to end my misery.
i end up waiting all day, in hell. throwing water on random white spots, seeing if they break down.
but i get my heroin.
and it was glorious. my friend and his friend both of them blue in the lips and white in the face came over. they hit me. told me to stand up and hold on. sat a cigarette on the counter, hit me. gave me my first shot of heroin. and ran.
ha. what meth comedown?
so i discover i.v. drugs, i start pawning shit, i have no money, and i'm in jail within two weeks.
three months i sit there. they let me out on the condition that i go back to rehab.
i'm in rehab a week. i'm working for the carnival getting high in secret, wanting to do a shot.
a diabetic man, we'll call him jeff is in rehab with me. i have a 20 of mephedrone. it's 1am and i'm on cough medicine.
sitting in the dark of the kitchen jeff walks in, just the man i wanted to see.
i cock my eyebrow and say "so, how long you been sober" next thing you know we're shooting up bath salt (i'm trying anyways, this is the beginning of my learning to shoot myself up saga) and next thing you know we're scoring meth from some homeless guy in the desert and next thing you know we're driving to clovis, i'm on the run, with my carnival money and old boy is gonna teach me to sell dope. his cousin is the dope dealer. so we get an eight ball, and instead of selling it, end up doing it. first with these two older women, then we start moving around, we spend the night at the connects house (in the tool shed anyways) and i become convinced we're in this adult carnival peepshow. i think i'm about to have sex with the dope dealers wife and he almost beats me up. i haven't slept in like 4 days, and am doing shots bigger than ever. then we go with these two gay guys and this redhead who is obsessed with jesus. she tried to have sex with me, but i was psychotic and had been up for days and didn't know what was going on. the next day, i'm borrowing money from my family, saying i'm being held hostage by drug dealers, and on the way to get the moneygram i become convinced that my friend jeff turned me in and the cops are coming and that the jesus girl was a part of the carnival and ashamed and that i was saving her and that the girl from rehab was in the ceiling and that we were about to do all my dope together and i went in to this straight up psychotic episode and finally. sleep. i woke up the next morning on a matress in a toolshed next to a dog and an old guy. i have a pocketful of dope and i get everyone high. i spend the next month running errands and having adventures and doing dope and babysitting for dope and on the run at an all time low.... i meet this beautiful heroin/speed junkie named leslie and she breaks down "the game" and spends the next month trying to teach me to hit myself. long story short, jeff and i get arrested selling dope to this deaf prostitute. luckily they didn't actually catch us selling dope, but got us for warrants instead. i'm in jail again. i get out. go on a mission for a shot. i had never successfully hit myself, but the first time outta jail i did it no problem. after a week or two homeless, bouncin' around, i decide to head back home. texas. to my family.
so i'm at the gr
i might die in the process, ya know? According to the super secret dextroverse forums DXM and meth combined can cause lot's of heart complications. oh well.i'm sick. when i started shooting meth, chest pain was a positive sign. meant that i was high. in the case of needles, the closer you are to death, the closer you are to nirvana. with heroin, it's blue lips, white splotches in the face, getting slapped by your friends.
speaking of shooting up.
white sands. new mexico. rehab. the surreal twilit desert. a city on a hill.
i met a girl. she was beautiful and she was damaged and just like me she was out of her element.
we were young, hip, attractive, intelligent drug users. i was in a men's rehab, she was in a women's rehab. both of us lived with middle aged-elderly drug addicts. uneducated. in sorry shape. we saw each other and it was a no brainer.
we started college, so we had free reign over our time. the rehab directors didn't know enough about college to regulate us. while everyone else was in group or in an a.a. meeting we were having sex in the designated smoking "gazebos" and in the desert.
she was above me. i had never met anyone cooler than me, so i was in awe. her music was better, her drugs addiction was much more severe, and her... oh god. i tried. i had shot up twice in my life. ketamine once, and a weak shot of meth in jail. i tried to pretend to be a junkie and i tried to understand her but i didn't. so i lied. and she knew. and she didn't trust me. and our relationship became depraved before too long. mostly because i didn't understand. if i had understood the mentality of a sober junkie i might have been able to win her love... but we moved out of rehab and in to an apartment and two weeks later she bounced back to albuquerque, back to heroin, and i relapsed and was committed to a mental hospital in roswell. she came back though. i broke out of the mental hospital and through a bizarre chain of events ended up selling my soul to jesus for a bus ticket back to my desert home where she was waiting. of course, two days later she was gone. she had just come to get her check. so i'm drinking. dxm and alcohol and i start talking to my neighbor who i thought was a good sober a.a. person. his girl had just left him too. we started talking. about suicide, i fed him coricidon, and before we knew it we were headed toward roswell to pick up his girlfriend from her mom's (the dope dealers) house. i took with me all my savings. i bought threehundred dollars worth of fire. and in a gas station parking lot i did my first real shot of meth. it drew back blue. sixty units. my friend later said he didn't know what he was thinking. he hit me. i coughed and saw my soul depart from my mouth, the world rushed and we undertook a perilous adventure. three guys doing massive shots in a cadilac with the dope dealers daughter (who smoked a bunch but had no idea we were doing shots)trying to leave roswell. after much drama we got the daughter from her mom's house, for some reason we picked up a ceiling fan, then we went to see her grandparents and her kid (by we i mean my friend and her, me and the driver dude stayed in the car and did more shots) then we had to get my property from the mental hospital. we sat around for about an hour before we became paranoid and decided to leave. we then visited the grave of my friends childhood friend who had recently been shot in a drug deal gone bad. then we drove through the mountains, high as fuck, shooting a blue pistol out the window. a cop flashed his lights, and i put my syringe in my ass cheeks, but he turned around. we got back to my desert town. i had about two hundred dollars worth of FIRE and probation the next morning. so i went all night without touching it(i couldn't hit myself anyways). my other neighbors a husband and wife in sobriety trying to get their kids back were giving me a ride. i pulled the husband off to the side, and told him there was something in my medicine cabinate and that if i went to jail to take it and get rid of it. i went to probation. i waited. the longest stretch of time i've ever experienced. my p.o. walks out in to the waiting room with a briefcase. he has to go. i'm saved. i call my friends. they pick me up. i'm walking back to my apartment when my neighbor pulls me to the side. "i did some of your shit". oh you idiot. you moron. why would you do that with so much at risk? why would you make me feel so bad? you relapsed on my dope and you're gonna lose your kids!! oh hey, since i'm not going to jail i'm gonna do some more dope. can you hit me? we did shots. we did 200 dollars worth of fire in a day. his wife found out. they argued. i stared out the peephole of my door for about twelve hours. i had twenty dollars left. i was in hell.
but of course! a solution. i went to my other neighbor. asked him if he could get heroin. i had never done heroin, but a girl had just left me for heroin, and heroin sounds like a great way to end my misery.
i end up waiting all day, in hell. throwing water on random white spots, seeing if they break down.
but i get my heroin.
and it was glorious. my friend and his friend both of them blue in the lips and white in the face came over. they hit me. told me to stand up and hold on. sat a cigarette on the counter, hit me. gave me my first shot of heroin. and ran.
ha. what meth comedown?
so i discover i.v. drugs, i start pawning shit, i have no money, and i'm in jail within two weeks.
three months i sit there. they let me out on the condition that i go back to rehab.
i'm in rehab a week. i'm working for the carnival getting high in secret, wanting to do a shot.
a diabetic man, we'll call him jeff is in rehab with me. i have a 20 of mephedrone. it's 1am and i'm on cough medicine.
sitting in the dark of the kitchen jeff walks in, just the man i wanted to see.
i cock my eyebrow and say "so, how long you been sober" next thing you know we're shooting up bath salt (i'm trying anyways, this is the beginning of my learning to shoot myself up saga) and next thing you know we're scoring meth from some homeless guy in the desert and next thing you know we're driving to clovis, i'm on the run, with my carnival money and old boy is gonna teach me to sell dope. his cousin is the dope dealer. so we get an eight ball, and instead of selling it, end up doing it. first with these two older women, then we start moving around, we spend the night at the connects house (in the tool shed anyways) and i become convinced we're in this adult carnival peepshow. i think i'm about to have sex with the dope dealers wife and he almost beats me up. i haven't slept in like 4 days, and am doing shots bigger than ever. then we go with these two gay guys and this redhead who is obsessed with jesus. she tried to have sex with me, but i was psychotic and had been up for days and didn't know what was going on. the next day, i'm borrowing money from my family, saying i'm being held hostage by drug dealers, and on the way to get the moneygram i become convinced that my friend jeff turned me in and the cops are coming and that the jesus girl was a part of the carnival and ashamed and that i was saving her and that the girl from rehab was in the ceiling and that we were about to do all my dope together and i went in to this straight up psychotic episode and finally. sleep. i woke up the next morning on a matress in a toolshed next to a dog and an old guy. i have a pocketful of dope and i get everyone high. i spend the next month running errands and having adventures and doing dope and babysitting for dope and on the run at an all time low.... i meet this beautiful heroin/speed junkie named leslie and she breaks down "the game" and spends the next month trying to teach me to hit myself. long story short, jeff and i get arrested selling dope to this deaf prostitute. luckily they didn't actually catch us selling dope, but got us for warrants instead. i'm in jail again. i get out. go on a mission for a shot. i had never successfully hit myself, but the first time outta jail i did it no problem. after a week or two homeless, bouncin' around, i decide to head back home. texas. to my family.
so i'm at the gr
wI can see what's happening... I'm going back down that road, that I said I wouldn't. I untangled my mess of a life... only to end up back where I was before. I was supposed to go to an NA meeting today for the first time but I totally forgot and slept through the time it was supposed to start. I would have never made it.
Tomorrow is my girlfriend's birthday and I don't have anything to give her. She told me all she wants from me is a nice home cooked meal. Which I can do for her. I will go all out for her. But I've come so far away from what I was. She deserves the world but all she's got is me, a fucking loser pathetic pillhead for a girlfriend... I am certainly no catch. At least not in the state I am in right now.
A couple of years ago, I was working so I was able to take her to Vermont for a week for her birthday. We enjoyed the weather (April in Vermont is beautiful). We rented a hotel room, brought a bunch of MDMA, benzos and pot brownies (this was on Amtrak, where you can get away with shit like that.)
I just want to be the woman that my girlfriend deserves.
Tomorrow is my girlfriend's birthday and I don't have anything to give her. She told me all she wants from me is a nice home cooked meal. Which I can do for her. I will go all out for her. But I've come so far away from what I was. She deserves the world but all she's got is me, a fucking loser pathetic pillhead for a girlfriend... I am certainly no catch. At least not in the state I am in right now.
A couple of years ago, I was working so I was able to take her to Vermont for a week for her birthday. We enjoyed the weather (April in Vermont is beautiful). We rented a hotel room, brought a bunch of MDMA, benzos and pot brownies (this was on Amtrak, where you can get away with shit like that.)
I just want to be the woman that my girlfriend deserves.
So I have slipped up and got a little messy with covering up my drug use. My mother found one of my toots with powder in it. I'm not really sure how I can play that off but for now at least I can avoid it. However I did tell her about the time with me getting robbed and a gun being pulled out on me. Also why I came home bitching about wanting to throw a brick through some girls window. The thing is I lied about why it all happened and twisted the stories so it would look like it wasn't my fault. I also made sure to tell her I had no idea the girl I was with was a heroin addict and I didn't know at the time she was going to be picking up dope. She then asked me if I ever did heroin? She asked calmly but in the end I straight up lied to her face. Heroin? No, I never touched it and I wouldn't ever do that. Ugh, I can't believe I lied to her and she told me that she was happy to know that. I'm not sure if my mother is in denial or what but then again I rather have her try to deny that her daughter is an addict.
However, the worst thing ever is during our talk she told me about this women we know. She comes over to one of the ladies apartments and I guess the chick is shooting up. She told me how our neighbor saw the track marks and even saw her do a deal before. And all I could thing in my head was, she uses? Damn, maybe I can hit her up when I see her next. What the hell? Why do I have to automatically think that.. Ugh, if only my mother didn't have to tell me about that.
Other than that I am still using other drugs but I'm going to cut back on those as well. I'm pretty sure I should just become completely sober but I'm more worried about staying away from dope right now. I know I can do that at least for now but I am more concerned about when I see my friend soon who I haven't seen in awhile. They still use dope and even thinks I do. They even offered to bring dope and suggested that we cop it together. The shitty thing is I went along with saying yes and agreeing to do it even though I was thinking don't do it. You know you don't want to do it but then again getting high on heroin would be so nice. Luckily I still know that I shouldn't and I know I won't do it in the time being but I'm afraid of what may happen when this opportunity arises. I just wish things could be easier. I wish my brother never got me into drugs or drinking when I was fifteen but I can't change what has already been done. There is no going back in time so I have to live with the choices I have made.
So for now I will continue to try to make my life better and improve in certain areas of my life. I even applied for a second job and the interview went great! I'm not sure how I will manage working this other job if I do get hired though but I guess I'll figure it out. If the hours don't work for me then I can try to see if I can change them or just turn down the possible job offer. In the end I just want to continue working at the one job I have now and enroll into college this fall. School is going to have to be my first priority.
However, the worst thing ever is during our talk she told me about this women we know. She comes over to one of the ladies apartments and I guess the chick is shooting up. She told me how our neighbor saw the track marks and even saw her do a deal before. And all I could thing in my head was, she uses? Damn, maybe I can hit her up when I see her next. What the hell? Why do I have to automatically think that.. Ugh, if only my mother didn't have to tell me about that.
Other than that I am still using other drugs but I'm going to cut back on those as well. I'm pretty sure I should just become completely sober but I'm more worried about staying away from dope right now. I know I can do that at least for now but I am more concerned about when I see my friend soon who I haven't seen in awhile. They still use dope and even thinks I do. They even offered to bring dope and suggested that we cop it together. The shitty thing is I went along with saying yes and agreeing to do it even though I was thinking don't do it. You know you don't want to do it but then again getting high on heroin would be so nice. Luckily I still know that I shouldn't and I know I won't do it in the time being but I'm afraid of what may happen when this opportunity arises. I just wish things could be easier. I wish my brother never got me into drugs or drinking when I was fifteen but I can't change what has already been done. There is no going back in time so I have to live with the choices I have made.
So for now I will continue to try to make my life better and improve in certain areas of my life. I even applied for a second job and the interview went great! I'm not sure how I will manage working this other job if I do get hired though but I guess I'll figure it out. If the hours don't work for me then I can try to see if I can change them or just turn down the possible job offer. In the end I just want to continue working at the one job I have now and enroll into college this fall. School is going to have to be my first priority.
I think I'm done with dope for now and even drugs period. To be honest this whole doing drugs thing isn't what I want to do anymore, at least not now. I haven't done heroin in like a month or less? Sadly I really don't remember (another reason why I want to quit using drugs...my memory is shot) but if I made it that long without dope I should consider myself lucky and call it quits. Also I'm tired of being fucked up all the time. I miss being motivated and when my life was revolved around accomplishing my goals and dreams... But now my life is only revolved around doing drugs. There really hasn't been a day in a very long time where I haven't been fucked up. I know I use because it makes me forget about everything going on in my life but that's the problem! I don't want to self medicate and act like nothing is wrong for a little bit but then sober up to know my life is more fucked up than ever. Ugh, I'm so sick and tired of this shit. I'm sick and tired of being this fuck up. I want more than what I have now and I have realized the only way I can do that is if I quit using drugs.
When I'm using I have no care in the world and all I do is walk around the city with my friend....wasting my life away. When I'm high I don't want to accomplish anything and all I want to do is never comedown but of course I always do. Then its back to hating life until I can get high once again. Wow, such an interesting life... Why can't my life be normal? Why can't things just be easier? If only I had the answer to those questions. So I'm done using for now and I'm not sure if ill start again anytime soon but I have other priorities that need to come first. I mean some people might think I'm crazy but the truth is I know this is the right thing to do. I'm actually going to do something with my life and finally dig myself out of this hole that I am in. I'm going to be going to college and I'm even moving out! Isn't that great? Well to me it is. I even am picking up more hours at work and also applied for another job. If I can get the extra money I need I'll even be able to get myself a car which I so desperately need.
So in the end this is all is so much better than just being a drug addict. Maybe I'll even be able to get better and pull myself out of this depression.. Who knows? I'm just going to go with the flow and see where life takes me. I'm going to get myself back up on my feet and yes it will be hard but I know I can do it. I have faith in myself, everything will get better. I know it will because I cut ties with all my dope connects and even said goodbye to my "friend" I always scored with. Yeah, that was hard but it's for the better. In the mean time I have found love to fill this void inside and other little things to keep me going.
I have to keep on going because I want to make everyone proud of me again. I don't want to remain this failure. The other thing is the day of my boyfriend's death is coming up soon. April 18th will make it a year and I know its going to be so hard... I mean it already is now. So I know I need to get clean and remain strong. Not just for me or my family and friends but for him. He died of a heroin overdose and for me to be using is so messed up. Yes, its how I cope but then again I know its going to be the death of me. All this shit I'm doing is slowly killing me and I'm only eighteen. I don't want to die yet. I did at one point and maybe I still kind of want to but not as much as I did before. However, I was weak and beaten down. I didn't think I could make it through another day but I'm still here. I'm still here to live another day because I'm stronger than ever. I'm going to be okay. That's the phrase I need to repeat in my mind everyday until I don't need to anymore.
When I'm using I have no care in the world and all I do is walk around the city with my friend....wasting my life away. When I'm high I don't want to accomplish anything and all I want to do is never comedown but of course I always do. Then its back to hating life until I can get high once again. Wow, such an interesting life... Why can't my life be normal? Why can't things just be easier? If only I had the answer to those questions. So I'm done using for now and I'm not sure if ill start again anytime soon but I have other priorities that need to come first. I mean some people might think I'm crazy but the truth is I know this is the right thing to do. I'm actually going to do something with my life and finally dig myself out of this hole that I am in. I'm going to be going to college and I'm even moving out! Isn't that great? Well to me it is. I even am picking up more hours at work and also applied for another job. If I can get the extra money I need I'll even be able to get myself a car which I so desperately need.
So in the end this is all is so much better than just being a drug addict. Maybe I'll even be able to get better and pull myself out of this depression.. Who knows? I'm just going to go with the flow and see where life takes me. I'm going to get myself back up on my feet and yes it will be hard but I know I can do it. I have faith in myself, everything will get better. I know it will because I cut ties with all my dope connects and even said goodbye to my "friend" I always scored with. Yeah, that was hard but it's for the better. In the mean time I have found love to fill this void inside and other little things to keep me going.
I have to keep on going because I want to make everyone proud of me again. I don't want to remain this failure. The other thing is the day of my boyfriend's death is coming up soon. April 18th will make it a year and I know its going to be so hard... I mean it already is now. So I know I need to get clean and remain strong. Not just for me or my family and friends but for him. He died of a heroin overdose and for me to be using is so messed up. Yes, its how I cope but then again I know its going to be the death of me. All this shit I'm doing is slowly killing me and I'm only eighteen. I don't want to die yet. I did at one point and maybe I still kind of want to but not as much as I did before. However, I was weak and beaten down. I didn't think I could make it through another day but I'm still here. I'm still here to live another day because I'm stronger than ever. I'm going to be okay. That's the phrase I need to repeat in my mind everyday until I don't need to anymore.
Playing a show in a week at the Bitter End..excited, but the last time I played there..It was an acoustic set, I'd just fixed in a cab 15 minutes before going on stage and long story short, I fell off the stool and face planted on the stage, CRACK! Lights fuckin' out. The nuts in the audience still cheered though, so as long as I was entertaining, eh? Here's to a repeat performance! 
Today I woke up bright and early a very proud 15 days sober. After showering and brushing my teeth I stepped out onto my back deck in my boxer shorts and a giant beach towel wrapped around me. Holy shit it was cold. It had been warm all week and I am not one to watch the weather forecast so the cold air shocked me back inside. I had planned on running again today but it was drizzling rain and dreary as well. I scrambled a few eggs and sat down to eat my breakfast and decide how to spend my Sunday. I had no idea then that my sobriety would be tested soon. Or that my resolve would step aside so willingly.
Yesterday was a good day. I have been having a string of good days really. I had somewhat of a routine going with the waking up early, getting out and running, trying to eat healthy. I still feel incomplete though in some way. I am still self medicating with the Clonazepam and weed it is not like I can not function "normally". I have had this whole week off work but I had been going to hang out with friends. I have been seeing this girl that I have explained my addiction to and she has been very supportive. I even went to the local track last night to watch the Jones v. Evans UFC fights and socialized with work friends. But it feels like all that is just trying to fill this hole that as hard as I try never quite gets filled.
After finishing my breakfast I decided
to just have a lazy Sunday. I packed my bong and cycled through my DVR until I decided to rewatch last weeks episode of 'Game of Thrones.' I am just about to finish the episode and have burned through the bong when I decide I need to score some benzo's because I am out. I text my guy and tell him to hit me back when he rolls his lazy ass out of bed. I was pretty stoned so I just laid there on my laptop reading the highlights from last nights spring college football game maybe responded to a post on TDS. Just generally having a lazy Sunday like I planned.
Eventually my guy texts me back and tells me I can swing by whenever. I get up and throw on some jeans and a hoody and head out immediately. I have to drive past my guys house to go to the bank so I can hit the ATM first. When I drive by I notice that there is a truck in his driveway. A truck that I know well as it belongs to one of my old Opana hook ups. It hit me pretty hard and I immediately started thinking about scoring but I wrestled the idea out of my head and just got enough from the ATM for my benzos. By the time I got back to his house I was a little releived to see the truck had gone. My friend met me at the door told me to come in. His roomate was still passed out on the couch so we went in to sit at the kitchen table. He pulled out a shot glass and dropped in a little blue football(1mg alprazolam) and filled the small glass with some cheap vodka. This is something this particular friend had turned me onto doing but I only ever bothered to do it when I was around him. I am not sure if it makes the drug hit you faster or its just the alcohol potentiating it but whatever it is; it is a great buzz.(not recommending this, as mixing benzos w/ any amount of alcohol can get dangerous) I took a small coffee straw from a cup on his table and poked the now crumbling pill then stirred the concoction until it turned a translucent blue color. I took the shot and filled it halfway back up with vodka and swirled it around a little to gather any remaining blue stuff from the cup and drank that as well. I was feeling pretty good at this point and that is when my friend said that he heard some bad news today.
I should first say that this particular friend had no idea that I had been trying to kick opiates. He was not even as much a friend as just my benzo hook up that I partied with sometimes. So anyways as for the bad news. Our mutual acquaintance who had been at his house in that familiar truck earlier. He is an older gentleman and I do not know the story as to why he is scripted Opana 40's but I know that he does not take them. Not at all. He either manages his pain in other ways or conned his way into the script I dont know. I do know that he sells his entire script every month except the few he takes before his monthly appointment. He is very careful in this way keeping those few back in case of randomly getting tested. He is also very wary of being pill counted. He actually always has a full script in his medicine cabinet or wherever he keeps them. At some point he didnt move any or take any for a whole month so that now when he gets a new script he puts that one back and sells last months supply. This way if he ever gets called in for a random visit he can count out exactly the amount he should have at that point in the month to take into the clinic. Anyways all that is relevant because this month he was forced to get the newly formulated Opana. They are round and rubbery and to my knowledge very difficult to abuse. Apparently he had tried several different pharmacys around the area and they had all switched to this new formula. It was akin to hearing that a great friend was maybe getting married and moving away to some other country and you would never really be able to hang out anymore. I was just a little sad that my favorite method of getting high was going to be unattainable even if I had stopped using. That made what any fight my conscious would put up for what came next all the more futile.
The silver lining of course to the aforementioned bad news was that our mutual aquaintance still had last months supply of the little yellow stop signs. One of which he produced from his stash box sitting on the table in front of us. He explained, as he raked the pill back and forth over a segment of hose clamp to shave the pill down, that he had been able to purchase ten of the "last of the good ones" from our friend. At an inflated price of course. He finished shaving it down chopped it over a few times with a card and split it into two lines. At this point I did not even consider not blowing this line. In fact I was already trying to figure out in my head how I was going to get ahold of more of these now endangered goodies. So after doing the line and chatting for a short while I am feeling pretty good. Even 15 days seems to have pretty efficiently lowered my tolerance if I was feeling something off of 20mg. I was not quite where I wanted to be though. I talk my friend into selling me another one. Paying him with the money I had gotten from the ATM for the benzos which were now the furthest thing from my mind. I fly through the routine I miss so dearly and quickly have the entire pill prepared for insuflation. After that I was feeling very good. My friends roomate finally got up and left for work and we sat in his living room and played the new UFC game on Xbox and listened to Pink Floyd. I am all in at this point and I figure I might as well make a day of it since it is the last I will see of them. My friend however does not really want to come off anymore at first as he got them for himself. Not to mention he is a little peeved I no longer am interested in the benzos he had held for me.
Trying to bargain with an addict to sell you his own stash is utterly hopeless. I was however not going to be denied. I was able to get ahold of our friend and he agreed to stop back by later this evening. I did not want to wait however so after agreeing to also purchase the benzos from him we worked it out where I would take half of what he had now even paying a little extra and our friend would swing by later and he could pick up some more from him then. Everyone is happy. I run back to the ATM to withdraw the cash and can not even get the amount that I need to cover what I owe so I end up stopping at two gas stations and buy a pack of cigs at each just to get cash back. Now properly funded I swing back by my guys house and grab the four yellow forties and twenty blue footballs. We chat for a few minutes but then part ways and I head back to my apartment.
At this point even though I was feeling pretty good I am also realizing I threw away a few weeks of sobriety. While I am not naive enough to think that is any where near in the clear it was still a big accomplishment for me and I threw it away without much of a thought. I made some post on TDS and posted some stuff I had written in a blog. I just wanted to let someone know I had faltered I guess. And not someone who I really knew. Someone who could not stop me from at least finishing what I had aquired. I blew another forty right after that though. My tolerance had really been affected by my short sobriety apparently because this one made me start to get a little nauseous. I warmed up some pizza I had in my fridge and chewed some tums with a glass of ginger ale to try and settle my stomach. I melted into my couch after that. I had a good nod going and felt great.
So that brings me to here. I just sat around the house all day. I did clean the hell out of my place today and it needed it pretty badly. But yeah mostly I just sat around watched a few movies and had that lazy Sunday only plus some Oxymorphone. I have had this half a forty chopped up waiting for me while I wrote this blog. I was very worried about relapsing earlier when I first got home but I think it has made me realize that I need to get some help. I have heard lots of good things about suboxone and how it fills that void of that feeling of contentment. I think maybe I will look into that soon. But right now I am going to blow this line and "I'm going to a pretty place now, where the flowers grow. I'll be back in an hour or so".
Yesterday was a good day. I have been having a string of good days really. I had somewhat of a routine going with the waking up early, getting out and running, trying to eat healthy. I still feel incomplete though in some way. I am still self medicating with the Clonazepam and weed it is not like I can not function "normally". I have had this whole week off work but I had been going to hang out with friends. I have been seeing this girl that I have explained my addiction to and she has been very supportive. I even went to the local track last night to watch the Jones v. Evans UFC fights and socialized with work friends. But it feels like all that is just trying to fill this hole that as hard as I try never quite gets filled.
After finishing my breakfast I decided
to just have a lazy Sunday. I packed my bong and cycled through my DVR until I decided to rewatch last weeks episode of 'Game of Thrones.' I am just about to finish the episode and have burned through the bong when I decide I need to score some benzo's because I am out. I text my guy and tell him to hit me back when he rolls his lazy ass out of bed. I was pretty stoned so I just laid there on my laptop reading the highlights from last nights spring college football game maybe responded to a post on TDS. Just generally having a lazy Sunday like I planned.
Eventually my guy texts me back and tells me I can swing by whenever. I get up and throw on some jeans and a hoody and head out immediately. I have to drive past my guys house to go to the bank so I can hit the ATM first. When I drive by I notice that there is a truck in his driveway. A truck that I know well as it belongs to one of my old Opana hook ups. It hit me pretty hard and I immediately started thinking about scoring but I wrestled the idea out of my head and just got enough from the ATM for my benzos. By the time I got back to his house I was a little releived to see the truck had gone. My friend met me at the door told me to come in. His roomate was still passed out on the couch so we went in to sit at the kitchen table. He pulled out a shot glass and dropped in a little blue football(1mg alprazolam) and filled the small glass with some cheap vodka. This is something this particular friend had turned me onto doing but I only ever bothered to do it when I was around him. I am not sure if it makes the drug hit you faster or its just the alcohol potentiating it but whatever it is; it is a great buzz.(not recommending this, as mixing benzos w/ any amount of alcohol can get dangerous) I took a small coffee straw from a cup on his table and poked the now crumbling pill then stirred the concoction until it turned a translucent blue color. I took the shot and filled it halfway back up with vodka and swirled it around a little to gather any remaining blue stuff from the cup and drank that as well. I was feeling pretty good at this point and that is when my friend said that he heard some bad news today.
I should first say that this particular friend had no idea that I had been trying to kick opiates. He was not even as much a friend as just my benzo hook up that I partied with sometimes. So anyways as for the bad news. Our mutual acquaintance who had been at his house in that familiar truck earlier. He is an older gentleman and I do not know the story as to why he is scripted Opana 40's but I know that he does not take them. Not at all. He either manages his pain in other ways or conned his way into the script I dont know. I do know that he sells his entire script every month except the few he takes before his monthly appointment. He is very careful in this way keeping those few back in case of randomly getting tested. He is also very wary of being pill counted. He actually always has a full script in his medicine cabinet or wherever he keeps them. At some point he didnt move any or take any for a whole month so that now when he gets a new script he puts that one back and sells last months supply. This way if he ever gets called in for a random visit he can count out exactly the amount he should have at that point in the month to take into the clinic. Anyways all that is relevant because this month he was forced to get the newly formulated Opana. They are round and rubbery and to my knowledge very difficult to abuse. Apparently he had tried several different pharmacys around the area and they had all switched to this new formula. It was akin to hearing that a great friend was maybe getting married and moving away to some other country and you would never really be able to hang out anymore. I was just a little sad that my favorite method of getting high was going to be unattainable even if I had stopped using. That made what any fight my conscious would put up for what came next all the more futile.
The silver lining of course to the aforementioned bad news was that our mutual aquaintance still had last months supply of the little yellow stop signs. One of which he produced from his stash box sitting on the table in front of us. He explained, as he raked the pill back and forth over a segment of hose clamp to shave the pill down, that he had been able to purchase ten of the "last of the good ones" from our friend. At an inflated price of course. He finished shaving it down chopped it over a few times with a card and split it into two lines. At this point I did not even consider not blowing this line. In fact I was already trying to figure out in my head how I was going to get ahold of more of these now endangered goodies. So after doing the line and chatting for a short while I am feeling pretty good. Even 15 days seems to have pretty efficiently lowered my tolerance if I was feeling something off of 20mg. I was not quite where I wanted to be though. I talk my friend into selling me another one. Paying him with the money I had gotten from the ATM for the benzos which were now the furthest thing from my mind. I fly through the routine I miss so dearly and quickly have the entire pill prepared for insuflation. After that I was feeling very good. My friends roomate finally got up and left for work and we sat in his living room and played the new UFC game on Xbox and listened to Pink Floyd. I am all in at this point and I figure I might as well make a day of it since it is the last I will see of them. My friend however does not really want to come off anymore at first as he got them for himself. Not to mention he is a little peeved I no longer am interested in the benzos he had held for me.
Trying to bargain with an addict to sell you his own stash is utterly hopeless. I was however not going to be denied. I was able to get ahold of our friend and he agreed to stop back by later this evening. I did not want to wait however so after agreeing to also purchase the benzos from him we worked it out where I would take half of what he had now even paying a little extra and our friend would swing by later and he could pick up some more from him then. Everyone is happy. I run back to the ATM to withdraw the cash and can not even get the amount that I need to cover what I owe so I end up stopping at two gas stations and buy a pack of cigs at each just to get cash back. Now properly funded I swing back by my guys house and grab the four yellow forties and twenty blue footballs. We chat for a few minutes but then part ways and I head back to my apartment.
At this point even though I was feeling pretty good I am also realizing I threw away a few weeks of sobriety. While I am not naive enough to think that is any where near in the clear it was still a big accomplishment for me and I threw it away without much of a thought. I made some post on TDS and posted some stuff I had written in a blog. I just wanted to let someone know I had faltered I guess. And not someone who I really knew. Someone who could not stop me from at least finishing what I had aquired. I blew another forty right after that though. My tolerance had really been affected by my short sobriety apparently because this one made me start to get a little nauseous. I warmed up some pizza I had in my fridge and chewed some tums with a glass of ginger ale to try and settle my stomach. I melted into my couch after that. I had a good nod going and felt great.
So that brings me to here. I just sat around the house all day. I did clean the hell out of my place today and it needed it pretty badly. But yeah mostly I just sat around watched a few movies and had that lazy Sunday only plus some Oxymorphone. I have had this half a forty chopped up waiting for me while I wrote this blog. I was very worried about relapsing earlier when I first got home but I think it has made me realize that I need to get some help. I have heard lots of good things about suboxone and how it fills that void of that feeling of contentment. I think maybe I will look into that soon. But right now I am going to blow this line and "I'm going to a pretty place now, where the flowers grow. I'll be back in an hour or so".
My random thoughts consist of just life in general. Why and how things are the way that they are. Like a normal human being would...
But, there is one thing i would like to know. More than anything.
I would like to know, why people think it's o.k to do things and other people think its the total wrong thing.
For example: My mom thinks its O.K to not lend me 5 dollars because i forgot my wallet at home. Home being a half an hour away. I was visiting my grandma because she just got back from treatment from cancer. Her second time around having the evil thing. . .
She even had the money on her. And you know what she said to me? She told me she couldn't grab me the 5 dollars because her boyfriend was watching and he might get mad that she was giving me 5 dollars! . . .
I am not one of those kinds of people that just uses people for money...and i always pay her back if i ever borrow money...also i had just turned 18 and have been living with my grandma since i was 13 because my mothers boyfriend doesn't like me. He doesn't have a reason. He. Just. Doesn't. I haven't asked for money for like a year. Just this ONE time i needed her to be there for me she wasn't. HER REASON???? SHE DIDN'T WANT HER BOYFRIEND TO BE MAD AT HER FOR HELPING HER DAUGHTER OUT. when he doesn't even have a job and my mother works TWO jobs!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am soo mad at my mom for not being stronger for me.. She always has such low self esteem!!! But then again i can relate...But, i only can relate because thats all i really know?? Do you think that i am the way i am because of how her past relationships were bad?!??!?!
About, 8 years ago when i was ten she was with a man that cheated on her multiple times and she stayed with him...then they broke up...and got back togther.. When they got back together the third time he told my mom we were moving to vegas...even though i was only 10..I stood up to him when my own mom wouldn't. I told them both i wasn't going ANYWHERE. And i ran to my friends house and told her everything. He was a horrible man....and so is the guy shes with now...i don't understand why she has such bad self esteem...she really is a beautiful lady.
I have so much anger towards her and her boyfriend. I feel like i don't have a mom anymore...
Is that what all people feel when they turn 18??? Or is it just me??
Idk... I just with things were differant. i know nobodys perfect.
But, that night when i almost ran out of gas...I had to go 100 mph just to make it to my work, which is 3 miles away from my house. I had TO BORROW MONEY FROM MY WORK just to make it home!!!!!!! And my manager even took the money out of the till to do it! Which he couldv'e got in WAY more trouble than my mom would have with her BOYFRIEND!!!!
Pree much too sum everything up is: Why do the ones that you want to care, DONT???
But, there is one thing i would like to know. More than anything.
I would like to know, why people think it's o.k to do things and other people think its the total wrong thing.
For example: My mom thinks its O.K to not lend me 5 dollars because i forgot my wallet at home. Home being a half an hour away. I was visiting my grandma because she just got back from treatment from cancer. Her second time around having the evil thing. . .
She even had the money on her. And you know what she said to me? She told me she couldn't grab me the 5 dollars because her boyfriend was watching and he might get mad that she was giving me 5 dollars! . . .
I am not one of those kinds of people that just uses people for money...and i always pay her back if i ever borrow money...also i had just turned 18 and have been living with my grandma since i was 13 because my mothers boyfriend doesn't like me. He doesn't have a reason. He. Just. Doesn't. I haven't asked for money for like a year. Just this ONE time i needed her to be there for me she wasn't. HER REASON???? SHE DIDN'T WANT HER BOYFRIEND TO BE MAD AT HER FOR HELPING HER DAUGHTER OUT. when he doesn't even have a job and my mother works TWO jobs!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am soo mad at my mom for not being stronger for me.. She always has such low self esteem!!! But then again i can relate...But, i only can relate because thats all i really know?? Do you think that i am the way i am because of how her past relationships were bad?!??!?!
About, 8 years ago when i was ten she was with a man that cheated on her multiple times and she stayed with him...then they broke up...and got back togther.. When they got back together the third time he told my mom we were moving to vegas...even though i was only 10..I stood up to him when my own mom wouldn't. I told them both i wasn't going ANYWHERE. And i ran to my friends house and told her everything. He was a horrible man....and so is the guy shes with now...i don't understand why she has such bad self esteem...she really is a beautiful lady.
I have so much anger towards her and her boyfriend. I feel like i don't have a mom anymore...
Is that what all people feel when they turn 18??? Or is it just me??
Idk... I just with things were differant. i know nobodys perfect.
But, that night when i almost ran out of gas...I had to go 100 mph just to make it to my work, which is 3 miles away from my house. I had TO BORROW MONEY FROM MY WORK just to make it home!!!!!!! And my manager even took the money out of the till to do it! Which he couldv'e got in WAY more trouble than my mom would have with her BOYFRIEND!!!!
Pree much too sum everything up is: Why do the ones that you want to care, DONT???
It is a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon. A peaceful tranquility hums off of the side walk. The grass waves with a steady breeze, flowing up and into my window. My lunch is warm and my drink is cold. Simple thoughts no longer carry any weight. It is as if the world has lost its luster. Perhaps I need to take a break.
I continue down a path of happiness and fear. My face and body may not resemble my practices, however my eyes do. As I stare into the mirror I see an empty shell of belonged to my soul.
There are yin and yang. There are GHB and methamphetamine. The two counteract each other like water does a fire. I sit here alternating between two worlds.
In the world of GHB, I feel slow, goofy and unafraid of the consequences of my actions. It is in this world that I desire the fast paced, aggressive aspects of methamphetamine. Therefore, I dose the speed.
The room begins to sharpen. My mind no longer feels at ease. I begin to rapidly theorize, execute and communicate ideas in which I would have never spoken aloud; racing thoughts plague this mindset. Now it feels as if death, both physical and spiritual are very real things. Soon enough my thoughts dive into those of panic. Looking like an idiot, I take my blood pressure, temperature and heart rate every ten minutes as if I expect an undiagnosed health condition to manifest itself and take my life during my state of high stress.
As I end this manic behavior with GHB, I feel my heart slowly come to a regular pace. I remember my mother talking about listening to my heart beat for the first time while I was in her womb. Thump Thump
The heart beat is a reassuring sound to still be alive after a panic. To think in my teenage years I felt depressed, suicidal. After a dozen attacks, the saddened mind no longer wishes for eternal sleep, rather, quite the opposite.
I find myself looking back in the mirror. I found the cure for depression.
I continue down a path of happiness and fear. My face and body may not resemble my practices, however my eyes do. As I stare into the mirror I see an empty shell of belonged to my soul.
There are yin and yang. There are GHB and methamphetamine. The two counteract each other like water does a fire. I sit here alternating between two worlds.
In the world of GHB, I feel slow, goofy and unafraid of the consequences of my actions. It is in this world that I desire the fast paced, aggressive aspects of methamphetamine. Therefore, I dose the speed.
The room begins to sharpen. My mind no longer feels at ease. I begin to rapidly theorize, execute and communicate ideas in which I would have never spoken aloud; racing thoughts plague this mindset. Now it feels as if death, both physical and spiritual are very real things. Soon enough my thoughts dive into those of panic. Looking like an idiot, I take my blood pressure, temperature and heart rate every ten minutes as if I expect an undiagnosed health condition to manifest itself and take my life during my state of high stress.
As I end this manic behavior with GHB, I feel my heart slowly come to a regular pace. I remember my mother talking about listening to my heart beat for the first time while I was in her womb. Thump Thump
The heart beat is a reassuring sound to still be alive after a panic. To think in my teenage years I felt depressed, suicidal. After a dozen attacks, the saddened mind no longer wishes for eternal sleep, rather, quite the opposite.
I find myself looking back in the mirror. I found the cure for depression.
It's been a few days since I have seen Ron, and I think it a few more months before we meet again. Like that crazy best friend we all had growing up, he reappears out of nowhere, and it is as if we never missed a beat. Ron's not so bad, and he has a way worse reputation than he should. I mean, there are plenty others that are just like him, but since they present themselves a little better, they don't have the stigma that Ron carries.
It was a few months ago that I ran into Ron again. We hung out on weekends, but he grew on me like he always has, and we were hanging out more frequently as the months went on. It's pretty obvious when he is around, as my friends surely notice and say "Tommyboy isn't answering his phone... Ron must be back in town," and "he hasn't come out in a month, he must be choosing Ron over us again...."
There's only so much time that one can hang out with Ron before getting sick of him, and there is only a few people that you can introduce him to. It's kind of odd that Ron hangs out with me these days, because after all, he is a very accomplished older man, and is well traveled. He's been all over the world, and hung out with all different crowds. He recently moved to the suburbs, which is how we met. His cousin Oscar had become pretty popular around these ways, so it was only natural that I started hanging out with Ron, since the two are very similar, yet Ron is around to hang out more often.
It's a relief to take a break from hanging out with Ron. I always get a little sick after partying with him for a while, but I welcome the sickness as a means of symbolizing change. Promise of a better day, promise of a new tomorrow, when all the restrictions that have been put on me by Ron are suddenly lifted, and I can live free again. The problem is, living free from Ron is only so good when you long for the day that you can hang out again. You know some people that still see him, so he's never more than a phone call or two away, but it's sometimes best to keep that door shut for as long as possible before reopening it.
So here I sit during the bittersweet farewell to Ron. It's the same as anybodies farewell to that crazy friend they had while growing up, or in college. Your family and friends can only stand him so much before they tell you that you have to stop seeing him or they will stop talking to you.
Well Ron, we had a good run but it's time we part ways. Hopefully I will use this time apart to make even more money to blow with you when we meet again. Tis the ebb and tide of our relationship after all. Oh, and one more thing. Next time we hang out, try not to burn such holes in my pockets! A mans gotta eat, ya know.
It was a few months ago that I ran into Ron again. We hung out on weekends, but he grew on me like he always has, and we were hanging out more frequently as the months went on. It's pretty obvious when he is around, as my friends surely notice and say "Tommyboy isn't answering his phone... Ron must be back in town," and "he hasn't come out in a month, he must be choosing Ron over us again...."
There's only so much time that one can hang out with Ron before getting sick of him, and there is only a few people that you can introduce him to. It's kind of odd that Ron hangs out with me these days, because after all, he is a very accomplished older man, and is well traveled. He's been all over the world, and hung out with all different crowds. He recently moved to the suburbs, which is how we met. His cousin Oscar had become pretty popular around these ways, so it was only natural that I started hanging out with Ron, since the two are very similar, yet Ron is around to hang out more often.
It's a relief to take a break from hanging out with Ron. I always get a little sick after partying with him for a while, but I welcome the sickness as a means of symbolizing change. Promise of a better day, promise of a new tomorrow, when all the restrictions that have been put on me by Ron are suddenly lifted, and I can live free again. The problem is, living free from Ron is only so good when you long for the day that you can hang out again. You know some people that still see him, so he's never more than a phone call or two away, but it's sometimes best to keep that door shut for as long as possible before reopening it.
So here I sit during the bittersweet farewell to Ron. It's the same as anybodies farewell to that crazy friend they had while growing up, or in college. Your family and friends can only stand him so much before they tell you that you have to stop seeing him or they will stop talking to you.
Well Ron, we had a good run but it's time we part ways. Hopefully I will use this time apart to make even more money to blow with you when we meet again. Tis the ebb and tide of our relationship after all. Oh, and one more thing. Next time we hang out, try not to burn such holes in my pockets! A mans gotta eat, ya know.
"Birds flying high you know how I feel / Sun in the sky you know how I feel / Breeze drifting on by you know how I feel.
It's a new dawn / It's a new day / It's a new life, for me / ...oOOoOo
And I'm feelin good."
12 days clean. 1 day at a time.
Nothing beats the original Nina Simone version but Muse is pretty damn close in my book. Today I am 12 days clean from opiates and those almost two weeks feel like it could have been easily over two months. Time just seems to slow down and at times come to a complete stop when you are feeling miserable. Today started out as one of those days as well. Days 10 and 11 I almost felt like I was regressing back into physical withdraw symptoms. Nothing serious just some hot/cold flashes, RLS, and some stomach issues. Still that seemed strange I had never experienced any of those symptoms coming back after they passed. It may have been some virus I was mistaking for w/d but I treated it anyways with just Loperamide(Imodium) and Tylenol PM and lots of sleep and hydration. To make matters worse during that probably day 9 or 10 I had a very tricky situation come up. While I was looking for my keys and run across one of those little round black film holders that I used to use to keep my stash in. I picked it up and instinctively shook it. I cringed a little and admittedly felt a lot of excitement when I heard the *clak clak clak* that indicated goodies were inside. I didnt even think about it before I popped it open and dumped the contents into my hand. 4 yellow perc 10/325's and 2 tiny blue Roxy 30's along with several blue xanax. Man that was a difficult thing to be staring me in the face. Luckily my brother is staying with me and was home so I snatch out the the blue footballs(I have admittedly been using benzos to help with the psychological aspects of withdrawl; hey nobody is perfect right?) and take the rest into the kitchen where he was sitting and plopped them down on the table in front of him. He is aware of my situation and has been a big help. He swiped them off the side of the table with one hand into the other and walked to the toilet and unceremoniously flushed them without even asking any questions. Man the pain when I heard that toilet flush. I am just glad he was there or I could easily see that have being a set back in my recovery. I am still very weak when it comes to these dammed things but I was proud of myself for being able to give them up after finding them since my brother was only 10 feet away from me.
During those bad days I had been trying to rewatch some movies. I started watching "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy to occupy my mind and found myself comparing the entire story with opiate addiction and withdraw. I mean maybe I would see it in everything with it being pretty much constantly at the forefront of my mind. But the whole thing with the way that the ring draws you to it and then basically enslaves you to it. The way the longer you possess the ring the harder it is to let it go. Just the general pain and suffering the ring would inevitably cause the one who carried the burden of holding onto it. I found myself wishing I could walk to some mythical "morder" and toss my addiction into the heart of the mountain and watch it burn away in the flames and be done with it. But alas, "One does not simply walk into Mordor."
So today day 12 I wake up and I am still not feeling great not to mention PAWS definitely in full effect. I despised the thought of even getting out of bed. Well at this point I am pretty much at my wits end with letting this thing kick me in the ass. I gave it its time to get out of my system and I cooperated with laying around resting drinking lots of fluids and generally feeling sorry for myself. I just made a decision that I was done with it. I popped a couple Imodium tabs and an Ibuprofen 800 and jumped in the shower. The shower is purely to slap some awareness in myself as I had just showered no more than four hours ago, and again no more than four hours before that. In fact in these past 10 days or so I have taken no less than 4-5 showers a day. It just feels good and is of the few pleasures available to someone in that state and if you have had those sweats you know that putrid smell. It is like no body odor you would experience normally except when secreting the poisons of a drug from your system. Most drugs have their own unique but poignant stink but they all have them when your body dispels them. So you want to rid yourself of it as often as possible. Anyways I get washed up and go through my typical morning ritual (this happens to be at about 6:30am) of brushing my teeth and getting "courtin clean" as my grandfather used to call it. I am not goin' courtin however so I throw on some ragged shorts and an old T-shirt, slap on my well worn running shoes and scoop up my iPod along with my keys and a small satchel on the way out the door.
Running just seems to be good for your soul. Not to discount all the good it does your body especially for a former junkie whos body is probably craving those endorphins(or whatever chemical or process they are crediting for that "runners high" these days.). The aggression of it seems to help to burn away the sting of any issues biting at your mind and if you run with music like I do; you seem to lose your self in the act itself and clear your mind fairly well. There is no excuse not to get outside and exercise in the state I live in either. For all of it's perceived(some legit others unfair stereotypes) shortcomings it is definitely beautiful here, in some places breathtakingly so. In the southern part of the state are some of the most amazing scenery you will see anywhere in the country. Some even say it is "Almost Heaven". Even in my part of the state which happens to be the "big" city. I jog the half mile to the boulevard that runs along the river to begin my trek and begin to get lost in my music and the view of the river and the mountains. I wave instinctively to passerby's of other runners and dog walkers(where I am from we dont look down and ignore each other when passing on the street) as they nod kindly or wave back in return but my mind is clear for the first time in a while. It feels great to escape from my own head even if only for a little while. I run/jog/walk/run again long enough that I went through an entire playlist of Sublime, OTEP, Johnny Cash, Muse, Foo Fighters, Tool, Pink Floyd, Hendrix, Nirvana and Eminem just to name a few(I have pretty broad tastes when it comes to music) that is a little over 90 minutes long. I look up and am just about to the Capitol building that is on almost the entirely other side of town from where I started. I pop into a gas station for a G2 and to catch my breath and rehydrate at the nearby bus stop awaiting my ride. I hop on the bus and take the public transportation up the hill that is about 3 miles that I was not about to attempt to run. I am not in that kind of shape and even if I was my body is still pretty depleted. I hope off at my stop grab a water from another gas station and jog on toward my destination.
The State Forest Park entrance is probably less than a half mile from here but I have a good mile and a half to get to the hiking trails that I am heading to. I have gone through my running playlist so I just switch it to all and shuffle it. I ran or at least jogged the whole way to the trails but after I got there I mostly walked or power walked at best through the nature of the trails. Taking in the beauty and the fresh air and the sun, especially the sun, it had been a while since I had taken time to appreciate its energizing warmth. I came to a clearing at the top of a small hill with one lone picnic table and a limited, but still gorgeous view of my surroundings. Nothing but mountains and trees as far as the mountains would allow me see. I took a seat on the picnic table and pulled out the satchel I had grabbed when leaving the house. I pulled from inside a little metal pill bottle opened it and dumped the two round white 2mg Clonazepam into my hand.(now some people at say some meeting may say that using any drug could be harmful to my path to sobriety. In my case though total sobriety is not really my main goal at this stage just breaking this hold that opiates had taken on my life. I will add that I do not use benzo's regularly but they are very helpful with the depression that opiate withdraw causes) I popped one and chased it down with my now lukewarm water and stuck the other under my tongue. Threw the metal container back into the satchel and pulled out my small glass piece already packed with some kush I had scored from a friend a few days earlier. I just sat there and sometimes laid flat across the top of the table on my back staring at the clouds taking the occasional hit from my piece.
At some point while I was sitting there alone toking and staring off into space listening to my music thinking about nothing in particular. That Nina Simone version of the song "Feelin' Good" that I quoted in the beginning of this story shuffled its way to the top. As it played I thought this moment in time could not have a better soundtrack. I just felt a little bit of peace for the first time in what felt like a long time. Nina almost spoke for me it seemed "And this old world is a new world / and a bold world / ...for me..!" I almost did not recognize the feeling. It had been so long or at least felt like it had been so long since I had experienced what I was experiencing right now. A good day. I was in fact "Feelin' Good".
It's a new dawn / It's a new day / It's a new life, for me / ...oOOoOo
And I'm feelin good."
12 days clean. 1 day at a time.
Nothing beats the original Nina Simone version but Muse is pretty damn close in my book. Today I am 12 days clean from opiates and those almost two weeks feel like it could have been easily over two months. Time just seems to slow down and at times come to a complete stop when you are feeling miserable. Today started out as one of those days as well. Days 10 and 11 I almost felt like I was regressing back into physical withdraw symptoms. Nothing serious just some hot/cold flashes, RLS, and some stomach issues. Still that seemed strange I had never experienced any of those symptoms coming back after they passed. It may have been some virus I was mistaking for w/d but I treated it anyways with just Loperamide(Imodium) and Tylenol PM and lots of sleep and hydration. To make matters worse during that probably day 9 or 10 I had a very tricky situation come up. While I was looking for my keys and run across one of those little round black film holders that I used to use to keep my stash in. I picked it up and instinctively shook it. I cringed a little and admittedly felt a lot of excitement when I heard the *clak clak clak* that indicated goodies were inside. I didnt even think about it before I popped it open and dumped the contents into my hand. 4 yellow perc 10/325's and 2 tiny blue Roxy 30's along with several blue xanax. Man that was a difficult thing to be staring me in the face. Luckily my brother is staying with me and was home so I snatch out the the blue footballs(I have admittedly been using benzos to help with the psychological aspects of withdrawl; hey nobody is perfect right?) and take the rest into the kitchen where he was sitting and plopped them down on the table in front of him. He is aware of my situation and has been a big help. He swiped them off the side of the table with one hand into the other and walked to the toilet and unceremoniously flushed them without even asking any questions. Man the pain when I heard that toilet flush. I am just glad he was there or I could easily see that have being a set back in my recovery. I am still very weak when it comes to these dammed things but I was proud of myself for being able to give them up after finding them since my brother was only 10 feet away from me.
During those bad days I had been trying to rewatch some movies. I started watching "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy to occupy my mind and found myself comparing the entire story with opiate addiction and withdraw. I mean maybe I would see it in everything with it being pretty much constantly at the forefront of my mind. But the whole thing with the way that the ring draws you to it and then basically enslaves you to it. The way the longer you possess the ring the harder it is to let it go. Just the general pain and suffering the ring would inevitably cause the one who carried the burden of holding onto it. I found myself wishing I could walk to some mythical "morder" and toss my addiction into the heart of the mountain and watch it burn away in the flames and be done with it. But alas, "One does not simply walk into Mordor."
So today day 12 I wake up and I am still not feeling great not to mention PAWS definitely in full effect. I despised the thought of even getting out of bed. Well at this point I am pretty much at my wits end with letting this thing kick me in the ass. I gave it its time to get out of my system and I cooperated with laying around resting drinking lots of fluids and generally feeling sorry for myself. I just made a decision that I was done with it. I popped a couple Imodium tabs and an Ibuprofen 800 and jumped in the shower. The shower is purely to slap some awareness in myself as I had just showered no more than four hours ago, and again no more than four hours before that. In fact in these past 10 days or so I have taken no less than 4-5 showers a day. It just feels good and is of the few pleasures available to someone in that state and if you have had those sweats you know that putrid smell. It is like no body odor you would experience normally except when secreting the poisons of a drug from your system. Most drugs have their own unique but poignant stink but they all have them when your body dispels them. So you want to rid yourself of it as often as possible. Anyways I get washed up and go through my typical morning ritual (this happens to be at about 6:30am) of brushing my teeth and getting "courtin clean" as my grandfather used to call it. I am not goin' courtin however so I throw on some ragged shorts and an old T-shirt, slap on my well worn running shoes and scoop up my iPod along with my keys and a small satchel on the way out the door.
Running just seems to be good for your soul. Not to discount all the good it does your body especially for a former junkie whos body is probably craving those endorphins(or whatever chemical or process they are crediting for that "runners high" these days.). The aggression of it seems to help to burn away the sting of any issues biting at your mind and if you run with music like I do; you seem to lose your self in the act itself and clear your mind fairly well. There is no excuse not to get outside and exercise in the state I live in either. For all of it's perceived(some legit others unfair stereotypes) shortcomings it is definitely beautiful here, in some places breathtakingly so. In the southern part of the state are some of the most amazing scenery you will see anywhere in the country. Some even say it is "Almost Heaven". Even in my part of the state which happens to be the "big" city. I jog the half mile to the boulevard that runs along the river to begin my trek and begin to get lost in my music and the view of the river and the mountains. I wave instinctively to passerby's of other runners and dog walkers(where I am from we dont look down and ignore each other when passing on the street) as they nod kindly or wave back in return but my mind is clear for the first time in a while. It feels great to escape from my own head even if only for a little while. I run/jog/walk/run again long enough that I went through an entire playlist of Sublime, OTEP, Johnny Cash, Muse, Foo Fighters, Tool, Pink Floyd, Hendrix, Nirvana and Eminem just to name a few(I have pretty broad tastes when it comes to music) that is a little over 90 minutes long. I look up and am just about to the Capitol building that is on almost the entirely other side of town from where I started. I pop into a gas station for a G2 and to catch my breath and rehydrate at the nearby bus stop awaiting my ride. I hop on the bus and take the public transportation up the hill that is about 3 miles that I was not about to attempt to run. I am not in that kind of shape and even if I was my body is still pretty depleted. I hope off at my stop grab a water from another gas station and jog on toward my destination.
The State Forest Park entrance is probably less than a half mile from here but I have a good mile and a half to get to the hiking trails that I am heading to. I have gone through my running playlist so I just switch it to all and shuffle it. I ran or at least jogged the whole way to the trails but after I got there I mostly walked or power walked at best through the nature of the trails. Taking in the beauty and the fresh air and the sun, especially the sun, it had been a while since I had taken time to appreciate its energizing warmth. I came to a clearing at the top of a small hill with one lone picnic table and a limited, but still gorgeous view of my surroundings. Nothing but mountains and trees as far as the mountains would allow me see. I took a seat on the picnic table and pulled out the satchel I had grabbed when leaving the house. I pulled from inside a little metal pill bottle opened it and dumped the two round white 2mg Clonazepam into my hand.(now some people at say some meeting may say that using any drug could be harmful to my path to sobriety. In my case though total sobriety is not really my main goal at this stage just breaking this hold that opiates had taken on my life. I will add that I do not use benzo's regularly but they are very helpful with the depression that opiate withdraw causes) I popped one and chased it down with my now lukewarm water and stuck the other under my tongue. Threw the metal container back into the satchel and pulled out my small glass piece already packed with some kush I had scored from a friend a few days earlier. I just sat there and sometimes laid flat across the top of the table on my back staring at the clouds taking the occasional hit from my piece.
At some point while I was sitting there alone toking and staring off into space listening to my music thinking about nothing in particular. That Nina Simone version of the song "Feelin' Good" that I quoted in the beginning of this story shuffled its way to the top. As it played I thought this moment in time could not have a better soundtrack. I just felt a little bit of peace for the first time in what felt like a long time. Nina almost spoke for me it seemed "And this old world is a new world / and a bold world / ...for me..!" I almost did not recognize the feeling. It had been so long or at least felt like it had been so long since I had experienced what I was experiencing right now. A good day. I was in fact "Feelin' Good".
Ah, it is like fine wine and gourmet cheese blended together into a thick, decadent, royal purple smoothie. Sitting on the precipice of temptation, I stare the possibility of relapsing in the eyes - our first honest confrontation in months. The air is thin up here and the sun shines bright. As a confidence man of some pedigree, I can appreciate the strategically disarming honesty of heroin's offer to make time disappear. And yet here I am, still debating on whether or not to take that much desired vacation from reality later this week. I've always had perspective, but it was superficial. My mind would pay lip service to its existence and then almost categorically deny its influence. But now, my consciousness is fully marinated in the data from past mistakes and their subsequent timelines. I find myself drawn by less gravity to the black hole, although I still recognize that my jets need to be focused consistently on steering clear of the most powerful parts of the well. The ultimate test will come later this week.
yea i have TERRIBLE anxiety.
about anyting.
about social situations.
about work.
about school when i was in it.
about, again, anything.
i get so nervous and worked up i can't breathe sometimes.
i dont have the best relationship with my boyfriend so anytime we argue i get really upset and almost pass out from crying and breathing so hard. . .
i know i need help with it but its just really embarrasing to say i have a problem with it. and i don't wanna take pills for it..
about anyting.
about social situations.
about work.
about school when i was in it.
about, again, anything.
i get so nervous and worked up i can't breathe sometimes.
i dont have the best relationship with my boyfriend so anytime we argue i get really upset and almost pass out from crying and breathing so hard. . .
i know i need help with it but its just really embarrasing to say i have a problem with it. and i don't wanna take pills for it..
Another day in thee life of mwah consists of me going to work 12-8 at mcdonalds. maybe visit my boyfriend at his work and well get into an arguement about something. Then after 8 i get home by 8:15. I change into my pjs and sit on my bed playing online games until its time for dinner. Just before dinner i usually snork my perks and pree much anything i had gotten ahold of that day..(not weed of course)..but you know??.. then i tell people that i am not hungry because i dont want to sober up yet. We eat about 1am everynight. But not before we argue a MINIMUM of 5 times, after we get done with our perks. Before dinner gets started we usually go to the casino and get mad that we didn't win or we lost a lot of money..so we argue and blame eachother for that too..usually around bedtime we lay down with our big lug of a dog by our side, smoking sum of the finest weed you will ever smoke...drift off to sleep holding eachother tightly.. i think thats what i like the most about in the life of mwah..being held, falling fast asleep without a care in the world with the lone that you love, like theres nothing wrong in the world and i can just...breathe...
I have a drug test in 5 days and i havent smoked for about 3, but i took 2 1/2 klonopins (2 milligrams each) and i need to know how to detox myself asap!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
My boyfriend and I have been going out for 3 years now. When we first met i was 16 and he was 18. It was amazing! Until, about 3 months into the relationship he started to get really jelouse and controlling. He would ask me things like " Why the fuck are you getting so ready for? Who are you going to see?" . Id say nobody just getting ready for school..then after awhile my Best friend at the time told me that if i didnt break up with him she wouldn't be my friend anymore..i was devastated. I didn't know what to do. But i was also wondering what friend would make me choose??? I was so stupid back then I can't even live with myself..I chose to be with him...
So, the next day nobody would talk to me accept for the one friend i had left....
A month later, the only friend i had told me that my boyfriend was stupid and she wished i would break up with him. She said i would be a lot happier..
Then, he told me that he was going to break up with me unless i didn't talk to her!!!! So when she texted one day I didnt text back and haven't talked to her since...
Ive always had bad self esteem even though i have been told i was really pretty...I dont ever feel like i am...
And so we stayed togther.. One day we were at his friends house and i was looking through my phone to see if my mom texted and there was all these text messages of him talking to this girl from pensylvania. They were talking about having sex together and were sending pics back and forth. Bad pics, not just his face or her face!!!!!!! I was so mad and sad!!!! I ran out of the house screaming at him and got in my car...but i couldn't seem to leave!!!!!!!! I don't know why!!!!!! I just loved him too much!!!!!!!!
And i didn't even do anything about it !!!! We just got in the car with his friends and went on a "burn cruise" ( burn cruise= Smoking weed while driving) . And he was living with me at the time so it made it extra hard because he had no where else to go!!!!!!!!!
So after that was forgivin BUT never FORGOTTEN!!!
A few months later we had moved in with my grandma because the rent was cheap...
My aunt had also lived there and she invited over on of her friends...
Her friend just so happen to be someone i knew in middle school..
I haven't seen her since middle school so she really changed a lot. She used to be the dorky girl back then!!!!
Now she said she was a model. Bla Bla Bla!!!
We were all sitting at the dining table. Me, My boyfriend, My aunts friend.
He asked me " Can you please go and roll a cigarette? I really need one."
And I said. "No, can you please do it? Its so hard to do because the roller is like half broken"
My aunts friend. " Here..you can have one of mine."
My boyfriend. "I love you!!!!!!"
HE SAID I LOVE YOU!!!!! TO HER !!!!!
HE SAID IT MEANT NOTHING BUT THAT VERY NIGHT AFTER SHE LEFT HE WAS TEXTING SOMEONE.. I ASKED WHO AND HE HID THE PHONE IN HIS HAND AND SAID NOBODY!!!
THEN AWHILE AFTER THAT I HAD TO USE THE PHONE TO CALL MY MOM.
I had the kind of phone from sprint where you could see who and from deleted messages came from but not the message.
THERE WAS ALL THESE DELETED MESSAGES GOING BACK AND FORTH FROM THEM BOTH!!!!!
HE DENIED THE ENTIRE THING!!!
EVEN AFTER I ASKED HER AND SHE ADMITTED TO IT!!!!!
That was about a year ago now...and that i know of he hasn't cheated on me since....
But, does that even count as cheating??
I am so god damn confused!!
And i haven't felt pretty ever since he did these things to me!!!
I love him so much...
That now i am living with him and have NO WHERE else to go now!!!!
No friends.
No life.
No...NOTHING!!!
Nothing but working at a fast food resturaunt!!!!!!!!!!!!
i dont know what to do !!!!!!!!!!!! I always think he is going to cheat on me again!!!!
He also told me that the only reason he did it was because i was talking to my ex RIGHT when we were first dating.
Please help me i don't know what to do !! i just joined because this very moment i am sitting in my room by myself and he's out with HIS FRIENDS!!!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY FRIENDS!?!?!?!? AND WHY THE FUCK CAN HE GO OUT AND DO WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS AND I HAVE TO STAY HOME ALL THE DAMN TIME@!!!!!!!!! I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO !!!!!!!!!
So, the next day nobody would talk to me accept for the one friend i had left....
A month later, the only friend i had told me that my boyfriend was stupid and she wished i would break up with him. She said i would be a lot happier..
Then, he told me that he was going to break up with me unless i didn't talk to her!!!! So when she texted one day I didnt text back and haven't talked to her since...
Ive always had bad self esteem even though i have been told i was really pretty...I dont ever feel like i am...
And so we stayed togther.. One day we were at his friends house and i was looking through my phone to see if my mom texted and there was all these text messages of him talking to this girl from pensylvania. They were talking about having sex together and were sending pics back and forth. Bad pics, not just his face or her face!!!!!!! I was so mad and sad!!!! I ran out of the house screaming at him and got in my car...but i couldn't seem to leave!!!!!!!! I don't know why!!!!!! I just loved him too much!!!!!!!!
And i didn't even do anything about it !!!! We just got in the car with his friends and went on a "burn cruise" ( burn cruise= Smoking weed while driving) . And he was living with me at the time so it made it extra hard because he had no where else to go!!!!!!!!!
So after that was forgivin BUT never FORGOTTEN!!!
A few months later we had moved in with my grandma because the rent was cheap...
My aunt had also lived there and she invited over on of her friends...
Her friend just so happen to be someone i knew in middle school..
I haven't seen her since middle school so she really changed a lot. She used to be the dorky girl back then!!!!
Now she said she was a model. Bla Bla Bla!!!
We were all sitting at the dining table. Me, My boyfriend, My aunts friend.
He asked me " Can you please go and roll a cigarette? I really need one."
And I said. "No, can you please do it? Its so hard to do because the roller is like half broken"
My aunts friend. " Here..you can have one of mine."
My boyfriend. "I love you!!!!!!"
HE SAID I LOVE YOU!!!!! TO HER !!!!!
HE SAID IT MEANT NOTHING BUT THAT VERY NIGHT AFTER SHE LEFT HE WAS TEXTING SOMEONE.. I ASKED WHO AND HE HID THE PHONE IN HIS HAND AND SAID NOBODY!!!
THEN AWHILE AFTER THAT I HAD TO USE THE PHONE TO CALL MY MOM.
I had the kind of phone from sprint where you could see who and from deleted messages came from but not the message.
THERE WAS ALL THESE DELETED MESSAGES GOING BACK AND FORTH FROM THEM BOTH!!!!!
HE DENIED THE ENTIRE THING!!!
EVEN AFTER I ASKED HER AND SHE ADMITTED TO IT!!!!!
That was about a year ago now...and that i know of he hasn't cheated on me since....
But, does that even count as cheating??
I am so god damn confused!!
And i haven't felt pretty ever since he did these things to me!!!
I love him so much...
That now i am living with him and have NO WHERE else to go now!!!!
No friends.
No life.
No...NOTHING!!!
Nothing but working at a fast food resturaunt!!!!!!!!!!!!
i dont know what to do !!!!!!!!!!!! I always think he is going to cheat on me again!!!!
He also told me that the only reason he did it was because i was talking to my ex RIGHT when we were first dating.
Please help me i don't know what to do !! i just joined because this very moment i am sitting in my room by myself and he's out with HIS FRIENDS!!!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY FRIENDS!?!?!?!? AND WHY THE FUCK CAN HE GO OUT AND DO WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS AND I HAVE TO STAY HOME ALL THE DAMN TIME@!!!!!!!!! I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO !!!!!!!!!
it may seem like im always depressed in my blogs but, i really mostly just come here to vent. And to try and feel better. I cant keep a journal anywhere since my boyfriend goes through all my stuff and really...no privacy whatsoever...but...idk maybe it not such a bad thing??? idk...im kind of feeling really good right now off these perks....
At least for that...
At least for that...
i keep having to close out of this page because im scared my boyfriend will think im weird and/or think i am talking to other guys...hes SO paranoid about that...
Its fuckin horrible and over the last year it has gotten worse and worse. I still try to be normal and do normal things but it just doesnt work. Tonight I went to a party with this dude im cool with I knew I probaly wasnt going to know anyone there but I went anyway. I lasted like 10 mintes before I had to leave real bad negative thoughts and a panic sensation. Well im sure dude I went wth thinks im an asshole I didnt even go find him to tell him I was leaving. He txted me and I made up some BS. Fuck my life. I dont know what im gonna do but this cannot continue. I dont want to be alone my whole life.
So I live most of my life downtown, working, now, and my opinions about things like poverty and apathy are being formed practically - I wish I could fall back on my abstract idealism, believe me. I make minimum wage plus tips in the heart of the business district. I'm a well-liked character who runs the shop on my own 90% of the week, so people know my name and get a kick out of my quirks. I am fond of inventing customized drinks based on listening intently to my customers, and I never thought my life would lead me to a place where I am happy to be developing a cult around that.
But back to the poverty and apathy, which, in varying degrees, I witness every day. And I'm proud to say that I don't have a philosophy (or even presumptive observations) about "these people" (the homeless, the beggars), and I likely never will - although I frequently humor my favorite customers by making a convincing stand that if only "these people" just did something society demanded, the world would open up to them, concluding with the red-herring aside (which is actually my faux thesis) that giving cash away to the beggars doesn't do anyone any good - ever. And there is solid logic to that perspective - it is a valid argument - which is why it works so well as a conversation piece.
Like I said before, however, I will purposefully remain on the fence about these down-trodden individuals for the simple fact that they are individuals with unique circumstances. A macro-economic argument cannot be applied in good conscience by anyone with good conscience to this group as if their similarly stratified situations define "them."
Today I was walking through the court district - civil, criminal, family - and there was a black man lying on the ground on a street corner. He could have been passed out, he could have been dead. But the observation that stuck with me is that two police cars passed by without even slowing down. I walked by him and he didn't budge at the presence of the wooden clacking of my beautiful dress shoes. Another man, this one white and two blocks further toward the business district, was making animated gyrations and attempting to interact with the passing professionals. Once again the police, who are centralized around this area, ignored him.
I spoke to a black woman who rides the bus with me every night about this, with the dishonest intent of conveying that I was in favor of having these individuals detained. But I couldn’t help it half-way through my typically dishonest conversation and complained that the duty of the police is to protect and serve.
The two individuals I described who live on the fringe of society do have options – a popular argument I regularly apply to homeless individuals who have obvious mental clarity and physical health – but how are the previously mentioned two individuals supposed to deliver themselves to these allegedly readily available options, if the people charged with the task of protecting and serving, backed by state money, do not pick them up and introduce them to the proper intake institutions? I believe that by not even giving the basic attention needed – a quick ride to a facility (other than jail) – the truly lost will forever and ironically be viewed as drains on society, despite the fact that I see none of society’s resources being allocated to them, as these two individuals are too far out in their own perceptions to even successfully panhandle.
Today an obviously impoverished black man, about age 40, came into the shop to thank me for an apparently positive interaction we had previously shared. I told him I didn’t remember, but he assured me that what I told him helped his spirit immensely. Knowing black people’s propensity for religion and Jesus, I told him that Christ still shone in him and wants nothing more than for him to be positive. God is love, I said, and he has a plan for everyone. He loves you, I told him. Then I gave him two dollars. Of course I don’t believe in God or Jesus, but what I do believe is that people in negative situations can be manipulated based on their familial conditioning to not fall completely into apathy. So I have no qualms or embarrassment about preaching the good word to someone whose brain chemistry reacts well to it. My policy on religion will forever remain on the fence for this reason, as it can do good things for people, although I am incapable of honestly being a believer.
I allowed this man to sit in my shop until closing, citing the fact that I knew he was just walking around the streets anyways – and he looked half-way decent still; the trappings of absolute relegation had not yet made his eyes wily and full of fear and contempt. And my feeling about that is that if I can keep him from crossing that line internally, I will have done some good even from a Darwinian perspective – for nurturing pain and loss through boisterous and vocal abandonment will do nothing but create an irate and violent underclass. More important than supporting them financially, by far, is the need to not cast them out with stoic body language and quietly malicious words. They must be fed that which they truly lack, and this has little to do with money.
Some days, I am frustrated with my own lack of a clear path in society’s eternal ladder, and I verbally abuse the droves of beggars who catch me after work only on the days when I am at my least empathetic. But on the balance, I try to do well with what I have to give.
But back to the poverty and apathy, which, in varying degrees, I witness every day. And I'm proud to say that I don't have a philosophy (or even presumptive observations) about "these people" (the homeless, the beggars), and I likely never will - although I frequently humor my favorite customers by making a convincing stand that if only "these people" just did something society demanded, the world would open up to them, concluding with the red-herring aside (which is actually my faux thesis) that giving cash away to the beggars doesn't do anyone any good - ever. And there is solid logic to that perspective - it is a valid argument - which is why it works so well as a conversation piece.
Like I said before, however, I will purposefully remain on the fence about these down-trodden individuals for the simple fact that they are individuals with unique circumstances. A macro-economic argument cannot be applied in good conscience by anyone with good conscience to this group as if their similarly stratified situations define "them."
Today I was walking through the court district - civil, criminal, family - and there was a black man lying on the ground on a street corner. He could have been passed out, he could have been dead. But the observation that stuck with me is that two police cars passed by without even slowing down. I walked by him and he didn't budge at the presence of the wooden clacking of my beautiful dress shoes. Another man, this one white and two blocks further toward the business district, was making animated gyrations and attempting to interact with the passing professionals. Once again the police, who are centralized around this area, ignored him.
I spoke to a black woman who rides the bus with me every night about this, with the dishonest intent of conveying that I was in favor of having these individuals detained. But I couldn’t help it half-way through my typically dishonest conversation and complained that the duty of the police is to protect and serve.
The two individuals I described who live on the fringe of society do have options – a popular argument I regularly apply to homeless individuals who have obvious mental clarity and physical health – but how are the previously mentioned two individuals supposed to deliver themselves to these allegedly readily available options, if the people charged with the task of protecting and serving, backed by state money, do not pick them up and introduce them to the proper intake institutions? I believe that by not even giving the basic attention needed – a quick ride to a facility (other than jail) – the truly lost will forever and ironically be viewed as drains on society, despite the fact that I see none of society’s resources being allocated to them, as these two individuals are too far out in their own perceptions to even successfully panhandle.
Today an obviously impoverished black man, about age 40, came into the shop to thank me for an apparently positive interaction we had previously shared. I told him I didn’t remember, but he assured me that what I told him helped his spirit immensely. Knowing black people’s propensity for religion and Jesus, I told him that Christ still shone in him and wants nothing more than for him to be positive. God is love, I said, and he has a plan for everyone. He loves you, I told him. Then I gave him two dollars. Of course I don’t believe in God or Jesus, but what I do believe is that people in negative situations can be manipulated based on their familial conditioning to not fall completely into apathy. So I have no qualms or embarrassment about preaching the good word to someone whose brain chemistry reacts well to it. My policy on religion will forever remain on the fence for this reason, as it can do good things for people, although I am incapable of honestly being a believer.
I allowed this man to sit in my shop until closing, citing the fact that I knew he was just walking around the streets anyways – and he looked half-way decent still; the trappings of absolute relegation had not yet made his eyes wily and full of fear and contempt. And my feeling about that is that if I can keep him from crossing that line internally, I will have done some good even from a Darwinian perspective – for nurturing pain and loss through boisterous and vocal abandonment will do nothing but create an irate and violent underclass. More important than supporting them financially, by far, is the need to not cast them out with stoic body language and quietly malicious words. They must be fed that which they truly lack, and this has little to do with money.
Some days, I am frustrated with my own lack of a clear path in society’s eternal ladder, and I verbally abuse the droves of beggars who catch me after work only on the days when I am at my least empathetic. But on the balance, I try to do well with what I have to give.
I am sitting here, in a back room, trying to think of something to do with myself. All I got going through my mind is how lovely doing a nice shot of brown would be, but mustn't gratify that want. I think it's just amazing that I lost so much to heroin, but still want to do it. I know that one shot, that I just want to do once, will not be one time. I have done that before.
Heroin has taken me to places so skanless and craptastic. Oh the people I have fucked over. Amazing that my veins still itch for that piercing feeling. (veins that really don't exist anymore, though I did find another one that should work.) I got to come up with a constructive plan. I got to get out of this hole and do something productive. Damn.
Heroin has taken me to places so skanless and craptastic. Oh the people I have fucked over. Amazing that my veins still itch for that piercing feeling. (veins that really don't exist anymore, though I did find another one that should work.) I got to come up with a constructive plan. I got to get out of this hole and do something productive. Damn.
It is cold
And achey
And I keep cat stretching
Which is always a sign I'm in early WD
I posted a q about my sub WD intensity (what I should expect)... 150 views and zero responses, I'm impatient but I rarely ask questions on here and I respond to shit so quick so ... Please help me BL-ers!!i
I dun wanna take my sub I wanna kno how bad I'll get. I'm terrified it'll be awful Like 2-3 weeks later. I can't hack that. I can barely hack the week that comes with most opiates of abuse. Never mind the paws which for me are worst than acute cuz of my depression. I have been depressed as long as I can remember ... Anyway paws just make it like double depression and cause suicidal fantasies which is dumb because I'm not suicidal. Just tired of the mental shit every hour of te day. I'm not even getting into it beyond that
Hmmm I have one of my real friends in here I wonder if it's weird that I post all this personal shit. Meh when have I ever cared what anyone thought. Maybe I used to, but being a junkie has given me some perspective on judging people.
I want my damn ketamine and time is moving Sooooo slowewwwllllyyy .... Dopefeind time is slow as molasses. It's not even dope tho(h), it's k, so I should just chill the fuck out. K helps the boredom n shit I just do t too much an fuck up my insides proper. Boo
That is all
And achey
And I keep cat stretching
Which is always a sign I'm in early WD
I posted a q about my sub WD intensity (what I should expect)... 150 views and zero responses, I'm impatient but I rarely ask questions on here and I respond to shit so quick so ... Please help me BL-ers!!i
I dun wanna take my sub I wanna kno how bad I'll get. I'm terrified it'll be awful Like 2-3 weeks later. I can't hack that. I can barely hack the week that comes with most opiates of abuse. Never mind the paws which for me are worst than acute cuz of my depression. I have been depressed as long as I can remember ... Anyway paws just make it like double depression and cause suicidal fantasies which is dumb because I'm not suicidal. Just tired of the mental shit every hour of te day. I'm not even getting into it beyond that
Hmmm I have one of my real friends in here I wonder if it's weird that I post all this personal shit. Meh when have I ever cared what anyone thought. Maybe I used to, but being a junkie has given me some perspective on judging people.
I want my damn ketamine and time is moving Sooooo slowewwwllllyyy .... Dopefeind time is slow as molasses. It's not even dope tho(h), it's k, so I should just chill the fuck out. K helps the boredom n shit I just do t too much an fuck up my insides proper. Boo
That is all