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Hello Bluelight and Prospective Publishers of this Blog. Here´s looking at you Penguin!
Last we blogged, our anti-hero/straight-up villain Keif' Richards had just arrived in Vegas to begin what I have come to call, ¨The Shittiest Residency¨. I have now been in Vegas for approximately two weeks. I am working for one of the major non-profits here in the city assisting with the major social issues arising from the endemic homelessness and poverty in the city. Las Vegas is not a ¨friendly¨ city when it comes to the issue of homelessness and extreme poverty. This should not come as a big surprise. This is a town built almost entirely on tourism. Essentially, it can be said that the economy is dependent upon the attractiveness of the locale to potential customers. Las Vegas has largely shed its ¨Sin City¨ image (this happened decades ago apparently). Families are now a large part of their tourism industry. For comparison, I am coming from Burlington, VT. Burlington and the state in general would be considered ¨friendliest¨ on this scale that we are using.
If Burlington already resembled a Mad-Max-esque vibe even with its ¨friendly¨ qualities, then I guess I wasn´t prepared for what I would see here in Vegas. Homelessness has been made illegal here. One such law that rules the town is the concept that ¨a person may not sleep on public property if there are ANY beds available in ANY shelter in the city¨. I am paraphrasing, but you get the idea. In Burlington, the sidewalks of the main shopping district are lined with tents and makeshift hovels. I walk the strip a couple days a week with my boss and coworkers while we do outreach. People continue to sleep outside, though they essentially have to do so in a stealthy manner. This means, in the morning, you see the homeless people waking up and coming out of every random unseen corner with nothing but maybe a blanket. The issue here is that Vegas is a desert. It can be quite warm during the day, but can approach freezing on any given night after the sun goes down.
What does all of this mean for the population? Well, I can tell you that the shelter that I work at is in a state of what I can only call disrepair. Bed bug blooms are a common occurrence, as are cockroaches and other vermin, which are an especially bad problem here in Vegas. People are forced with two decisions, either sleep in a potentially rancid and unsafe shelter or they can risk being arrested for vagrancy. I´m sure anyone with experience in this kind of work already knows where I´m going with this. The centralization of the homeless population makes them easily accounted for. Yes, we have a comprehensive list of homeless persons that we use in the industry, but I´m talking more about the political/law enforcement lists. We are on a precipice in this country regarding political partisanship and the failing of the economy. These individuals are constantly in danger of injury, death and victimization.
When I speak to individuals in the course of my work or when I´m just hanging outside of work on the strip, they have a disposition that is entirely different than the disposition of most in Vermont. ¨Fear¨ is how I would describe it, as opposed to the ¨misery/loneliness¨ of Vermont. There are rumors of homeless persons being murdered and disappearing that are frankly, more believable to me every single day. People are hesitant to talk to anyone. I deal a lot with the ¨are you a cop?¨ shit when I´m talking to people. I had one client who I had seen on 3 straight shifts. I had talked to him about everything as he was clearly on Meth and feeling like conversation. Even after 3 days of talking, I asked the wrong question, I asked a pretty normal question ¨who handles the end of the supply chain regarding drugs in this city¨. This dude became extremely threatening and chased me off, literally. That was a learning experience.
I am continuing to learn about this city. I talk to everyone that I´m able to strike up a conversation with. Meanwhile, I now have a twin bed in my office that I´m sleeping in. I have my eyes on an apartment just off the strip. Myself and a coworker are looking to go in on a place together to share expenses. Meanwhile, I´m getting to practice my Spanish every day. I came here with a very basic understanding of the language. Luckily, most Spanish speakers seem genuinely excited to teach me about the wrong and right of my lingo. The hardest part has been learning the slang as that is not featured in language learning apps.
One of the residents started calling me ¨Hollywood¨ and he refuses to explain exactly what that means, but I´m going with it. I just hope that down the road I don´t find this nickname to be some kind of horrible insult. I´m having flashbacks from my time teaching High Schoolers. Just when you think you´re ¨cool¨, that´s when they spring the trap and steal your self-esteem. It´s definitely not my beauty. Is it the air of class that I bring with me to everything in my life? Only time will tell.
Methamphetamine is big here. It is clearly the drug of choice for a lot of the people in our care. With the 24 hour nature of this city and the constant need for hustling, Methamphetamine seems to be a rational choice (price is also a factor). I can´t discuss prices here in-depth. I will say that, compared to either Vermont or Boston, the cost of Methamphetamine around here is 80% cheaper in general and this is for relatively small, street amounts. Who knows what happens when you throw 100$ down on the table, a briefcase full?
I´ll continue this tale next time. Until then, I have an appointment to get my picture taken with the showgirls who hang out down the street. Look for that shit soon dear readers!
-Keif
Last we blogged, our anti-hero/straight-up villain Keif' Richards had just arrived in Vegas to begin what I have come to call, ¨The Shittiest Residency¨. I have now been in Vegas for approximately two weeks. I am working for one of the major non-profits here in the city assisting with the major social issues arising from the endemic homelessness and poverty in the city. Las Vegas is not a ¨friendly¨ city when it comes to the issue of homelessness and extreme poverty. This should not come as a big surprise. This is a town built almost entirely on tourism. Essentially, it can be said that the economy is dependent upon the attractiveness of the locale to potential customers. Las Vegas has largely shed its ¨Sin City¨ image (this happened decades ago apparently). Families are now a large part of their tourism industry. For comparison, I am coming from Burlington, VT. Burlington and the state in general would be considered ¨friendliest¨ on this scale that we are using.
If Burlington already resembled a Mad-Max-esque vibe even with its ¨friendly¨ qualities, then I guess I wasn´t prepared for what I would see here in Vegas. Homelessness has been made illegal here. One such law that rules the town is the concept that ¨a person may not sleep on public property if there are ANY beds available in ANY shelter in the city¨. I am paraphrasing, but you get the idea. In Burlington, the sidewalks of the main shopping district are lined with tents and makeshift hovels. I walk the strip a couple days a week with my boss and coworkers while we do outreach. People continue to sleep outside, though they essentially have to do so in a stealthy manner. This means, in the morning, you see the homeless people waking up and coming out of every random unseen corner with nothing but maybe a blanket. The issue here is that Vegas is a desert. It can be quite warm during the day, but can approach freezing on any given night after the sun goes down.
What does all of this mean for the population? Well, I can tell you that the shelter that I work at is in a state of what I can only call disrepair. Bed bug blooms are a common occurrence, as are cockroaches and other vermin, which are an especially bad problem here in Vegas. People are forced with two decisions, either sleep in a potentially rancid and unsafe shelter or they can risk being arrested for vagrancy. I´m sure anyone with experience in this kind of work already knows where I´m going with this. The centralization of the homeless population makes them easily accounted for. Yes, we have a comprehensive list of homeless persons that we use in the industry, but I´m talking more about the political/law enforcement lists. We are on a precipice in this country regarding political partisanship and the failing of the economy. These individuals are constantly in danger of injury, death and victimization.
When I speak to individuals in the course of my work or when I´m just hanging outside of work on the strip, they have a disposition that is entirely different than the disposition of most in Vermont. ¨Fear¨ is how I would describe it, as opposed to the ¨misery/loneliness¨ of Vermont. There are rumors of homeless persons being murdered and disappearing that are frankly, more believable to me every single day. People are hesitant to talk to anyone. I deal a lot with the ¨are you a cop?¨ shit when I´m talking to people. I had one client who I had seen on 3 straight shifts. I had talked to him about everything as he was clearly on Meth and feeling like conversation. Even after 3 days of talking, I asked the wrong question, I asked a pretty normal question ¨who handles the end of the supply chain regarding drugs in this city¨. This dude became extremely threatening and chased me off, literally. That was a learning experience.
I am continuing to learn about this city. I talk to everyone that I´m able to strike up a conversation with. Meanwhile, I now have a twin bed in my office that I´m sleeping in. I have my eyes on an apartment just off the strip. Myself and a coworker are looking to go in on a place together to share expenses. Meanwhile, I´m getting to practice my Spanish every day. I came here with a very basic understanding of the language. Luckily, most Spanish speakers seem genuinely excited to teach me about the wrong and right of my lingo. The hardest part has been learning the slang as that is not featured in language learning apps.
One of the residents started calling me ¨Hollywood¨ and he refuses to explain exactly what that means, but I´m going with it. I just hope that down the road I don´t find this nickname to be some kind of horrible insult. I´m having flashbacks from my time teaching High Schoolers. Just when you think you´re ¨cool¨, that´s when they spring the trap and steal your self-esteem. It´s definitely not my beauty. Is it the air of class that I bring with me to everything in my life? Only time will tell.
Methamphetamine is big here. It is clearly the drug of choice for a lot of the people in our care. With the 24 hour nature of this city and the constant need for hustling, Methamphetamine seems to be a rational choice (price is also a factor). I can´t discuss prices here in-depth. I will say that, compared to either Vermont or Boston, the cost of Methamphetamine around here is 80% cheaper in general and this is for relatively small, street amounts. Who knows what happens when you throw 100$ down on the table, a briefcase full?
I´ll continue this tale next time. Until then, I have an appointment to get my picture taken with the showgirls who hang out down the street. Look for that shit soon dear readers!
-Keif
Here we go. I guess.
Last summer I obtained 1 Subutex 8 mg. I had some dentist visits scheduled. And it is no fun business, so I figured out it would make things easier. Obviously I did it once a week all the time when I was having it. I have some other medical reasons to do some anyway. I really appreciate buprenorphine in medical reference frame. It makes me kinda dumb and numb but otherwise I think it is better medicine than many others, particularly those with short half-life.
After the scheduled visits were over and my legos were in decent condition, I soon ran out, as planned. So I got one 8 more. Obviously it is powerful asset, it eases OCPD and pains and stuff. I really appreciate buprenorphine in medical reference frame. It makes me kinda dumb and numb but otherwise I think it is better medicine than many others, particularly those with short half-life. I guess the kappa-activity is valuable. I don't know. It is also theoretically economically viable medicine from black market where I live.
You see how I make up excuses for the obviously shitty side-effects? This is rhetorics I feel conflicted about, I guess those things are technically true but I don't really believe bupre will make my life better. Hyperalgesia and hypogonadia and stuff that will often follow opioid use. Low affection. Cognitive effects I got used to and learned to dismiss as non-relevant.
I am not really sure what my doses have been lately, it kinda got out of hand, as supposed, obviously, that's what happens to most people who turn to opiates. I developed some protocols but ended up dismissing them, because I am addict.
But my dosing has been mostly pursuit of a) therapeutical effects b) uh, "self-regulation in the evening", so, in some sense just recreational use. The feeling of warmth and ease pushing soon after snort that I used to do after slave work has also directed me towards all kind of hedonistic habits. When I have started to feel euphoric, why not stop there? But anyway, my doses have been generally on lower side and I've been dosing for relatively short time, so this is best chance to quit I will ever get.
I figured out there will be some time to sit out because I think I have been essentially high every day for last one and half month or something. And even longer times I have most probably had some bupre in my system 24/7, even if I wouldn't call it being high.
It has been now more than 30 hours since my last dose. I have weed and speed and mirtazapine and propranolol and I have humongous amount of pregabalin in my system I expect to modify my state for next 24 hours, easy. And I am fucked up on speed and weed and beer also, so I could have withdrawals now otherwise but I am too fucked up to notice. I have read here that amphetamines may ease opioid withdrawals. They seem to have indirect effect on endorphine release or something, as well as alcohol. That's what I have been told here.
And, most important, money. BUT NOT ENOUGH TO SCORE ANY BUPRE, ONLY FOR FOOD AND BEER! FOOD IS FUCKING IMPORTANT! And the money will get my hangover next morning fixed, at least for how long the money lasts.
I have one or two classes monday, but I am already familiar with content of at least one class. I don't know if it is important. The rest of the week, there is nothing scheduled. I just started school in machine and production and I am intending to get relatively straight for it. Bumbling and needle pin pupils won't help it. Fortunately there is this slack period in the beginning where I can get myself rekt.
If I won't get proper withdrawals, I can at least report how much clearer and delicate and connected to world I feel without bupre. Or then I will report every day for weeks how bad my life sucks with my multiple mental and physical conditions and end up back with bupre again, convinced I won't have future otherwise.
We will see. I don't really believe in latter theory, I have dosed so much psychedelics lately, I expect the lessons learned from trips to blow to my face so hard when bupre lifts off that I will develop course away from it.
Last summer I obtained 1 Subutex 8 mg. I had some dentist visits scheduled. And it is no fun business, so I figured out it would make things easier. Obviously I did it once a week all the time when I was having it. I have some other medical reasons to do some anyway. I really appreciate buprenorphine in medical reference frame. It makes me kinda dumb and numb but otherwise I think it is better medicine than many others, particularly those with short half-life.
After the scheduled visits were over and my legos were in decent condition, I soon ran out, as planned. So I got one 8 more. Obviously it is powerful asset, it eases OCPD and pains and stuff. I really appreciate buprenorphine in medical reference frame. It makes me kinda dumb and numb but otherwise I think it is better medicine than many others, particularly those with short half-life. I guess the kappa-activity is valuable. I don't know. It is also theoretically economically viable medicine from black market where I live.
You see how I make up excuses for the obviously shitty side-effects? This is rhetorics I feel conflicted about, I guess those things are technically true but I don't really believe bupre will make my life better. Hyperalgesia and hypogonadia and stuff that will often follow opioid use. Low affection. Cognitive effects I got used to and learned to dismiss as non-relevant.
I am not really sure what my doses have been lately, it kinda got out of hand, as supposed, obviously, that's what happens to most people who turn to opiates. I developed some protocols but ended up dismissing them, because I am addict.
But my dosing has been mostly pursuit of a) therapeutical effects b) uh, "self-regulation in the evening", so, in some sense just recreational use. The feeling of warmth and ease pushing soon after snort that I used to do after slave work has also directed me towards all kind of hedonistic habits. When I have started to feel euphoric, why not stop there? But anyway, my doses have been generally on lower side and I've been dosing for relatively short time, so this is best chance to quit I will ever get.
I figured out there will be some time to sit out because I think I have been essentially high every day for last one and half month or something. And even longer times I have most probably had some bupre in my system 24/7, even if I wouldn't call it being high.
It has been now more than 30 hours since my last dose. I have weed and speed and mirtazapine and propranolol and I have humongous amount of pregabalin in my system I expect to modify my state for next 24 hours, easy. And I am fucked up on speed and weed and beer also, so I could have withdrawals now otherwise but I am too fucked up to notice. I have read here that amphetamines may ease opioid withdrawals. They seem to have indirect effect on endorphine release or something, as well as alcohol. That's what I have been told here.
And, most important, money. BUT NOT ENOUGH TO SCORE ANY BUPRE, ONLY FOR FOOD AND BEER! FOOD IS FUCKING IMPORTANT! And the money will get my hangover next morning fixed, at least for how long the money lasts.
I have one or two classes monday, but I am already familiar with content of at least one class. I don't know if it is important. The rest of the week, there is nothing scheduled. I just started school in machine and production and I am intending to get relatively straight for it. Bumbling and needle pin pupils won't help it. Fortunately there is this slack period in the beginning where I can get myself rekt.
If I won't get proper withdrawals, I can at least report how much clearer and delicate and connected to world I feel without bupre. Or then I will report every day for weeks how bad my life sucks with my multiple mental and physical conditions and end up back with bupre again, convinced I won't have future otherwise.
We will see. I don't really believe in latter theory, I have dosed so much psychedelics lately, I expect the lessons learned from trips to blow to my face so hard when bupre lifts off that I will develop course away from it.
It's been two months since I left the relationship I had been dedicated to for some time. It has been one of the hardest times of my life. I have been through so many ups and downs as an addict. I would find myself in scenarios that seemed so utterly hopeless. It's funny to look back and see how much hope there still was in life back then. There could be hope yet still for me. I went through some really hard shit, anyone would say. To then move for the purpose of a job that seemed so great, only to be totally fucked over. Man, that was really a hit to the existential batteries. I didn't know if I would be able to get back up from that one. The hopeless situation suddenly turned into a terrifying one as the temperatures dropped precipitously. For the first time in a while, I was scared. I was really scared of what might happen to me.
After that job fell through, I was going back and forth in my mind regarding taking my own life. I had had these feelings frequently when I was younger. I made on serious attempt that I survived, as I didn't really know how to cut deeply enough into my wrists to lost the blood I was trying to lose. On the bright side, I also retained my ability to play the guitar. I had come so far since those days, over 10 years ago. I had learned to live with hope. That hope had allowed me to build a life for myself that I was proud of. I was able to do good work for people both in my professional life and here on BL. I must say, looking back on it, I was happy.
I took too much shit all at once. Perhaps I am a bitch or I'm too fragile or I'm just a junkie unable to deal with the life stressors that normal people can. I don't know. I can tell you that I feel weak. I feel worthless and I feel like a burden. I feel like a burden on the world, I guess. I have all of these needs I need met when there are people around the world who don't even have clean drinking water.
You take things for granted. I had health insurance, a good job and a place that I was paying to live in (I wasn't on the lease, smart). My psychiatrist was paid for, my PCP paid for and my prescriptions were expensive but affordable. Things have changed. I am now without that insurance. I make too much money to take advantage of most programs here in the state. I have a callous hospital that will not see me or treat me until I make a payment, despite the fact that they know I'm totally destitute. My psychiatrist is unsympathetic stating she has bills to pay too. Granted, she wrote one prescription for free, but that was over a month ago. So, I'm withdrawing from Gabapentin/Pregabalin, Clonidine and Vyvanse and every day I don't have the energy to make the 3 hour round trip to the clinic, I miss that too. It compounds.
I am just taken aback by the callous nature of these people. I'm trying so hard to build a life back up from literally fucking nothing on the streets of this frozen hell and they are unwilling to even meet me halfway. These are not medications that I can just stop taking and continue to function. I have spent the past week diving into worse sand worse withdrawal. I have had a couple of Gabapentin handed to me here and there, but it's not what I need. In my "previous life" these things would have been essentially a phone call away and next to free. It's funny what we take for granted.
I have my great job starting on Monday. I should be excited, but I feel like a rat in a cage from withdrawal and the anxiety of figuring the situation out just compounds that feeling of inner tension inside of me. I don't have an easy way of getting laundry done or even necessarily showering and being clean. I now face the prospect of showing up to this job on Monday totally twacked out and unable to make a good impression. My current mental state twists these worries into grotesque shapes that almost always end with me just "gone". Like, I'm going to reach a point where a man as weak as myself just can't handle it anymore. My logical mind tells me there is a way out of this, but brain fog and lack of energy feel like everything is 10x harder.
I'm currently working full time at a side job for close to minimum wage. This will do nothing but prolong the bullshit until my first actual paycheck comes in. Then, I have 30 days until my insurance is active. At that point, in theory, everything can be resolved. I have gotten somewhat acclimatized to the fridged weather out here, but it is still oppressive like it is trying to fucking break me every moment.
I haven't ever stopped moving since this all started. I've done my best to keep generating money, but starting from such a hole makes it seem like a Herculean task. I know I'm not the only one dealing with these same thoughts, fears and concerns. I'm hopping maybe others who are in danger of these life challenges will find some solidarity in reading these blogs. I think we all just have to get comfortable with the idea that each gasp of air you get is only temporary, I don't know what is going to happen to all of us given the political turmoil and everything affecting our country. I love all of you guys and I hope everyone is safe and content.
This is the last few days of a serious struggle. I am hoping the dots connect and I'm able to take back my life and rebuild. It will not be easy, but just like getting clean, every small achievement is something I can use to get me to that next place I need to go.
After that job fell through, I was going back and forth in my mind regarding taking my own life. I had had these feelings frequently when I was younger. I made on serious attempt that I survived, as I didn't really know how to cut deeply enough into my wrists to lost the blood I was trying to lose. On the bright side, I also retained my ability to play the guitar. I had come so far since those days, over 10 years ago. I had learned to live with hope. That hope had allowed me to build a life for myself that I was proud of. I was able to do good work for people both in my professional life and here on BL. I must say, looking back on it, I was happy.
I took too much shit all at once. Perhaps I am a bitch or I'm too fragile or I'm just a junkie unable to deal with the life stressors that normal people can. I don't know. I can tell you that I feel weak. I feel worthless and I feel like a burden. I feel like a burden on the world, I guess. I have all of these needs I need met when there are people around the world who don't even have clean drinking water.
You take things for granted. I had health insurance, a good job and a place that I was paying to live in (I wasn't on the lease, smart). My psychiatrist was paid for, my PCP paid for and my prescriptions were expensive but affordable. Things have changed. I am now without that insurance. I make too much money to take advantage of most programs here in the state. I have a callous hospital that will not see me or treat me until I make a payment, despite the fact that they know I'm totally destitute. My psychiatrist is unsympathetic stating she has bills to pay too. Granted, she wrote one prescription for free, but that was over a month ago. So, I'm withdrawing from Gabapentin/Pregabalin, Clonidine and Vyvanse and every day I don't have the energy to make the 3 hour round trip to the clinic, I miss that too. It compounds.
I am just taken aback by the callous nature of these people. I'm trying so hard to build a life back up from literally fucking nothing on the streets of this frozen hell and they are unwilling to even meet me halfway. These are not medications that I can just stop taking and continue to function. I have spent the past week diving into worse sand worse withdrawal. I have had a couple of Gabapentin handed to me here and there, but it's not what I need. In my "previous life" these things would have been essentially a phone call away and next to free. It's funny what we take for granted.
I have my great job starting on Monday. I should be excited, but I feel like a rat in a cage from withdrawal and the anxiety of figuring the situation out just compounds that feeling of inner tension inside of me. I don't have an easy way of getting laundry done or even necessarily showering and being clean. I now face the prospect of showing up to this job on Monday totally twacked out and unable to make a good impression. My current mental state twists these worries into grotesque shapes that almost always end with me just "gone". Like, I'm going to reach a point where a man as weak as myself just can't handle it anymore. My logical mind tells me there is a way out of this, but brain fog and lack of energy feel like everything is 10x harder.
I'm currently working full time at a side job for close to minimum wage. This will do nothing but prolong the bullshit until my first actual paycheck comes in. Then, I have 30 days until my insurance is active. At that point, in theory, everything can be resolved. I have gotten somewhat acclimatized to the fridged weather out here, but it is still oppressive like it is trying to fucking break me every moment.
I haven't ever stopped moving since this all started. I've done my best to keep generating money, but starting from such a hole makes it seem like a Herculean task. I know I'm not the only one dealing with these same thoughts, fears and concerns. I'm hopping maybe others who are in danger of these life challenges will find some solidarity in reading these blogs. I think we all just have to get comfortable with the idea that each gasp of air you get is only temporary, I don't know what is going to happen to all of us given the political turmoil and everything affecting our country. I love all of you guys and I hope everyone is safe and content.
This is the last few days of a serious struggle. I am hoping the dots connect and I'm able to take back my life and rebuild. It will not be easy, but just like getting clean, every small achievement is something I can use to get me to that next place I need to go.
How I Spent My Time in County Jail
It was the Winter of 2010 in Lowell, Massachusetts. My hometown was a little rough around the edges, many would say. We were 26 miles away from Downtown Boston as the crow flies. Being a junkie had taught me to measure distance "as the rat scurries". I had always dreamed of the the day I would get out of my parents' house and strike it out on my own. My Father was an Alcoholic/Cocaine addict. I had always wanted to show him how wrong about me he was by starting a life of my own. The fact that I was now fully dependent upon on Heroin and Alcohol and now terrorizing my very own woman with my addiction took a lot of the would-be wind out of my sails, however.
Maria was my girlfriend of about a year. She was half-Dominican, half-Puerto Rican and she was a bitch on wheels. She was the first woman to ever throw a knife at my head. I still love to reminisce about those halcyon days. We had our things we did as a couple. She would castigate me for being so damn tired all the time. I would tell her that my history studies were kicking my ass. I would take the rent money, buy Heroin with it and then spar with my landlord for 5-6 days until I was able to come up with the money. Mr. Agnostoupolos was the only landlord I had ever rented from to use the phrase "I know where you live" in correspondence with me. I used to have nightmares that he would break into our apartment in the middle of the night and murder me. I had spent my youth boxing and wrestling. I had seen Rocky 1-4 no less than a dozen times. It goes without saying, I was prepared for anything.
I lived in a triple decker in the city's Acre district about a mile from where I grew up. I lived with 4 others, my high school best friend, Cori and two random dudes. One is a guy named Taylor who I knew from having bought lots of Ecstasy off of him. The last one, I can't even remember his name; clearly and ancillary character no? My landlord would call the three of us "Dopey, Scrawny and Fuckface". I lived in a single room with Maria. She was everything I had always loved about latin women. She had the fiery passion in her heart enough to make me feel loved and occasionally, terrified. I was young enough and not yet using enough dope that my sex-drive was still occasionally present. I was also young enough to still put such a premium upon "sex-on-demand" that I was willing to forego that feeling in the pit of my stomach that would tell me to run away and change my name. I couldn't do that though. I knew if I did, she would undoubtedly murder my best friend.
I was doing a good enough job keeping myself alive at UMass, attending every single mandatory class and doing my best to learn the same math my peers had mastered back in the 8th-9th grade. I dreamed of being a teacher. At this time, I was so confident I was going to die or end up in prison or something, it just didn't seem possible. Fuck, I didn't think I was going to live to be 30 years old and look at me now, I'm 35 bitches!
I had started using Opioids, at that time, we still tended to refer to the whole lot as "Opiates", but I'm showing my age here. Lowell was a destination for drug users from all up and down the interstate corridor. However, people from Lowell knew to go to Lawrence for the best and cheapest Heroin. Lawrence was a bit smaller than Lowell, but highly dense in population. It was 70% Latino back in the day. We would go there and buy grams of Heroin for 40-50 bucks; less if we bought more. I would make money by bringing back the cheaper Heroin and selling it to the people unwilling to go into Lawrence. See, Lawrence had an almost entirely Caucasian police force and they would profile White folks in the city and find reasons to pull them over. When we would go, we would call our dealer. Almost all of the dealers were known as Papi and I took would be referred to as Papi. This could make the logistics of communication complicated, but it felt nice to be included in another's culture.
We would end up waiting on the side of the road until the SUV would pull up alongside us for just a second. That was the signal. We would put the car in drive and follow them on twists and turns throughout the city until they would suddenly pull over. I would run up to their window. Papi would then spit plastic wrapped "grams", always weighing 0.8g into your hand. You didn't really have a choice in the matter. Flu season or not, you had to then put the dope in your own mouth. Yes, there was a sexual element to this for me, but that is something for discussion on a different forum, perhaps, "Keif's Late-Night Homoerotic Confessions". We will save that material for later episodes.
I got into the passenger seat of Renee's late, late-model Toyota Corolla. We should've known better than to go into the town after dark, but dope waits for no man. See, Renee was a complete fucking moron. I believe he was probably born addicted to all of the drugs, was dropped on his head a couple of times and the fact that he was fully French-Canadian didn't help. His parents had immigrated during the great Dry-Wall Rush of the early 80's. They say French Canadians are the Mexicans of dry-wall. I wouldn't know, because I don't say shit like that, because I am not a racist. He had only two teeth left in his mouth, right in front. The roots were so black that I feel infection had somehow fixed the teeth permanently in place. I'm sure those two teeth reminisce of the days in which the molars were still available to help chew. There's no point pining over what once was though. Renee flashed me a snaglle-toothed grin as I sat down on a bed of Doritos crumbs and receipts.
I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Storm clouds of sheer discomfort formed over Middlesex County that night. I had hoped it was just gas. I became so certain we were going to get pulled over in Lawrence. I swore to God that I would never go back to Lawrence again if he would just let me make it out of there and back home to my borderline-abusive girlfriend. Then I could get high, turn on some King of the Hill and pretend like I was listening until we would inevitably have angry, loveless sex and go to sleep. Well, the universe had other plans for me that night. Remember how I told you about how stupid Renee was? That is what is known as foreshadowing in the writing game.
I had to run over the New Hampshire border to drop off Heroin to a guy in Nashua. As we got off the highway, I noticed we were slowing down for no reason on the exit ramp. Renee is already visibly sweaty by the time I look over to see that we are indeed, out of gas. Renee forgot to put gas in his piece of shit car and we were now slowly rolling to a stop literally on the exit ramp. I begin freaking out trying to think of a way out of this. Not more than 5 minutes later did the New Hampshire state Police roll up on us. They took one look at Renee and his snaggle-toothed smile and asked to search the car. Renee had already swallowed the entirety of the Heroin, about 6 grams. I knew we would be fine. All I had in my pocket was a syringe. There was no getting rid of that and it would be a ticket at the very least... in Mass.
In New Hampshire, things were different. I politely informed the officer of the syringe in my pocket. He removed it. Several minutes later, the trooper returned to informed me that they had swabbed the inside of the barrel and it had tested positive for Heroin. I was like "so?". The trooper than told me to turn around and informed me I was under arrest for Felony possession of Heroin. I did not have a criminal record of any kind. I was in college and hoping to be a teacher. My life flashed before my eyes as the situation seemed just too surreal to be happening. I started the day with hopes and dreams. Now, I was on my way to the Hillsborough County Jail in Manchester, NH aka "Valley Street". It had a reputation even over the border. You didn't want to go there if you had to go somewhere. I went through waves of denial and bargaining with the Universe. I would be out by morning. I kept telling myself. They were going to medicate my withdrawal. Surely, they wouldn't be so uncivilized as to let a white Jewish boy in college withdraw amongst the riff raff?
I intended to use all of my guile, charisma, intelligence and white privilege to get myself out of this situation. Little did I know, I was about to be put into a dark hole where nobody gave two fucks about any of my wants, needs or desires. Next time, I'll break down one of the most utterly terrifying, miserable periods of my entire life. Coming soon in Part 2.
It was the Winter of 2010 in Lowell, Massachusetts. My hometown was a little rough around the edges, many would say. We were 26 miles away from Downtown Boston as the crow flies. Being a junkie had taught me to measure distance "as the rat scurries". I had always dreamed of the the day I would get out of my parents' house and strike it out on my own. My Father was an Alcoholic/Cocaine addict. I had always wanted to show him how wrong about me he was by starting a life of my own. The fact that I was now fully dependent upon on Heroin and Alcohol and now terrorizing my very own woman with my addiction took a lot of the would-be wind out of my sails, however.
Maria was my girlfriend of about a year. She was half-Dominican, half-Puerto Rican and she was a bitch on wheels. She was the first woman to ever throw a knife at my head. I still love to reminisce about those halcyon days. We had our things we did as a couple. She would castigate me for being so damn tired all the time. I would tell her that my history studies were kicking my ass. I would take the rent money, buy Heroin with it and then spar with my landlord for 5-6 days until I was able to come up with the money. Mr. Agnostoupolos was the only landlord I had ever rented from to use the phrase "I know where you live" in correspondence with me. I used to have nightmares that he would break into our apartment in the middle of the night and murder me. I had spent my youth boxing and wrestling. I had seen Rocky 1-4 no less than a dozen times. It goes without saying, I was prepared for anything.
I lived in a triple decker in the city's Acre district about a mile from where I grew up. I lived with 4 others, my high school best friend, Cori and two random dudes. One is a guy named Taylor who I knew from having bought lots of Ecstasy off of him. The last one, I can't even remember his name; clearly and ancillary character no? My landlord would call the three of us "Dopey, Scrawny and Fuckface". I lived in a single room with Maria. She was everything I had always loved about latin women. She had the fiery passion in her heart enough to make me feel loved and occasionally, terrified. I was young enough and not yet using enough dope that my sex-drive was still occasionally present. I was also young enough to still put such a premium upon "sex-on-demand" that I was willing to forego that feeling in the pit of my stomach that would tell me to run away and change my name. I couldn't do that though. I knew if I did, she would undoubtedly murder my best friend.
I was doing a good enough job keeping myself alive at UMass, attending every single mandatory class and doing my best to learn the same math my peers had mastered back in the 8th-9th grade. I dreamed of being a teacher. At this time, I was so confident I was going to die or end up in prison or something, it just didn't seem possible. Fuck, I didn't think I was going to live to be 30 years old and look at me now, I'm 35 bitches!
I had started using Opioids, at that time, we still tended to refer to the whole lot as "Opiates", but I'm showing my age here. Lowell was a destination for drug users from all up and down the interstate corridor. However, people from Lowell knew to go to Lawrence for the best and cheapest Heroin. Lawrence was a bit smaller than Lowell, but highly dense in population. It was 70% Latino back in the day. We would go there and buy grams of Heroin for 40-50 bucks; less if we bought more. I would make money by bringing back the cheaper Heroin and selling it to the people unwilling to go into Lawrence. See, Lawrence had an almost entirely Caucasian police force and they would profile White folks in the city and find reasons to pull them over. When we would go, we would call our dealer. Almost all of the dealers were known as Papi and I took would be referred to as Papi. This could make the logistics of communication complicated, but it felt nice to be included in another's culture.
We would end up waiting on the side of the road until the SUV would pull up alongside us for just a second. That was the signal. We would put the car in drive and follow them on twists and turns throughout the city until they would suddenly pull over. I would run up to their window. Papi would then spit plastic wrapped "grams", always weighing 0.8g into your hand. You didn't really have a choice in the matter. Flu season or not, you had to then put the dope in your own mouth. Yes, there was a sexual element to this for me, but that is something for discussion on a different forum, perhaps, "Keif's Late-Night Homoerotic Confessions". We will save that material for later episodes.
I got into the passenger seat of Renee's late, late-model Toyota Corolla. We should've known better than to go into the town after dark, but dope waits for no man. See, Renee was a complete fucking moron. I believe he was probably born addicted to all of the drugs, was dropped on his head a couple of times and the fact that he was fully French-Canadian didn't help. His parents had immigrated during the great Dry-Wall Rush of the early 80's. They say French Canadians are the Mexicans of dry-wall. I wouldn't know, because I don't say shit like that, because I am not a racist. He had only two teeth left in his mouth, right in front. The roots were so black that I feel infection had somehow fixed the teeth permanently in place. I'm sure those two teeth reminisce of the days in which the molars were still available to help chew. There's no point pining over what once was though. Renee flashed me a snaglle-toothed grin as I sat down on a bed of Doritos crumbs and receipts.
I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Storm clouds of sheer discomfort formed over Middlesex County that night. I had hoped it was just gas. I became so certain we were going to get pulled over in Lawrence. I swore to God that I would never go back to Lawrence again if he would just let me make it out of there and back home to my borderline-abusive girlfriend. Then I could get high, turn on some King of the Hill and pretend like I was listening until we would inevitably have angry, loveless sex and go to sleep. Well, the universe had other plans for me that night. Remember how I told you about how stupid Renee was? That is what is known as foreshadowing in the writing game.
I had to run over the New Hampshire border to drop off Heroin to a guy in Nashua. As we got off the highway, I noticed we were slowing down for no reason on the exit ramp. Renee is already visibly sweaty by the time I look over to see that we are indeed, out of gas. Renee forgot to put gas in his piece of shit car and we were now slowly rolling to a stop literally on the exit ramp. I begin freaking out trying to think of a way out of this. Not more than 5 minutes later did the New Hampshire state Police roll up on us. They took one look at Renee and his snaggle-toothed smile and asked to search the car. Renee had already swallowed the entirety of the Heroin, about 6 grams. I knew we would be fine. All I had in my pocket was a syringe. There was no getting rid of that and it would be a ticket at the very least... in Mass.
In New Hampshire, things were different. I politely informed the officer of the syringe in my pocket. He removed it. Several minutes later, the trooper returned to informed me that they had swabbed the inside of the barrel and it had tested positive for Heroin. I was like "so?". The trooper than told me to turn around and informed me I was under arrest for Felony possession of Heroin. I did not have a criminal record of any kind. I was in college and hoping to be a teacher. My life flashed before my eyes as the situation seemed just too surreal to be happening. I started the day with hopes and dreams. Now, I was on my way to the Hillsborough County Jail in Manchester, NH aka "Valley Street". It had a reputation even over the border. You didn't want to go there if you had to go somewhere. I went through waves of denial and bargaining with the Universe. I would be out by morning. I kept telling myself. They were going to medicate my withdrawal. Surely, they wouldn't be so uncivilized as to let a white Jewish boy in college withdraw amongst the riff raff?
I intended to use all of my guile, charisma, intelligence and white privilege to get myself out of this situation. Little did I know, I was about to be put into a dark hole where nobody gave two fucks about any of my wants, needs or desires. Next time, I'll break down one of the most utterly terrifying, miserable periods of my entire life. Coming soon in Part 2.
So, I´m sitting here in my shitty spot here on the outskirts of Burlington Vermont. It is fucking freezing out. There are no longer any busses on Sunday. The people who are working minmimum wage jobs like myself are forced to call Ubers or otherwise not show up. I am a little more than a week away from starting my new job. I´m going to be working at a shelter for youths, or people under the age of 24.
My fingers feel like fucking wood right now. I´m 35 and Lupus is already destroying my joints, so what the fuck am I supposed to do when I´m 50? It´s kind of a scary prospect. I´m completely dependent on the bus to get aroune. The terminus for the bus in this area is downtown and that is where you will go to switch routes and ultimatlely get where you need to go. The bus terminal is the only heated place in town outside of the library in which homeless people can congregate and be warm. They have wifi at the bus terminal too. Anytime I have to go downtown, I swear the rabble of homeless individuals grows every day.
What´s more, I see more and more kids out here every day. They are not going to school like they should be. They are separating from society already and choosing to live on the streets. They all seem to get sucked up into the web of Fentanyl or whatever other Opioids are going around. I can´t really blame them. When I´ve been outside this period of my life, there have been moments where I´ve felt the desire to take a hit of some Opioid that will make me feel warm and safe for even a moment of my life. I see how kids without the proper understanding of the consequences get sucked it and they get sucked in quick.
The weathered faces of some of these kids is heartbreaking man. How does a 19 year old end up looking like she is 35-40 in such a short period of time? It wasn´t like this when I was younger. I used Heroin for 15 years and I still retain the majority of my health. Lupus is unrelated to the Heroin, so I´d say I´ve done pretty well for myself. I contracted Hep C in Cambodia and ended up clearing it naturally, thank god. I see so many people walking around with walkers and canes. They have injection injuries in their hips and in their legs that have left them crippled, potentially for life.
I see hopelessness on the face of everyone in this area. Everyone has the 1,000 yard stare of individuals who have been misused, disregarded, discarded and raped either literally or figuratively, over and over again. I see children on the street who you know never had parents to begin with. Maybe they ended up in foster care where they were abused/mistreated. Maybe cold nighhts out on the street in a tent is preferable to whatever their ¨home life¨ truly is. You can only wonder.
There is a small courtyard downtown that used to be the outdoor seating for a sushi place. Businesses have left or are leaving downtown as the homeless crisis cuts into the retail market of the area. There is no restaurant here anymore. It is covered by a metal roof that provides the feeling of cover for the individuals there. I walk by and see a cacophany of lights. People have their cell phone lights on, lighters are flicking. In the pitch black, there are about a dozen crack heads either cleaning their pipes for resin, smoking crack or searching for it on the ground. They put whatever debris they can find into their pipes and hope for one moment of freedom from their shitty lives. I see the draw, but I don´t get involved. I know the price of that momentary release... three steps backward.
In this world, even one step backward is enough to permanently condemn you to the hell that is the streets of Burlington. I am inside at this moment and warm. I do not know if I will be later or what my day will be like. I have to get to work, but there are no busses and to take an Uber would just be outrageous and stupid. You go to the food banks. They used to have good food if you got there in time. I was there last week twice. They had a couple of weird radishes, boxes of corn flakes, no milk, no peanut butter and boxes upon boxes of frito/lay chips. They had so much un-nutritious shit, it´a like, why do you even bother with any or this if we are just giving the kids and families unhealthy food.
Stealing dinner every night is not an option, for me or for anyone else. I have never been caught shoplifting in an entire life spent shoplifting when I needed to. I´m poor, but I´ve still got my Brooks Brothers shit and my Peacoat from my days of education and I wear that whenever I have to do dirt. Apparently, artifical intelligence is now employed in many stores in the area. They will record you taking things and wait until you rack up felony amounts then they will get you. So now, I´m forced to pay for my food every day and the cost is oppressive.
I have a short while before I´m back working my trade, god willing. I want to be giving back and being there for the kids as I was previously. They need the help the most. With any luck, I will be able to catch a few before they fall into addiction and homelessness. Every day is a struggle. Affording medcine, affording food. I´m just some single douchebag without dependents. I may be suffering currently, but at least I am not responsible for children. It´s just me in this situation.
Things seem really bad right now. Poverty is rough. Politics are shitty. I continue to put one foot in front of the other and like everyone here, try to be something for my community. I appreciate everyone on here who is taking the time to be there to help one another. That is what we need right now more than anyting, togetherness and understanding. There is too much hate right now, in life and on the streets. Every day, I feel myself getting sucked closer to that event horizon while struggling with everyting in my being to resist the pull into oblivion. I believe in myself and everyone on here who is struggling. I hope everyone has a good day. I´m going out into the frozen wastes to try to get to work
My fingers feel like fucking wood right now. I´m 35 and Lupus is already destroying my joints, so what the fuck am I supposed to do when I´m 50? It´s kind of a scary prospect. I´m completely dependent on the bus to get aroune. The terminus for the bus in this area is downtown and that is where you will go to switch routes and ultimatlely get where you need to go. The bus terminal is the only heated place in town outside of the library in which homeless people can congregate and be warm. They have wifi at the bus terminal too. Anytime I have to go downtown, I swear the rabble of homeless individuals grows every day.
What´s more, I see more and more kids out here every day. They are not going to school like they should be. They are separating from society already and choosing to live on the streets. They all seem to get sucked up into the web of Fentanyl or whatever other Opioids are going around. I can´t really blame them. When I´ve been outside this period of my life, there have been moments where I´ve felt the desire to take a hit of some Opioid that will make me feel warm and safe for even a moment of my life. I see how kids without the proper understanding of the consequences get sucked it and they get sucked in quick.
The weathered faces of some of these kids is heartbreaking man. How does a 19 year old end up looking like she is 35-40 in such a short period of time? It wasn´t like this when I was younger. I used Heroin for 15 years and I still retain the majority of my health. Lupus is unrelated to the Heroin, so I´d say I´ve done pretty well for myself. I contracted Hep C in Cambodia and ended up clearing it naturally, thank god. I see so many people walking around with walkers and canes. They have injection injuries in their hips and in their legs that have left them crippled, potentially for life.
I see hopelessness on the face of everyone in this area. Everyone has the 1,000 yard stare of individuals who have been misused, disregarded, discarded and raped either literally or figuratively, over and over again. I see children on the street who you know never had parents to begin with. Maybe they ended up in foster care where they were abused/mistreated. Maybe cold nighhts out on the street in a tent is preferable to whatever their ¨home life¨ truly is. You can only wonder.
There is a small courtyard downtown that used to be the outdoor seating for a sushi place. Businesses have left or are leaving downtown as the homeless crisis cuts into the retail market of the area. There is no restaurant here anymore. It is covered by a metal roof that provides the feeling of cover for the individuals there. I walk by and see a cacophany of lights. People have their cell phone lights on, lighters are flicking. In the pitch black, there are about a dozen crack heads either cleaning their pipes for resin, smoking crack or searching for it on the ground. They put whatever debris they can find into their pipes and hope for one moment of freedom from their shitty lives. I see the draw, but I don´t get involved. I know the price of that momentary release... three steps backward.
In this world, even one step backward is enough to permanently condemn you to the hell that is the streets of Burlington. I am inside at this moment and warm. I do not know if I will be later or what my day will be like. I have to get to work, but there are no busses and to take an Uber would just be outrageous and stupid. You go to the food banks. They used to have good food if you got there in time. I was there last week twice. They had a couple of weird radishes, boxes of corn flakes, no milk, no peanut butter and boxes upon boxes of frito/lay chips. They had so much un-nutritious shit, it´a like, why do you even bother with any or this if we are just giving the kids and families unhealthy food.
Stealing dinner every night is not an option, for me or for anyone else. I have never been caught shoplifting in an entire life spent shoplifting when I needed to. I´m poor, but I´ve still got my Brooks Brothers shit and my Peacoat from my days of education and I wear that whenever I have to do dirt. Apparently, artifical intelligence is now employed in many stores in the area. They will record you taking things and wait until you rack up felony amounts then they will get you. So now, I´m forced to pay for my food every day and the cost is oppressive.
I have a short while before I´m back working my trade, god willing. I want to be giving back and being there for the kids as I was previously. They need the help the most. With any luck, I will be able to catch a few before they fall into addiction and homelessness. Every day is a struggle. Affording medcine, affording food. I´m just some single douchebag without dependents. I may be suffering currently, but at least I am not responsible for children. It´s just me in this situation.
Things seem really bad right now. Poverty is rough. Politics are shitty. I continue to put one foot in front of the other and like everyone here, try to be something for my community. I appreciate everyone on here who is taking the time to be there to help one another. That is what we need right now more than anyting, togetherness and understanding. There is too much hate right now, in life and on the streets. Every day, I feel myself getting sucked closer to that event horizon while struggling with everyting in my being to resist the pull into oblivion. I believe in myself and everyone on here who is struggling. I hope everyone has a good day. I´m going out into the frozen wastes to try to get to work
Hello cretans of Bluelight, friends and romans all.
As many of you know, this past month has been some of the biggest bullshit I´ve faced in recent memory. It is no doubt the worst situation I´ve been in since getting sober. When I was using, I´d be in this situation every day of my life it seemed.
After taking one job, being screwed out of a paycheck and being forced to work for a convenience store and then UPS, I am proud to say I have been offered a job in my field. I am going to be managing the overnight shift at a youth shelter here in Burlington. It really is one of the best jobs I could have possibly gotten. It feels like a bit of divine intervention. They operate a shelter and a drop-in center. They´re aware that I´m pretty much destitute as I explained my situation with my last employer and they were understanding. There is a possibility for help with housing. At the very least it will be benefits and an (almost) livable wage.
I am in the home stretch of all of this. Every day has been a different challenge that has reminded me of all that I have/had to be grateful for in this world. To have love, shelter, food and my health... it seems like a distant memory. It´s amazing what constant stress can do to your body. I´ve got a constant feeling of tension that is only alleviated by hearing about this job. There is a light at the end of this fucked up tunnel.
I will be working and living with youths under the age of 22 who are homeless. I have always loved working with kids which is why I became a teacher in the first place. My years of personal experience with addiction and my time with Bluelight makes me specially-geared to be able to help some of these wayward youths. I have very high hopes that I will be able to enrich their lives and them enrich mine.
I have a couple of weeks at least until I can get my health insurance. Today´s struggle, I am required to see my doctor to get new scripts for all of my medications. The psychiatrist alone is 100 bucks up front. Then I have to pay for these prescriptions. It´s been two days since I haven´t had any Gabapentin one day without Clonidine and Methadone will be a problem soon. I have lupus and I take a biologic for my arthritis. My body is locked up like a rusty piece of farm machinery when i wake up in the morning.
I have significant fears that I will not be able to figure out this issue. This leaves me two choices, withdraw from everything then attempt to start this job fresh or do something like panhandle to get the required funds. I have to say, at this point in my life, I´m gettting to a point where I´m not above panhandling if that´s what it takes to fix my life. I can´t believe it, but it is hard times right now.
I´ve been able to figure out so many things this past month that I thought I wouldn´t be able to. I´ve been blessed with fortune, as I´ve seen how I could´ve been swallowed up by poverty on multiple occasions. Being dependent upon substances sucks, whether you´re ¨sober¨ or not. In times of plenty, I never had to consider these things. They were ¨givens¨ in my life. I never thought I would ever be in a position where I couldn´t just get my refills. Now I see this as my last obstacle to actually succeeding.
I am calling around to all of the nonprofits in the area. They are all inundated with requests. I keep my hopes up that there is someone I called who will call me back from the state or one of these random non-profits I´ve contacted.
I´m a person who suffered a pretty sudden and unexpected life circumstance. In this state, there is so much help available for those who have absolutely nothing. I don´t want their help to be taken away, but shit, it´d be nice if there were even a little bit of help available to us working folk who run into trouble in their lives. I continue to investigate. The issue is that, as my withdrawal progresses, I´m less and less effective, physically and mentally. I´m racing against the clock to figure this last bit out.
I´d love to be able to walk into my new job not a sweaty, nervous, sketchy mess. My fear is that I´m already seeing how I´m set up for another failure by not having the medication. I can already see how this could end with me not being able to do the job or making a terrible first impression. I honestly feel a bit like a rat in a cage. I haven´t really had to withdraw like this for a long time and it brings me right back to being a junkie which is a shitty feeling.
So, case in point, we have some really good news. This could be the end of all of this. Then there is of course, one last boss battle before I can walk in there with my head held high. Wish me luck everybody. I´ve already resigned myself to flying a sign outside if that´s what it takes. I´m 100% determined not to fuck up. I´m grateful for the job. Grateful fo my friends on Bluelight. I´m grateful to have a sponsor who can keep me grounded. I hope everyone is having a good year thus far. Until next time.
As many of you know, this past month has been some of the biggest bullshit I´ve faced in recent memory. It is no doubt the worst situation I´ve been in since getting sober. When I was using, I´d be in this situation every day of my life it seemed.
After taking one job, being screwed out of a paycheck and being forced to work for a convenience store and then UPS, I am proud to say I have been offered a job in my field. I am going to be managing the overnight shift at a youth shelter here in Burlington. It really is one of the best jobs I could have possibly gotten. It feels like a bit of divine intervention. They operate a shelter and a drop-in center. They´re aware that I´m pretty much destitute as I explained my situation with my last employer and they were understanding. There is a possibility for help with housing. At the very least it will be benefits and an (almost) livable wage.
I am in the home stretch of all of this. Every day has been a different challenge that has reminded me of all that I have/had to be grateful for in this world. To have love, shelter, food and my health... it seems like a distant memory. It´s amazing what constant stress can do to your body. I´ve got a constant feeling of tension that is only alleviated by hearing about this job. There is a light at the end of this fucked up tunnel.
I will be working and living with youths under the age of 22 who are homeless. I have always loved working with kids which is why I became a teacher in the first place. My years of personal experience with addiction and my time with Bluelight makes me specially-geared to be able to help some of these wayward youths. I have very high hopes that I will be able to enrich their lives and them enrich mine.
I have a couple of weeks at least until I can get my health insurance. Today´s struggle, I am required to see my doctor to get new scripts for all of my medications. The psychiatrist alone is 100 bucks up front. Then I have to pay for these prescriptions. It´s been two days since I haven´t had any Gabapentin one day without Clonidine and Methadone will be a problem soon. I have lupus and I take a biologic for my arthritis. My body is locked up like a rusty piece of farm machinery when i wake up in the morning.
I have significant fears that I will not be able to figure out this issue. This leaves me two choices, withdraw from everything then attempt to start this job fresh or do something like panhandle to get the required funds. I have to say, at this point in my life, I´m gettting to a point where I´m not above panhandling if that´s what it takes to fix my life. I can´t believe it, but it is hard times right now.
I´ve been able to figure out so many things this past month that I thought I wouldn´t be able to. I´ve been blessed with fortune, as I´ve seen how I could´ve been swallowed up by poverty on multiple occasions. Being dependent upon substances sucks, whether you´re ¨sober¨ or not. In times of plenty, I never had to consider these things. They were ¨givens¨ in my life. I never thought I would ever be in a position where I couldn´t just get my refills. Now I see this as my last obstacle to actually succeeding.
I am calling around to all of the nonprofits in the area. They are all inundated with requests. I keep my hopes up that there is someone I called who will call me back from the state or one of these random non-profits I´ve contacted.
I´m a person who suffered a pretty sudden and unexpected life circumstance. In this state, there is so much help available for those who have absolutely nothing. I don´t want their help to be taken away, but shit, it´d be nice if there were even a little bit of help available to us working folk who run into trouble in their lives. I continue to investigate. The issue is that, as my withdrawal progresses, I´m less and less effective, physically and mentally. I´m racing against the clock to figure this last bit out.
I´d love to be able to walk into my new job not a sweaty, nervous, sketchy mess. My fear is that I´m already seeing how I´m set up for another failure by not having the medication. I can already see how this could end with me not being able to do the job or making a terrible first impression. I honestly feel a bit like a rat in a cage. I haven´t really had to withdraw like this for a long time and it brings me right back to being a junkie which is a shitty feeling.
So, case in point, we have some really good news. This could be the end of all of this. Then there is of course, one last boss battle before I can walk in there with my head held high. Wish me luck everybody. I´ve already resigned myself to flying a sign outside if that´s what it takes. I´m 100% determined not to fuck up. I´m grateful for the job. Grateful fo my friends on Bluelight. I´m grateful to have a sponsor who can keep me grounded. I hope everyone is having a good year thus far. Until next time.
Today I am at the laundromat with my wife. We do laundry 2 times a week because we live in an Rv with 4 dogs and a cat. Things get dirty faster living in limited space than when we were living in our house. The same is true with buying groceries, limited pantry and refrigerator space prompts us to buy groceries 2 times a week rather than going to the store once a week.
If you are routinely present at a given space or activity, you recognize people who routinely occupy the space with you thus forming friendships and acquaintances. We see more people we recognize at the laundromat than the grocery store. Perhaps because people at the laundromat are more consistent than the fluid motion of people buying groceries.
Go figure?
If you are routinely present at a given space or activity, you recognize people who routinely occupy the space with you thus forming friendships and acquaintances. We see more people we recognize at the laundromat than the grocery store. Perhaps because people at the laundromat are more consistent than the fluid motion of people buying groceries.
Go figure?
This is an appendix to my Using LSD as a substitute for DMT in ayahuasca thread.
Effects in man of single and combined oral doses of reserpine, iproniazid, and D-lysergic acid diethylamide. DeMaar, E. W. J., Williams, H. L., Miller, A. I., Pfeiffer, C. C. 1960. Clinical Pharmacology & Therapeutics, 1(1), 23–30. 10.1002/cpt19601123
LSD-25 action in normal subjects treated with a monoamine oxidase inhibitor. 1964. Life Sciences, 3(11), 1207–1214. 10.1016/0024-3205(64)90037-2
Blocking of LSD reaction by premedication with Niamid. Grof, S., Dytrych, Z. 1965. Activitas nervosa superior, 7(3), 306.
Alterations in responses to LSD in humans associated with chronic administration of tricyclic antidepressants, monoamine oxidase inhibitors or lithium. Bonson, K., Murphy, D. 1996. Behav Brain Res, 73(1-2), 229–33. 10.1016/0166-4328(96)00102-7
Effects in man of single and combined oral doses of reserpine, iproniazid, and D-lysergic acid diethylamide. DeMaar, E. W. J., Williams, H. L., Miller, A. I., Pfeiffer, C. C. 1960. Clinical Pharmacology & Therapeutics, 1(1), 23–30. 10.1002/cpt19601123
LSD-25 action in normal subjects treated with a monoamine oxidase inhibitor. 1964. Life Sciences, 3(11), 1207–1214. 10.1016/0024-3205(64)90037-2
Blocking of LSD reaction by premedication with Niamid. Grof, S., Dytrych, Z. 1965. Activitas nervosa superior, 7(3), 306.
Alterations in responses to LSD in humans associated with chronic administration of tricyclic antidepressants, monoamine oxidase inhibitors or lithium. Bonson, K., Murphy, D. 1996. Behav Brain Res, 73(1-2), 229–33. 10.1016/0166-4328(96)00102-7
Here we are everyone. Every day that I expect life has gotten as bad as it can get, for myself or for all of my fellow addicts, wage laborers and indentured servants. Every day that I come to a new revelation regarding the state of our society, I am later made to feel naive to the true nature of things. I have a blog that follows my own descent into absolute bullshit. I want everyone who has time to read this to get the idea of what is happening out there and what is possible for you and the people that you love.
A lot of you know that I am a ¨Child of Addiction¨ in that my Father was an Alcoholic/Cocaine addict throughout the majority of my childhood prior to getting sober. However, I was fortunate to grow up in a household with two parents in which I was never in danger of going hungry. We never had to be in the bread lines or to be on food stamps. For growing up in the area I grew up in, we were considered a more well-off family. My Dad had a BMW. My Mom had a Mercedez. We had a nice apartment in a nicer part of the city. My family, who has been financially stable for most of my life are now in danger of bankruptcy. My Father, who has been a salesperson, selling stuff like computers that guide missiles and other military hardware, was recently laid off. I found out he actually was laid off 3 months ago. My own parents are now in financial danger. It is heartbreaking. As I love my Mother, my Dad and I have always been a bit more frosty. Still, it´s a major shock to me.
I live in Burlington, VT. As a lot of you know, I was in a multi-month on-boarding process/training for a recovery center here in a nearby town. It was a mangement gig that was actually the most I´d ever been offered for a job ever. They were opening on the strength of Opioid settlement money. It is now apparent that they have mismanaged the money. The majority of the first-wave has been laid off and they are not giving us our pay. My point is, this is a ¨recovery center¨, allegedly dedicated to the hopes and dreams of those who want to do better and get better, and they have no problem not paying their employees and are apparently unafraid of the consequences. I have never worked for a company ever, as I can remember, that has not paid me. I´ve never been forced to fight for my pay from any organization, be it a kitchen or anywhere else. People do not give a fuck.
See I had an experience with the Department of Labor. They are the ones who need to help me get my wages. They take 4-6 months to get people their unemployment insurance, so how long would it take to get my couple weeks of wages?
So now the time invested in commuting to this job, doing the trainings and helping them set up? I´m not only fired, but I now have not been making any money in theory for a couple of weeks and must start from scratch. I am now working at a gas station, but that is not even full time yet.
Here is the part that is most frightening to me and that I feel could apply to many of us, even those in recovery. See, I take several prescriptions. I am ineligible for Medicaid for a while as my income on file is too high. Ditto for food stamps and most other assistance. My doctor threw me a curveball at a very bad time and said he needed to see me before he would refill my medication. As I have no insurance right now (I couldn´t keep paying COBRA) that would be money I don´t have. Then there is the cost of prescriptions.
Gabapentin, Methadone, Vyvanse, Clonidine, Biologic for Lupus/Arthritis...
I consistently have run into walls trying to get any help from the state or county with this shit. My income is too high and the agencies are all incredibly inundated with requests for help. Everything that could help would take too long to actually come through in time to help. Part of my staying afloat would mean, if I suddenly start withdrawing from all of these medications, I would be pretty incapable of functioning. So, I´m now feeling the fear of imminent withdrawal from this shit, which will then cascade into increasingly worse shit for my life. My only option would be to check into the hospital and try to, I´m not sure, go to a detox or rehab or something? You see, even last year, there would have been a way of accomplishing this shit. There is little to no assistance left in this state. If you´ve made any money in the previous year, you´re fucked. If you´re too poor to afford it, help would take too long to get to you.
These are all things that I took completely for granted. I never was concerned about not getting my prescriptions. I always had insurance. I always had a job. When I endured this break up with my girlfriend, I had not a fucking clue of how bad things were going to be. See, I had been blissfully unaware of how bad things had truly gotten in the past 12 months. I had been steadily employed and although I was living paycheck to paycheck, I was always comfortable; especially by comparison to now.
I have a college degree and I can theoretically get good jobs. I´m applying for these jobs, but if I´m in withdrawal from all of these medications, I would be totally fucked. I don´t have a working cell phone now as that has been shut off. This means a lot of higher-level jobs are not even going to want to fuck with me until I have a working phone. Who would want to entertain hiring someone without a working phone? Verizon does not allow you to pause service if you´re already overdue on your balance, so that continue to tick up every day even as I don´t have a phone.
I am writing this and my other posts because I want people to adjust their expectations regarding their lives. Those of us who have dependencies; either prescriptions or street drugs, we are all very close to a precipice that, once you´re over, it really seems that society is trying to squeeze you out. I feel like, if I were able to get a good job again and be earning money, I wouldn´t be getting this squeezed out by society feeling that I´m experiencing. There are more and more people, daily, sleeping in their cars. I have seen people sleeping in the parking lot at the grocery store in fucking Audi´s.
I know it´s been easy in the past to make mistakes with money. There was always the possibility of coming back from your problems. When I went through all of this bullshit with my girlfriend, never would I have expected life to be so utterly cold and brutal on the other side. I was totally unprepared. If I had been ready for what was ahead of me, I could have done things differently. If I had been more conservative, tried harder, conserved more, I wouldn´t be in this situation. We are all here on Bluelight because we are drug users. A lot of us have addictions and dependencies. I´m sure a lot of you are just like me. You are feeling the squeeze right now.
If you are in a relationship, think twice before walking out the door. I should have pushed my rights as a renter, but I felt too badly for my girlfriend, who I feel at this point does not care at all about me, as she is aware that I´m out here suffering. I should have fought harder to protect what I had. Even having a month to prepare for this exit could have put me in a better place. It could have kept me from homelessness. Now I´m racing against the clock. I have to find a way to cover my medical costs on my own. I am one step away from panhandling. The problem with panhandling is, once you´re face is known to everyone in your community, it is known. People look down on you, pity you and see you as the ¨other¨ in society.
My family, who was in decent shape for most of my life are in danger of bankruptcy. I have a college degree and I´m homeless and in danger of complete fucking collapse. I´ve worked my entire life. I´ve never experienced anything close to this severity in my life. I am racing against a clock that is constantly shrinking the amount of available time. Food continues to get more expensive, I am almost out of medications and at this point, I´m used to life as a bum.
If you are using drugs and feel you can do better, now is the time to try to do better. If you have a job and you´re thinking about giving your boss the finger because it´s payday, think again. I know a lot of us are problably thinking like I was, that life was the same as it had always been. I wasn´t reading the signs clearly enough in society around me. If I had been paying attention and taken it more seriously, I wouldn´t be in this position.
I´m pretty much witnessing the twilight of my life now. That´s what it feels like. I know that I´m going to continue working as much as I can. I´m going to continue to keep my sobriety and go to meetings. They are the only thing that give me any kind of stability in this world. If I were to start drinking, I would almost certainly be out of options. I´d become totally useless and I would no longer be able to do all of the running around required to stay alive right now. You all should make the same considerations. We all need to be so careful right now. We have a government that would gladly see all of us out of society, whether you´re a former addict like myself on the clinic, a street addict or even just a wage-slave, there is less and less place for us in this society.
Everyone, please make a plan. Especially if you have people who depend on you, make a plan. Save money and consider your actions before wasting money. Take this as my warning. A lot of people on here might say that I know what I´m talking about. While I´m not an economist, I´m an expert on misery at this point in my life. You all need to be so, so careful with yourselves. I´m gonna continue to pray for everyone worse off than myself. I don´t even need charity, I just need a job. I thought I had that. Unscrupulous people are getting more unscrupulous every day as resources thin. The likelihood of getting a hand up is just less and less every day.
Be careful out there everybody. Be fucking careful and learn from Keif´s mistakes. Be smarter than I was.
A lot of you know that I am a ¨Child of Addiction¨ in that my Father was an Alcoholic/Cocaine addict throughout the majority of my childhood prior to getting sober. However, I was fortunate to grow up in a household with two parents in which I was never in danger of going hungry. We never had to be in the bread lines or to be on food stamps. For growing up in the area I grew up in, we were considered a more well-off family. My Dad had a BMW. My Mom had a Mercedez. We had a nice apartment in a nicer part of the city. My family, who has been financially stable for most of my life are now in danger of bankruptcy. My Father, who has been a salesperson, selling stuff like computers that guide missiles and other military hardware, was recently laid off. I found out he actually was laid off 3 months ago. My own parents are now in financial danger. It is heartbreaking. As I love my Mother, my Dad and I have always been a bit more frosty. Still, it´s a major shock to me.
I live in Burlington, VT. As a lot of you know, I was in a multi-month on-boarding process/training for a recovery center here in a nearby town. It was a mangement gig that was actually the most I´d ever been offered for a job ever. They were opening on the strength of Opioid settlement money. It is now apparent that they have mismanaged the money. The majority of the first-wave has been laid off and they are not giving us our pay. My point is, this is a ¨recovery center¨, allegedly dedicated to the hopes and dreams of those who want to do better and get better, and they have no problem not paying their employees and are apparently unafraid of the consequences. I have never worked for a company ever, as I can remember, that has not paid me. I´ve never been forced to fight for my pay from any organization, be it a kitchen or anywhere else. People do not give a fuck.
See I had an experience with the Department of Labor. They are the ones who need to help me get my wages. They take 4-6 months to get people their unemployment insurance, so how long would it take to get my couple weeks of wages?
So now the time invested in commuting to this job, doing the trainings and helping them set up? I´m not only fired, but I now have not been making any money in theory for a couple of weeks and must start from scratch. I am now working at a gas station, but that is not even full time yet.
Here is the part that is most frightening to me and that I feel could apply to many of us, even those in recovery. See, I take several prescriptions. I am ineligible for Medicaid for a while as my income on file is too high. Ditto for food stamps and most other assistance. My doctor threw me a curveball at a very bad time and said he needed to see me before he would refill my medication. As I have no insurance right now (I couldn´t keep paying COBRA) that would be money I don´t have. Then there is the cost of prescriptions.
Gabapentin, Methadone, Vyvanse, Clonidine, Biologic for Lupus/Arthritis...
I consistently have run into walls trying to get any help from the state or county with this shit. My income is too high and the agencies are all incredibly inundated with requests for help. Everything that could help would take too long to actually come through in time to help. Part of my staying afloat would mean, if I suddenly start withdrawing from all of these medications, I would be pretty incapable of functioning. So, I´m now feeling the fear of imminent withdrawal from this shit, which will then cascade into increasingly worse shit for my life. My only option would be to check into the hospital and try to, I´m not sure, go to a detox or rehab or something? You see, even last year, there would have been a way of accomplishing this shit. There is little to no assistance left in this state. If you´ve made any money in the previous year, you´re fucked. If you´re too poor to afford it, help would take too long to get to you.
These are all things that I took completely for granted. I never was concerned about not getting my prescriptions. I always had insurance. I always had a job. When I endured this break up with my girlfriend, I had not a fucking clue of how bad things were going to be. See, I had been blissfully unaware of how bad things had truly gotten in the past 12 months. I had been steadily employed and although I was living paycheck to paycheck, I was always comfortable; especially by comparison to now.
I have a college degree and I can theoretically get good jobs. I´m applying for these jobs, but if I´m in withdrawal from all of these medications, I would be totally fucked. I don´t have a working cell phone now as that has been shut off. This means a lot of higher-level jobs are not even going to want to fuck with me until I have a working phone. Who would want to entertain hiring someone without a working phone? Verizon does not allow you to pause service if you´re already overdue on your balance, so that continue to tick up every day even as I don´t have a phone.
I am writing this and my other posts because I want people to adjust their expectations regarding their lives. Those of us who have dependencies; either prescriptions or street drugs, we are all very close to a precipice that, once you´re over, it really seems that society is trying to squeeze you out. I feel like, if I were able to get a good job again and be earning money, I wouldn´t be getting this squeezed out by society feeling that I´m experiencing. There are more and more people, daily, sleeping in their cars. I have seen people sleeping in the parking lot at the grocery store in fucking Audi´s.
I know it´s been easy in the past to make mistakes with money. There was always the possibility of coming back from your problems. When I went through all of this bullshit with my girlfriend, never would I have expected life to be so utterly cold and brutal on the other side. I was totally unprepared. If I had been ready for what was ahead of me, I could have done things differently. If I had been more conservative, tried harder, conserved more, I wouldn´t be in this situation. We are all here on Bluelight because we are drug users. A lot of us have addictions and dependencies. I´m sure a lot of you are just like me. You are feeling the squeeze right now.
If you are in a relationship, think twice before walking out the door. I should have pushed my rights as a renter, but I felt too badly for my girlfriend, who I feel at this point does not care at all about me, as she is aware that I´m out here suffering. I should have fought harder to protect what I had. Even having a month to prepare for this exit could have put me in a better place. It could have kept me from homelessness. Now I´m racing against the clock. I have to find a way to cover my medical costs on my own. I am one step away from panhandling. The problem with panhandling is, once you´re face is known to everyone in your community, it is known. People look down on you, pity you and see you as the ¨other¨ in society.
My family, who was in decent shape for most of my life are in danger of bankruptcy. I have a college degree and I´m homeless and in danger of complete fucking collapse. I´ve worked my entire life. I´ve never experienced anything close to this severity in my life. I am racing against a clock that is constantly shrinking the amount of available time. Food continues to get more expensive, I am almost out of medications and at this point, I´m used to life as a bum.
If you are using drugs and feel you can do better, now is the time to try to do better. If you have a job and you´re thinking about giving your boss the finger because it´s payday, think again. I know a lot of us are problably thinking like I was, that life was the same as it had always been. I wasn´t reading the signs clearly enough in society around me. If I had been paying attention and taken it more seriously, I wouldn´t be in this position.
I´m pretty much witnessing the twilight of my life now. That´s what it feels like. I know that I´m going to continue working as much as I can. I´m going to continue to keep my sobriety and go to meetings. They are the only thing that give me any kind of stability in this world. If I were to start drinking, I would almost certainly be out of options. I´d become totally useless and I would no longer be able to do all of the running around required to stay alive right now. You all should make the same considerations. We all need to be so careful right now. We have a government that would gladly see all of us out of society, whether you´re a former addict like myself on the clinic, a street addict or even just a wage-slave, there is less and less place for us in this society.
Everyone, please make a plan. Especially if you have people who depend on you, make a plan. Save money and consider your actions before wasting money. Take this as my warning. A lot of people on here might say that I know what I´m talking about. While I´m not an economist, I´m an expert on misery at this point in my life. You all need to be so, so careful with yourselves. I´m gonna continue to pray for everyone worse off than myself. I don´t even need charity, I just need a job. I thought I had that. Unscrupulous people are getting more unscrupulous every day as resources thin. The likelihood of getting a hand up is just less and less every day.
Be careful out there everybody. Be fucking careful and learn from Keif´s mistakes. Be smarter than I was.
Hey everyone. A lot of you probably don't know this about me. I am pretty much a loner. I have been an educator and a social worker my entire life. I still am. However, I've only ever had clients, I have my AA people, they keep me sober, but they do not make me feel loved.
Life has gone from idyllic to hellish in a few weeks' time. My girlfriend, who I love more than anything, had a severe switch in her Bipolar. We had gone from sipping tea and snuggling the day before to the next morning her screaming like a lunatic that I'm an abuser, a serial killer and to get out. It was my home. I had paid rent. But I was afraid she was so lost she might actually call the cops. The type of work I'm involved in, anything can be enough to get you fired.
So I left hoping that she would get better. I had to leave rural Vermont for the city. I wanted to rent a room. When I got here, I found the only thing available were trap houses. We had had plans for some time that I would be helping open a recovery center and we would use my savings to move there. Having to leave with no plan has been catastrophic.
I don't have friends. Not the right kind. Not the kind that other people seem to have. Some of my best connections with other humans has been helping folks here on the forums.
I have lost the love of my life. I do not know if I will get her back. She was the only one who ever understood me. Meanwhile, I have at least 3 weeks until my job starts. Last night was my first time sleeping outside. I am without a phone now so she couldn't call if she wanted to, which also troubles me greatly. I managed the homeless shelter here in Burlington for 2 years. I slept with some of my former clients last night and felt a sadness that I haven't felt since I was thrown in jail and made to withdraw from Heroin. Just feeling alone.
I am worried I won't be able to figure it out. Am I broken? Am I just a piece of shit? I'm not using anything other than my prescribed medications. I have wanted to drink so badly for just a moment of relief. However, a small part of me still believes I can make it. Taking a drink would end everything. I'm sitting at the library right now, using their internet. I wake up every morning surprised to be alone and back in Burlington. The city is so expensive and now, so dangerous at night. I feel like I'm being punished for everything I've ever done wrong in my life.
The temperatures are dropping. I don't know what will happen next. I've been here for such a long time. I've put my heart and soul into these forums and I'm so proud to have been a part of it. I worry that I'm heading for even harder times. I don't want to disappear without a trace or leave anyone hanging. I just feel so alone. I would do anything to feel warmth and love again. I just need to make it out of here, but I feel I'm about to be swallowed up. I feel like I've run out of tricks. Every day, harder to dig yourself out. I love all you guys and hope you have a good Thanksgiving. I do not have many to talk to. A little bit of love could be enough to keep me hanging on right now, because I'm just barely doing it.
Vermont. My rent for a 1br was 1400. Multiply that by 3 to move in. I am panicking. Is this my fault? What exactly did I do wrong? Is there a reason to not get fucked up? So sad. So fucking sad. Not using, but still essentially a fuck up by the standards of my society. Too dumb, lazy or addicted to actually make it.
Life has gone from idyllic to hellish in a few weeks' time. My girlfriend, who I love more than anything, had a severe switch in her Bipolar. We had gone from sipping tea and snuggling the day before to the next morning her screaming like a lunatic that I'm an abuser, a serial killer and to get out. It was my home. I had paid rent. But I was afraid she was so lost she might actually call the cops. The type of work I'm involved in, anything can be enough to get you fired.
So I left hoping that she would get better. I had to leave rural Vermont for the city. I wanted to rent a room. When I got here, I found the only thing available were trap houses. We had had plans for some time that I would be helping open a recovery center and we would use my savings to move there. Having to leave with no plan has been catastrophic.
I don't have friends. Not the right kind. Not the kind that other people seem to have. Some of my best connections with other humans has been helping folks here on the forums.
I have lost the love of my life. I do not know if I will get her back. She was the only one who ever understood me. Meanwhile, I have at least 3 weeks until my job starts. Last night was my first time sleeping outside. I am without a phone now so she couldn't call if she wanted to, which also troubles me greatly. I managed the homeless shelter here in Burlington for 2 years. I slept with some of my former clients last night and felt a sadness that I haven't felt since I was thrown in jail and made to withdraw from Heroin. Just feeling alone.
I am worried I won't be able to figure it out. Am I broken? Am I just a piece of shit? I'm not using anything other than my prescribed medications. I have wanted to drink so badly for just a moment of relief. However, a small part of me still believes I can make it. Taking a drink would end everything. I'm sitting at the library right now, using their internet. I wake up every morning surprised to be alone and back in Burlington. The city is so expensive and now, so dangerous at night. I feel like I'm being punished for everything I've ever done wrong in my life.
The temperatures are dropping. I don't know what will happen next. I've been here for such a long time. I've put my heart and soul into these forums and I'm so proud to have been a part of it. I worry that I'm heading for even harder times. I don't want to disappear without a trace or leave anyone hanging. I just feel so alone. I would do anything to feel warmth and love again. I just need to make it out of here, but I feel I'm about to be swallowed up. I feel like I've run out of tricks. Every day, harder to dig yourself out. I love all you guys and hope you have a good Thanksgiving. I do not have many to talk to. A little bit of love could be enough to keep me hanging on right now, because I'm just barely doing it.
Vermont. My rent for a 1br was 1400. Multiply that by 3 to move in. I am panicking. Is this my fault? What exactly did I do wrong? Is there a reason to not get fucked up? So sad. So fucking sad. Not using, but still essentially a fuck up by the standards of my society. Too dumb, lazy or addicted to actually make it.
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete
Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on
So, tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin
I came across a fallen tree
I felt the branches of it looking at me
Is this the place we used to love?
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?
Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on
So, tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin
And if you have a minute, why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So, why don't we go somewhere only we know?
Somewhere only we know
Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on
So, tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin
And if you have a minute, why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So, why don't we go?
So, why don't we go?
Ooh, oh-oh
Ah, oh
This could be the end of everything
So, why don't we go somewhere only we know?
Somewhere only we know
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete
Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on
So, tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin
I came across a fallen tree
I felt the branches of it looking at me
Is this the place we used to love?
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?
Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on
So, tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin
And if you have a minute, why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So, why don't we go somewhere only we know?
Somewhere only we know
Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on
So, tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin
And if you have a minute, why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So, why don't we go?
So, why don't we go?
Ooh, oh-oh
Ah, oh
This could be the end of everything
So, why don't we go somewhere only we know?
Somewhere only we know
I have 12 years of sobriety, so I'm out of touch with today's drug market. Like everything else today, I'm sure the prices are insane. One thing I've noticed in the US, is the trend to NOT prescribe anything for severe pain. I know this because there have been several times I've had to visit the doctor for pain so bad, it felt as if a blowtorch were being run along the nerves of my back and legs. The doctor did offer a referral to a pain control center. My problem was I couldn't walk because the pain was so severe. I needed help that day, not several weeks from that day. I sent a text to my Reiki healer asking for a healing, which she gave. I've had to ask a few times and each time it worked. Therefore, I did not bother with the MRI or pain treatment center. I didn't ask for any narcotics, but I don't think it's right to withhold from people that really need it. Thankfully, I have become certified in becoming a Reiki healer myself. I have training in advanced Reiki III ART and I do my own treatments as well as practice on others, although I want a year of practice before charging anything. I'm still very new at this, but thankful I had the opportunity to get the training.
| Ryan so far has had some very good shit. It has to be. I think this is day #4 I'm going on staying awake, save for perhaps nodding out 10 min 2 or 3 times in a 4 day period? It's sad, I'm sad for Scott, how he just casually went off to jail and probably figuures I'm gonna flake on him just like all the rest, now that he ain't here to pass out the bag. As far as meth heads go, Scott and Ryan I believe are good people. Yeah, we meth heads always seem to have our shortcomings, that's for sure, but some of us are basically good at heart. It's already fucking Monday night. In 48 hours, the sheriff will be here to lock me out. Sigh. I've come to the conclusion that seeing as how I'm financially challenged, it might just be best to leave the heavy shit I can't move behind instead of even attempting to hassle with it. Ryan although looked quite sleep deprived today when he stopped by to drop of Dave's and my orders, said, "I'll help you out." That was cool of him. I honestly don't expect he'll remember, but come tomorrow, perhaps I'll make my final assessment as to if any of this heavy shit is actually going into storage or not. If I still had a job I was going to at least 3 times a week at present, I'd have been a bit more optimistic regarding the chances of how long it will be in actuality to GET another place. As usual, who the fuck knows. The life of a meth head is often times uncertain. Comes with the territory. Ryan had asked about Erik. "What's up? Thought you were going to marry him by next week or he was supposed to be out?" "Yup. Apparently his Denver gig got cancelled, which is probably just as well. Where would we both be living in my car or at my Mom's? Not hardly," I said. LOL. He doesn't seem too concerned about it and as usual all I can say is the life of a meth head is as transient at times as his emotions are volatile. Deep down, intuition suggested this marriage thing ain't gonna happen, or if in fact it does, it gonna be a long ass while down the road. Whatever works. Sometimes shit happens or doesn't happen for a reason. Maybe it's Homeboy of all homeboys' upstairs that perhaps it's best you remain single and legally unattached for now, TJ, as you know full well you need to get your shit together, and Erik face it, would serve as only another pleasant distraction for you right now. I seem to be quite fond of pleasant distractions. Big surprise. Right before Ryan arrived and I came to these realizations and most probable predictable outcomes of both the housing and marriage situation for me, an old tired voice inside me spoke up, "Your one true marriage, not people, but the one you turn to most often for comfort is the one that's gonna be there for you and see you through these hard times girl." I got a strange, odd, sense of security and comfort in this realization of my life. My chemical romance. It will be Mr. Prick that I run to for solace. And sure enough, my only husband I ever had and longest to last out of any love affairs I've ever had, as always Old Faithful had his arms outstretched for me. "It's alright babe. Remember I promised to take care of you in times of sickness and in health?" Although I've not done it on the outside, it's the cryin on the inside that did get done on the shoulder of Mr. Prick. Well at least there is at least that comfort. It seems reliably predictable and safe that it should turn out this way. Any marriage actually bound by the laws of the state I live, would only be more of the unknown because to date, that is one road I've never traveled, the road of legal matrimony and divorce. This must seem terribly pathetic an existence to any outsiders reading and indeed, had I been in their shoes right now, as opposed to my own, I'd in most probability agree. Not mind you, that is to say I'm happy about being ejected from one of the earth's most endearing possessions held dear to my heart, which is to say my home. Then again, life itself is only temporary. Tomorrow I will seek a bit of opiate solace, the last I'll probably get for a couple months or at least one month. May as well get it while I can. Cause then it's gonna be time to clean up all too soon again. I got diverted in trying to make money today, so ended up not going into work to turn in my keys. I figure hell may as well make the most of my time here as I can. After tonight and tomorrow night, I won't have a place to be able to make money out of. I had gone out at 7am this morning to work the street circuit and got a suit for a customer. Went back out 11am, stayed out for 2 hrs, but no dice. Very early in the morning or 9p-11p seem to be the times for money to be made. Makes sense. Early morning, men are mega horndogs and later in the evening the suits I attract are those putting in overtime, and also, we creatures of the flesh tend to take comfort out of the fact that nighttime tends to conceal or tone down the loudness or vulgarity of our sins. Lord knows I need to earn some serious bread, as much of it as I possibly can b4 my apartment is yanked away from me. In terms of work in call vs. outcall escort is a much better deal. It's on my own turf, I don't have to drive, and these aren't 3rd party clients as they are when you get an agency involved. There's more power in the direct approach because directness allows more awareness of the client and the situation, which in turn allows more control. Well gonna prepare me another fix guys. Might as well live it up while I can right? |
I've lived in So Cali my entire life. Let's be clear, I do NOT consent to this fucked up regime. The first time I saw that thing that passes for a man, I knew he was toxic poison. This was when he ran as a candidate for the Republican Party. Right away I knew this guy was bad news. People wake up! Let this jag off stick to reality TV, but no one would listen outside my mom. She saw through him too. My question to all the people that thought he was the greatest thing since disposable diapers, was WAKE UP! What makes you think a billionaire cares about you? No one would listen. I lost friendships over this jerk, never understanding what on earth could they see in this asshole? Now, we're in a dictator regime and many people act like they don't know it. He keeps taking more and more rights away. He sent women back to the Dark Ages by being responsible for allowing the states to ban abortion and birth control. Trump is NOT pro-life, by any means. The only life he cares about is himself. That said, my question is to the pro-lifers. How can you claim to be pro-life when you take away housing, food, and medical care while forcing poor women to live in abject poverty? That is not pro-life. That is pro-oppression, pro-poverty, and keeping women and poor people down. I vote, I donate money, I protest, I sign petitions. I'm not sure if America will get out of this alive. We are being turned into Nazi Germany all over again. I'm 61 years old and I say hell no. I don't know if I will win this fight but fight I will.
No surprise. Graveyard shift then 5ish hours of errands and looking after my parents. They didn’t ask to be that way, but not gonna lie it is hard sometimes. Was slamming some kind of gross wine in a can that has higher alcohol content than other wine. Settled them, settled back in my house with my pills. Unfocused. People on podcasts ranting about politics. Fell asleep, day off. Now awake at 4 AM. Thinking of that Leonard Cohen song Famous Blue Raincoat.
And good night folks. My DM is always open to any other fellow insomniacs. X
And good night folks. My DM is always open to any other fellow insomniacs. X
“Keep thy mind in Hell, and despair not.” — St. Silouan the Athonite
He heard these words while he was asking God why he was no longer able to pray.
There’s this pull in me that never dies. It’s in my blood — a restlessness, a hunger that used to be fed by pills, powders, and bottles. Mostly stimulants: Adderall when I wanted to feel sharp, meth when I wanted to feel alive, then alcohol or Xanax when I wanted to come down or forget. That cocktail became my rhythm — up, up, up, and then crash into silence.
As a chef, it was almost expected. You live in heat, grease, noise, adrenaline. The kitchen becomes a war zone and a home at the same time. Everyone’s running on something — caffeine, nicotine, energy drinks, sometimes worse. The rush of service feels a lot like a high: the focus, the sweat, the noise that turns into rhythm. For a few hours, you’re God behind the line, calling shots, making order out of chaos. So why not enhance it? Like a pro athlete taking steroids.
And when the tickets stop printing, and the burners go quiet, the silence hits like a hammer. That’s when the crash comes. The body still humming, the mind still wired, but you go to your empty home, and the soul is empty. So you find something — a drink, a pill, a line — to stretch the night a little longer. To keep from feeling the drop. That became my normal.
Orthodoxy, though — it demands something else. It doesn’t offer escape; it offers exposure. The light that doesn’t flatter but reveals. Faith doesn’t let you hide behind speed or sleep. It says, “Look at yourself. Look at what you’ve become. And still, don’t despair.”
That’s where St. Silouan’s words live for me — in that space between the craving and the confession. Keep thy mind in Hell, and despair not. I’ve learned that “Hell” isn’t just a place of punishment. It’s the moment at 3 a.m. when your heart’s racing from too much coke and you’re praying God doesn’t let it stop. It’s the hangover that feels like judgment. It’s showing up to Liturgy reeking of last night and standing there, unworthy, and still whispering, “Lord, have mercy.”
I've never actually wanted to quit, I still don't see it happening for a while. The kitchen can make you feel like a soldier — always in motion, always under fire. You can’t slow down without falling behind, so you fuel yourself however you can.
But Orthodoxy slows you down. It forces silence where the world screams. That silence is the hardest part. When I’m not numb or wired, I actually feel — the guilt, the loneliness, the ache for God, the shame of the relapse. That’s when I understand what the Fathers meant by spiritual warfare. It’s not demons whispering; it’s the sound of your own heart arguing with grace.
There’s something about the rhythm of the kitchen that mirrors my spiritual life — the chaos, the discipline, the repetition. You clean, prep, fire, plate, repeat. Every day feels like confession: same sins, different day. But slowly, something changes. Not the pace, not the pressure — just me.
I’ve learned that grace doesn’t always feel like peace. Sometimes it feels like exhaustion that doesn’t end in despair. Sometimes it’s just the strength to show up again — sober or not — and keep trying.
When I read about the saints, I used to think holiness meant purity — no cracks, no stains. But I think maybe it’s more like a scar that never fully heals but still closes. My addictions are very active. My temptations are stronger than ever. But I try to learn to hold them without giving them power — to see them, confess them, and keep walking.
So I stay. I pray badly. I fall constantly. I feel unworthy of everything the Church gives me. But I keep my mind in hell and try, somehow, not to despair.
Because maybe the point isn’t to be completely free of the struggle — maybe it’s to remain faithful inside it. To walk through the fire of your own making and still believe Christ waits on the other side.
And when I’m standing on the line during dinner rush — hands shaking from caffeine and Adderall, the double shot whiskey ginger waiting for me at the bar for when I close — I remind myself: salvation might look a lot like this. Heat, noise, chaos, and the small, steady voice inside saying, don’t despair.
“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
Edit: I intend to make more blog posts throughout my journey, this comes off more preachy than I anticipated, I'm not here to convert or say the Church is your only way to heal. It's my personal account of struggling between two powerful and opposing things.
He heard these words while he was asking God why he was no longer able to pray.
There’s this pull in me that never dies. It’s in my blood — a restlessness, a hunger that used to be fed by pills, powders, and bottles. Mostly stimulants: Adderall when I wanted to feel sharp, meth when I wanted to feel alive, then alcohol or Xanax when I wanted to come down or forget. That cocktail became my rhythm — up, up, up, and then crash into silence.
As a chef, it was almost expected. You live in heat, grease, noise, adrenaline. The kitchen becomes a war zone and a home at the same time. Everyone’s running on something — caffeine, nicotine, energy drinks, sometimes worse. The rush of service feels a lot like a high: the focus, the sweat, the noise that turns into rhythm. For a few hours, you’re God behind the line, calling shots, making order out of chaos. So why not enhance it? Like a pro athlete taking steroids.
And when the tickets stop printing, and the burners go quiet, the silence hits like a hammer. That’s when the crash comes. The body still humming, the mind still wired, but you go to your empty home, and the soul is empty. So you find something — a drink, a pill, a line — to stretch the night a little longer. To keep from feeling the drop. That became my normal.
Orthodoxy, though — it demands something else. It doesn’t offer escape; it offers exposure. The light that doesn’t flatter but reveals. Faith doesn’t let you hide behind speed or sleep. It says, “Look at yourself. Look at what you’ve become. And still, don’t despair.”
That’s where St. Silouan’s words live for me — in that space between the craving and the confession. Keep thy mind in Hell, and despair not. I’ve learned that “Hell” isn’t just a place of punishment. It’s the moment at 3 a.m. when your heart’s racing from too much coke and you’re praying God doesn’t let it stop. It’s the hangover that feels like judgment. It’s showing up to Liturgy reeking of last night and standing there, unworthy, and still whispering, “Lord, have mercy.”
I've never actually wanted to quit, I still don't see it happening for a while. The kitchen can make you feel like a soldier — always in motion, always under fire. You can’t slow down without falling behind, so you fuel yourself however you can.
But Orthodoxy slows you down. It forces silence where the world screams. That silence is the hardest part. When I’m not numb or wired, I actually feel — the guilt, the loneliness, the ache for God, the shame of the relapse. That’s when I understand what the Fathers meant by spiritual warfare. It’s not demons whispering; it’s the sound of your own heart arguing with grace.
There’s something about the rhythm of the kitchen that mirrors my spiritual life — the chaos, the discipline, the repetition. You clean, prep, fire, plate, repeat. Every day feels like confession: same sins, different day. But slowly, something changes. Not the pace, not the pressure — just me.
I’ve learned that grace doesn’t always feel like peace. Sometimes it feels like exhaustion that doesn’t end in despair. Sometimes it’s just the strength to show up again — sober or not — and keep trying.
When I read about the saints, I used to think holiness meant purity — no cracks, no stains. But I think maybe it’s more like a scar that never fully heals but still closes. My addictions are very active. My temptations are stronger than ever. But I try to learn to hold them without giving them power — to see them, confess them, and keep walking.
So I stay. I pray badly. I fall constantly. I feel unworthy of everything the Church gives me. But I keep my mind in hell and try, somehow, not to despair.
Because maybe the point isn’t to be completely free of the struggle — maybe it’s to remain faithful inside it. To walk through the fire of your own making and still believe Christ waits on the other side.
And when I’m standing on the line during dinner rush — hands shaking from caffeine and Adderall, the double shot whiskey ginger waiting for me at the bar for when I close — I remind myself: salvation might look a lot like this. Heat, noise, chaos, and the small, steady voice inside saying, don’t despair.
“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
Edit: I intend to make more blog posts throughout my journey, this comes off more preachy than I anticipated, I'm not here to convert or say the Church is your only way to heal. It's my personal account of struggling between two powerful and opposing things.
James L. Kent, "Psychedelic Information Theory", Alpha Chapters, Chapter 12
Datura, Belladonna, Tropane Delirients, Dramamine, Benadryl, Antihistamines & The Classic Anticholinergics
Well, okay, you wanted weird territory, here it is. Of all the families of classic hallucinogens the anticholinergics are gateways to the world of the Bizarro shaman, the one who likes to bend reality as far as it can go, the one who might not come back the same way ever again. Of all the hallucinogenic substances known to humans these are possibly the oldest, most powerful, as most dangerous to use. Found naturally in the Solanaceae family of white trumpeting-flower plants (such as Datura, Belladonna, Deadly Nightshade, Brugmansia, Jimson Weed, etc.) the tropane delirients atropine and scopalamine have been used by witches, shamen, and physicians alike for as far as recorded history goes back. Unlike the classic psychedelics which typically lead to perceptual distortions and lucid dream-like states, high dose anticholinergic ingestion leads to frank or concrete hallucination, which is the waking sensation that something or someone is right in front of you when in reality there is nothing there at all, or of believing that you are in one place when in fact you are somewhere completely different. Yet with anticholinergic hallucinations there is no doubt that what the user is seeing is not real, the acceptance of the dream-like delusion is total. The user simply forgets all previous waking contexts and accepts the paradoxical un-reality as reality, and for the most part retains little or no memory of it once it has passed. This is generally called delirium, delusion, or dementia, but experientially it is just plain strange. In a very real sense the user in the anticholinergic trance is sleepwalking: both fully awake and functioning in the real world while at the same time dreaming as if the brain were in deep REM sleep. How is that possible?
Well, first it is useful to know that anticholinergics disrupt the activity of acetylcholine at the muscarinic receptors of the cholinergic system, hence the name anti-cholinergic (and yes, it is called the muscarinic receptor because muscimol, the active compound of fly agaric mushrooms, has a high affinity for this receptor type, but as an agonist). Knowing that anticholinergics disrupt acetylcholine activity, if we look at Hobson's AIM model to try to figure out how anticholinergics work there might be some confusion. If acetylcholine is supposed to mediate sleep and REM activity, how can a drug that blocks the action of acetylcholine produce such profound dream-like effects? Once again this is a question not of action, but of dosage.
But before we get into a full clinical examination, it should be noted that experimenting with even extremely small amounts of tropane alkaloids is unpleasant. Of all the drugs mentioned in this text nothing disrupts the body's internal systems more than the tropane delirients. Motor control and mucus production go down, respiration and heart rate goes up. Common side effects include dry irritated throats, itchy skin, headaches, pressure in the head, blurred vision, pupil dilation, agitation, high blood pressure, and more. If you ever take a large dose of an anticholinergic it becomes exceedingly obvious that acetylcholine is a very important neurotransmitter, important for far more than just mediating sleep and dreaming. It is the workhorse messenger of the parasympathetic nervous system, interacting with both involuntary heart muscles and voluntary skeletal muscles to relax muscle tone and slow heart rate; it is intricately connected to stimulation of the glossopharyngeal, facial, and vagus nerves; it triggers production of saliva and mucous essential for eating, swallowing, and digestion; it is essential to long term memory formation and recall; and if your body runs low on acetylcholine it can lead to Alzheimer's disease. And although anticholinergics have been in wide use for at least thousands of years, they are by no means "safe" to use at what would be considered psychedelic doses. They are extremely dangerous to say the least.
So now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's take a look at what happens under a heavy dose of these bad boys. Under heavy Datura intoxication you essentially become a sleepwalker. A bloodshot-eyed, dry mouth, stumbling, agitated, delusional zombie. When looking at Hobson's AIM model it is hard to tell where this state actually is. It sounds like there is high acetylcholine action because of the dreamlike intensity, but obviously the user should be in a low cholinergic state if their acetylcholine uptake was massively disrupted, right? Both experientially and behaviorally it seems obvious that functions of the prefrontal cortex (contextualization of self) and hippocampus (memory formation and recall) are totally disrupted, indicating low aminergic modulation. But let's not forget that these areas also have high concentrations of muscarinic receptors which are responsive to acetylcholine, and an interruption at those sights might be enough to knock these areas into extremely low functioning states. And while dream-like frank hallucinations would seem to indicate high cholinergic functioning, this is not necessarily the case. To me it seems that there can be one of a couple things going on here...
First of all, Hobson's AIM model could be a little off the mark on a critical axis, and high acetylcholine modulation is not actually a requirement for dream activation. It could be that acetylcholine acts as both a dream promoter when aminergic functioning in the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus is low (while sleeping, resting), while conversely acting as a dream inhibitor when aminergic functioning is high (while waking, active). If we were to view acetylcholine as having a dualistic gating function on memory (waking memory input) and dreaming (sleeping memory compression) located at the hippocampus and mediated by environmental factors — such as the activity of the pre-frontal cortex, the levels of seratonin and melatonin, rhythmic circadian stimulation from the hypothalamus, etc. — then the picture becomes a little clearer. With this model any significant disruption of acetylcholine would disrupt the waking/memory sleeping/dreaming dichotomy, and thus the thin chemical boundaries which normally prevent the dreaming mind from intruding on the waking mind vanish. This model is not as clean as the pure aminergic/cholinergic duality in Hobson's unified theory, but as many chemical messengers have multiple functions in different contexts, this model or some variation on it is not entirely out of the question.
The other possibility, of course, is what I would call the boomerang effect of extreme acetylcholine interruption. Since acetylcholine is such an important messenger it is reasonable to expect that any major disruption in acetylcholine uptake would of course lead to an increase of endogenous acetylcholine production. If uptake is critically blocked the body may in turn totally freak out and begin pumping acetylcholine like mad, flooding the brain and body with as much as it can produce. And then, once the anticholinergic agent begins to metabolize... Wham! Acetylcholine smashes into the system like a runaway truck and transports the user seamlessly and instantaneously into a fully interactive waking dream-space. The acetylcholine boomerang effect was perfected by the amateur consciousness explorer Zoe 7, and detailed in his graphic autobiographical work entitled Into the Void. Within the pages of Into the Void Zoe 7 found many different ways to induce this boomerang effect on himself, including depriving himself of REM sleep for days on end and then ingesting a massive amount of Benadryl, which contains the antihistamine diphenhydramine, which also acts as an anticholinergic at high doses. Zoe 7 also used various different drugs and light-and-sound emitting brain machines (pulse generators) to amplify his technique, and this extreme REM deprivation coupled with the extreme anticholinergic action created what he subjectively believes to be complete dimensional shifts to parallel universes. The immersive states Zoe 7 produced were so profound he has now written two books about his visitations to alternate dimensions, and speaks around the world about his experiences. I'll talk more about parallel dimensions and alternate universes later, but what we are seeing here in this boomerang effect is more likely a profound immersive state brought on by a flood of acetylcholine hitting a REM deprived brain and forcing it into dream psychosis.
One might wonder why, during an intense acetylcholine boomerang action, isn't the memory also enhanced? Why does dreaming come to the fore and memory diminish? In this case in may be helpful to think of the hippocampus as a VCR for memory recording and dream playback (which may be accurately described as a kind of memory compression). Generally if the hippocampus is involved in dream activity it cannot simultaneously be recording memories of the event. This is primarily because the pre-frontal cortex is offline in the dreaming state, and cannot prime memories for delivery to the hippocampus for storage. The exception to this rule is, of course, the lucid dream state where the personal awareness of the PFC comes back online within the dream, as in the last few moments of dreaming upon waking up, where memories of dreams become more intense. In these fleeting transitional states the hippocampus can be both producing dream activity and taking memory info from the PFC at the same time. Thus the circuit from memory to dream and back to memory is completed, and acetylcholine is needed for every step of this functioning. Typically in an anticholinergic dream state there is no memory of what is happening to you. Zoe 7 claims that his use of brain-stimulating machines helped balance the acetylcholine boomerang effect and allowed him to retain enough lucidity to have a clear memory of each breakthrough episode, but I cannot personally verify that his methods actually work. Again, your mileage may vary.
Some limited personal experimentation with Zoe 7's techniques (modified for us normal humans, of course) have definitely led me to some of the most profound lucid dreaming experiences I have ever had, but that is clearly what they were. I have been in enough lucid dreams to realize when I am in one, but these were some of the crispest and most impressively detailed dreams I have ever been in, and by far the longest lasting (which is what made it both cool and exasperating at the same time). I kept walking around and knocking on things, feeling things, testing to see if everything was solid, knowing I was in a dream and that none of it was real. I was exhausted and wanted to wake up so I could get some sleep (get that?) and was not be able to, and was not able to fully get my bearings at all. Recursive realities fooled me into thinking I had retuned a couple times, when in fact I was still out of it. It was a very uncomfortable ride, totally immersive, totally wrapped like an onion, impossible to get out, insane at points. But I eventually passed out and fully crashed into zonk-land, and then it was over. It was an alternate universe all right, but one that I was happy to finally wake up from.
However, Zoe 7 must be made of stouter stuff that I am. It is his testimony that being rigorous about the REM deprivation and staying awake through the extreme somatic heaviness of all the antihistamines is the only way to break through into the fully waking dimensional shifting state. I personally cannot stand to go without REM sleep for too long, and when I start having totally immersive lucid dreams that's when I know I have been fatigued and depriving my body of sleep for too long. My own mild anticholinergic experiments can be considered a mere fraction of what Zoe 7 put himself through in the name of science, and you can say that he came back somewhat fractured (for the better?).
So that's the tale of the Bizarro shaman, Crazy Kieri and his gang of alternate world-walkers, god talkers, witches on broomsticks, and those who seek the mystic vision in the hardest and most immersive forms. A little sleep deprivation here, a pinch of anticholinergic there, wham-o presto you are in your own little universe. Again, this is not a classical psychedelic experience like you would get from a 5HT2A agonist, but it is without a doubt the farthest anyone has mapped out there on the rim of human experience, beyond psychedelic you might say. The craziest shamen are the ones who drop datura in their ayahuasca brew, for the visions, no? Oh yes, the visions. If you want to give your gods physical form, then yes, here it is, that is the recipe. But beware, you will be giving your gods physical form, and will be doing so at the risk of your own health and sanity. Triple light-speed oblivion express to the universal dream space academy, first class, yes sir. You'll receive your official badge and uniform once you get there. You can trust me on that...
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Some pretty good information in the following book, such as the following. I also suggest checking out all the entried for these types of plants in The Encyclopedia of Psychoactive Plants (Christian Rätsch, 2005)
Following the description of the structure and activity of scoplamine by Ladenburg, the search for synthetic analogues of and methods for total synthesis of scoplamine and/or atropine in the 1930s and 1940s resulted in the discovery of diphenhydramine, an early antihistamine and the prototype of its chemical subclass of these drugs, and pethidine, the first fully synthetic opioid analgesic, known as Dolatin and Demerold amongst many other trade names.
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"Pharmacology for Anesthetists 5," John D. Current, M.D., p. 195 | http://books.google.com/books?id=RJpEbB9_c9MC&pg=PA195
Here's a video on the criminal aspect of scopolamine (I haven't watched it yet): http://www.acidplanet.com/artist.asp?PID=577262&t=1
I have more links on the criminal aspect, which I'll update this thread with.
Datura, Belladonna, Tropane Delirients, Dramamine, Benadryl, Antihistamines & The Classic Anticholinergics
Well, okay, you wanted weird territory, here it is. Of all the families of classic hallucinogens the anticholinergics are gateways to the world of the Bizarro shaman, the one who likes to bend reality as far as it can go, the one who might not come back the same way ever again. Of all the hallucinogenic substances known to humans these are possibly the oldest, most powerful, as most dangerous to use. Found naturally in the Solanaceae family of white trumpeting-flower plants (such as Datura, Belladonna, Deadly Nightshade, Brugmansia, Jimson Weed, etc.) the tropane delirients atropine and scopalamine have been used by witches, shamen, and physicians alike for as far as recorded history goes back. Unlike the classic psychedelics which typically lead to perceptual distortions and lucid dream-like states, high dose anticholinergic ingestion leads to frank or concrete hallucination, which is the waking sensation that something or someone is right in front of you when in reality there is nothing there at all, or of believing that you are in one place when in fact you are somewhere completely different. Yet with anticholinergic hallucinations there is no doubt that what the user is seeing is not real, the acceptance of the dream-like delusion is total. The user simply forgets all previous waking contexts and accepts the paradoxical un-reality as reality, and for the most part retains little or no memory of it once it has passed. This is generally called delirium, delusion, or dementia, but experientially it is just plain strange. In a very real sense the user in the anticholinergic trance is sleepwalking: both fully awake and functioning in the real world while at the same time dreaming as if the brain were in deep REM sleep. How is that possible?
Well, first it is useful to know that anticholinergics disrupt the activity of acetylcholine at the muscarinic receptors of the cholinergic system, hence the name anti-cholinergic (and yes, it is called the muscarinic receptor because muscimol, the active compound of fly agaric mushrooms, has a high affinity for this receptor type, but as an agonist). Knowing that anticholinergics disrupt acetylcholine activity, if we look at Hobson's AIM model to try to figure out how anticholinergics work there might be some confusion. If acetylcholine is supposed to mediate sleep and REM activity, how can a drug that blocks the action of acetylcholine produce such profound dream-like effects? Once again this is a question not of action, but of dosage.
But before we get into a full clinical examination, it should be noted that experimenting with even extremely small amounts of tropane alkaloids is unpleasant. Of all the drugs mentioned in this text nothing disrupts the body's internal systems more than the tropane delirients. Motor control and mucus production go down, respiration and heart rate goes up. Common side effects include dry irritated throats, itchy skin, headaches, pressure in the head, blurred vision, pupil dilation, agitation, high blood pressure, and more. If you ever take a large dose of an anticholinergic it becomes exceedingly obvious that acetylcholine is a very important neurotransmitter, important for far more than just mediating sleep and dreaming. It is the workhorse messenger of the parasympathetic nervous system, interacting with both involuntary heart muscles and voluntary skeletal muscles to relax muscle tone and slow heart rate; it is intricately connected to stimulation of the glossopharyngeal, facial, and vagus nerves; it triggers production of saliva and mucous essential for eating, swallowing, and digestion; it is essential to long term memory formation and recall; and if your body runs low on acetylcholine it can lead to Alzheimer's disease. And although anticholinergics have been in wide use for at least thousands of years, they are by no means "safe" to use at what would be considered psychedelic doses. They are extremely dangerous to say the least.
So now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's take a look at what happens under a heavy dose of these bad boys. Under heavy Datura intoxication you essentially become a sleepwalker. A bloodshot-eyed, dry mouth, stumbling, agitated, delusional zombie. When looking at Hobson's AIM model it is hard to tell where this state actually is. It sounds like there is high acetylcholine action because of the dreamlike intensity, but obviously the user should be in a low cholinergic state if their acetylcholine uptake was massively disrupted, right? Both experientially and behaviorally it seems obvious that functions of the prefrontal cortex (contextualization of self) and hippocampus (memory formation and recall) are totally disrupted, indicating low aminergic modulation. But let's not forget that these areas also have high concentrations of muscarinic receptors which are responsive to acetylcholine, and an interruption at those sights might be enough to knock these areas into extremely low functioning states. And while dream-like frank hallucinations would seem to indicate high cholinergic functioning, this is not necessarily the case. To me it seems that there can be one of a couple things going on here...
First of all, Hobson's AIM model could be a little off the mark on a critical axis, and high acetylcholine modulation is not actually a requirement for dream activation. It could be that acetylcholine acts as both a dream promoter when aminergic functioning in the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus is low (while sleeping, resting), while conversely acting as a dream inhibitor when aminergic functioning is high (while waking, active). If we were to view acetylcholine as having a dualistic gating function on memory (waking memory input) and dreaming (sleeping memory compression) located at the hippocampus and mediated by environmental factors — such as the activity of the pre-frontal cortex, the levels of seratonin and melatonin, rhythmic circadian stimulation from the hypothalamus, etc. — then the picture becomes a little clearer. With this model any significant disruption of acetylcholine would disrupt the waking/memory sleeping/dreaming dichotomy, and thus the thin chemical boundaries which normally prevent the dreaming mind from intruding on the waking mind vanish. This model is not as clean as the pure aminergic/cholinergic duality in Hobson's unified theory, but as many chemical messengers have multiple functions in different contexts, this model or some variation on it is not entirely out of the question.
The other possibility, of course, is what I would call the boomerang effect of extreme acetylcholine interruption. Since acetylcholine is such an important messenger it is reasonable to expect that any major disruption in acetylcholine uptake would of course lead to an increase of endogenous acetylcholine production. If uptake is critically blocked the body may in turn totally freak out and begin pumping acetylcholine like mad, flooding the brain and body with as much as it can produce. And then, once the anticholinergic agent begins to metabolize... Wham! Acetylcholine smashes into the system like a runaway truck and transports the user seamlessly and instantaneously into a fully interactive waking dream-space. The acetylcholine boomerang effect was perfected by the amateur consciousness explorer Zoe 7, and detailed in his graphic autobiographical work entitled Into the Void. Within the pages of Into the Void Zoe 7 found many different ways to induce this boomerang effect on himself, including depriving himself of REM sleep for days on end and then ingesting a massive amount of Benadryl, which contains the antihistamine diphenhydramine, which also acts as an anticholinergic at high doses. Zoe 7 also used various different drugs and light-and-sound emitting brain machines (pulse generators) to amplify his technique, and this extreme REM deprivation coupled with the extreme anticholinergic action created what he subjectively believes to be complete dimensional shifts to parallel universes. The immersive states Zoe 7 produced were so profound he has now written two books about his visitations to alternate dimensions, and speaks around the world about his experiences. I'll talk more about parallel dimensions and alternate universes later, but what we are seeing here in this boomerang effect is more likely a profound immersive state brought on by a flood of acetylcholine hitting a REM deprived brain and forcing it into dream psychosis.
One might wonder why, during an intense acetylcholine boomerang action, isn't the memory also enhanced? Why does dreaming come to the fore and memory diminish? In this case in may be helpful to think of the hippocampus as a VCR for memory recording and dream playback (which may be accurately described as a kind of memory compression). Generally if the hippocampus is involved in dream activity it cannot simultaneously be recording memories of the event. This is primarily because the pre-frontal cortex is offline in the dreaming state, and cannot prime memories for delivery to the hippocampus for storage. The exception to this rule is, of course, the lucid dream state where the personal awareness of the PFC comes back online within the dream, as in the last few moments of dreaming upon waking up, where memories of dreams become more intense. In these fleeting transitional states the hippocampus can be both producing dream activity and taking memory info from the PFC at the same time. Thus the circuit from memory to dream and back to memory is completed, and acetylcholine is needed for every step of this functioning. Typically in an anticholinergic dream state there is no memory of what is happening to you. Zoe 7 claims that his use of brain-stimulating machines helped balance the acetylcholine boomerang effect and allowed him to retain enough lucidity to have a clear memory of each breakthrough episode, but I cannot personally verify that his methods actually work. Again, your mileage may vary.
Some limited personal experimentation with Zoe 7's techniques (modified for us normal humans, of course) have definitely led me to some of the most profound lucid dreaming experiences I have ever had, but that is clearly what they were. I have been in enough lucid dreams to realize when I am in one, but these were some of the crispest and most impressively detailed dreams I have ever been in, and by far the longest lasting (which is what made it both cool and exasperating at the same time). I kept walking around and knocking on things, feeling things, testing to see if everything was solid, knowing I was in a dream and that none of it was real. I was exhausted and wanted to wake up so I could get some sleep (get that?) and was not be able to, and was not able to fully get my bearings at all. Recursive realities fooled me into thinking I had retuned a couple times, when in fact I was still out of it. It was a very uncomfortable ride, totally immersive, totally wrapped like an onion, impossible to get out, insane at points. But I eventually passed out and fully crashed into zonk-land, and then it was over. It was an alternate universe all right, but one that I was happy to finally wake up from.
However, Zoe 7 must be made of stouter stuff that I am. It is his testimony that being rigorous about the REM deprivation and staying awake through the extreme somatic heaviness of all the antihistamines is the only way to break through into the fully waking dimensional shifting state. I personally cannot stand to go without REM sleep for too long, and when I start having totally immersive lucid dreams that's when I know I have been fatigued and depriving my body of sleep for too long. My own mild anticholinergic experiments can be considered a mere fraction of what Zoe 7 put himself through in the name of science, and you can say that he came back somewhat fractured (for the better?).
So that's the tale of the Bizarro shaman, Crazy Kieri and his gang of alternate world-walkers, god talkers, witches on broomsticks, and those who seek the mystic vision in the hardest and most immersive forms. A little sleep deprivation here, a pinch of anticholinergic there, wham-o presto you are in your own little universe. Again, this is not a classical psychedelic experience like you would get from a 5HT2A agonist, but it is without a doubt the farthest anyone has mapped out there on the rim of human experience, beyond psychedelic you might say. The craziest shamen are the ones who drop datura in their ayahuasca brew, for the visions, no? Oh yes, the visions. If you want to give your gods physical form, then yes, here it is, that is the recipe. But beware, you will be giving your gods physical form, and will be doing so at the risk of your own health and sanity. Triple light-speed oblivion express to the universal dream space academy, first class, yes sir. You'll receive your official badge and uniform once you get there. You can trust me on that...
----
Some pretty good information in the following book, such as the following. I also suggest checking out all the entried for these types of plants in The Encyclopedia of Psychoactive Plants (Christian Rätsch, 2005)
Following the description of the structure and activity of scoplamine by Ladenburg, the search for synthetic analogues of and methods for total synthesis of scoplamine and/or atropine in the 1930s and 1940s resulted in the discovery of diphenhydramine, an early antihistamine and the prototype of its chemical subclass of these drugs, and pethidine, the first fully synthetic opioid analgesic, known as Dolatin and Demerold amongst many other trade names.
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"Pharmacology for Anesthetists 5," John D. Current, M.D., p. 195 | http://books.google.com/books?id=RJpEbB9_c9MC&pg=PA195
Here's a video on the criminal aspect of scopolamine (I haven't watched it yet): http://www.acidplanet.com/artist.asp?PID=577262&t=1
I have more links on the criminal aspect, which I'll update this thread with.
Code:
[i]So after making quite a good search on the internet I got the answers mostly in accordance that you can combine Cacti + Harmalas.
Reason would be Harmalas only inhibit MAO-B and as Mescaline is a non-amphetamine, but "regular" PEA it will be broken down by MAO-A & MAO-B and thus a critically high amount of Serotonin would not build up.[/i]
Twilight Person. 2023-04-07. https://forum.dmt-nexus.me/threads/mescaline-maoi-safe.366555/
[i]Seeing as caffeine has some MAO (monoamine oxidase) inhibiting properties and the Syrian rue has even more, and since coffee is a stimulant and Syrian rue is a barbiturate, you could even say a pseudo-speedball was made, used, and abused by me.[/i]
RNOPRODUCTIONS, 2024-04-22, https://old.reddit.com/r/TripReportsTFTT/comments/1cst4yh/deleted_by_user/If I had it all to do over again. I would do it again and again. Every smile every morning I woke up next to you was better than my wildest dream. I guess I'm just a sick pessimist but I always knew you would leave. I knew I wasn't good enough. Birds are meant to fly. lions are meant to hunt. Zebras are meant to die. It's the way of the world. My heart was meant to be broken. We cant rewrite the playbook at halftime.
I'm not angry. I'll get over the sadness. My heart will heal. My eyes will dry. I'll keep a few keepsakes deep inside that place in my soul on the off chance. No there is no chance. I'll keep them for a cold night in the future when your gone. I'll slip it between my fingers and remember that I once had the baddest dime on my arm. I once hunted with a lion and soared with an eagle. I once ruled the world.
I hope you find a happy ending to your story someday. I just wish... .. I wish I could relive the last 6 years. I pray one prayer let it be 11-07-19 at 1145 pm when I wake up next.
Regrets? I got a few..... I wish I had done more drugs...... I wish I had watched less tv. I wish we had marched to the best of our own drum more often .... I wish we hadn't paid so much rent ...... Yeah lots of regrets...... Not.
Should of done more shit people said we shouldn't of.....
This was a response to a post ⇩
"Recently alkaloids of the harmala group, harman and norharman, have been isolated from cured commercial tobaccos and their smoke. They constitute a chemical group of beta-carbolines, which include harmine, harmaline, tetrahydroharmine, and 6-methoxy harmine, all with hallucinogenic properties. While to date no native varieties of tobacco have been analyzed for these substances,"
[Tobacco only contains harmalas when it's heated, I believe.*]
I wanted to see if this had changed, so I did a quick Google Scholar search and did not get any results.
Also, harman and norharman may be neurotoxic.* And they may not work for oral DMT:
Rather surprising, even though it has been shown to be a good monoamine oxidase inhibitor, a 250 milligram trial followed in 20 minutes with 35 milligrams of DMT, also had no effects.
TiHKAL (Shulgin & Shulgin, 1997), part 2, #44 6-MeO-THH (See Harman entry)
*"Harmane (1-methyl-9H-pyrido[3,4-β]indole) is a potent, tremor-producing β-carboline alkaloid, and emerging literature has provided initial links between this neurotoxin and ET."
Beta-carboline alkaloids and essential tremor: exploring the environmental determinants of one of the most prevalent neurological diseases. 2010. Louis ED, Zheng W. ScientificWorldJournal, 10:1783-94. doi: 10.1100/tsw.2010.159
Also see 5.4 Neurotoxicity of β-Carbolines, page 87 in Isoquinolines And Beta-Carbolines As Neurotoxins And Neuroprotectants: New Vistas In Parkinson's Disease Therapy. Lucyna Antkiewicz-Michaluk, Hans Rommelspacher. Jan 2012. DOI: 10.1007/978-1-4614-1542-8
*Our findings strongly suggest that some foods, especially coffee, can act as a rich source of β-carbolines,
β-carbolines have been detected in tobacco leaves, cigarettes, and cigarette smoke [9,11].Our findings strongly suggest that some foods, especially coffee, can act as a rich source of β-carbolines,
β-carbolines have been detected in tobacco leaves, cigarettes, and cigarette smoke [9,11].
Bioactive β-Carbolines in Food: A Review. Piechowska P, Zawirska-Wojtasiak R, Mildner-Szkudlarz S. Nutrients. 2019 Apr 11;11(4):814. doi: 10.3390/nu11040814
Food of the Gods. Terence McKenna, 1992, 1993 11. Complacencies of the Peignoir: Sugar, Coffee, Tea, and Chocolate, pages 196-197SHAMANIC TOBACCOS
Tobacco smoking was widespread in North America at the time of the European contact. While the habit of taking hallucinogenic DMT-containing snuffs was also prevalent in the Caribbean cultural area, there are no confirmed reports of materials other than tobacco being smoked.
The high culture of the Maya that flourished until the mid-800s in Mesoamerica had an old and complex relationship with tobacco and the habit of smoking it. The tobacco of the Classical Maya was Nicotiana rustica, which is still in use among aboriginal populations in South America today. This species is much more potent, chemically complex, and potentially hallucinogenic than the commercial grades of Nicotiana tabacum available today. The difference between this tobacco and cigarette tobacco is profound. This wild tobacco was cured and rolled into cigars which were smoked. The trancelike state that followed, partially synergized by the presence of compounds that included MAO inhibitors, was central to the shamanism of the Maya. Recently introduced antidepressants of the MAO inhibitor type are distant synthetic relatives of these natural compounds. Francis Robicsek has published extensively on the Mayan fascination with tobacco and its chemical complexity:
It also must be recognized that nicotine is by no means the only bioactive substance in the tobacco leaf. Recently alkaloids of the harmala group, harman and norharman, have been isolated from cured commercial tobaccos and their smoke. They constitute a chemical group of beta-carbolines, which include harmine, harmaline, tetrahydroharmine, and 6-methoxy harmine, all with hallucinogenic properties. While to date no native varieties of tobacco have been analyzed for these substances, it is a reasonable supposition that their composition may vary widely, depending upon the variety and growth, and that some of the native-grown tobaccos may contain a relatively high concentration of them.8
Tobacco was and is the ever-present adjunct of the more powerful and visionary hallucinogenic plants wherever in the Americas they are used in a traditional and shamanic way.
8. Henry Hobhouse, Seeds of Change: Five Plants That Transformed Mankind
(New York: Harper & Row, 1985), p. 108
Asante said:
Mapacho is Nicotiana rustica, which contains 3-9% of nicotine, the three to ninefold of tobacco, alongside beta carbolines and other alkaloids.
"Recently alkaloids of the harmala group, harman and norharman, have been isolated from cured commercial tobaccos and their smoke. They constitute a chemical group of beta-carbolines, which include harmine, harmaline, tetrahydroharmine, and 6-methoxy harmine, all with hallucinogenic properties. While to date no native varieties of tobacco have been analyzed for these substances,"
[Tobacco only contains harmalas when it's heated, I believe.*]
I wanted to see if this had changed, so I did a quick Google Scholar search and did not get any results.
Also, harman and norharman may be neurotoxic.* And they may not work for oral DMT:
Rather surprising, even though it has been shown to be a good monoamine oxidase inhibitor, a 250 milligram trial followed in 20 minutes with 35 milligrams of DMT, also had no effects.
TiHKAL (Shulgin & Shulgin, 1997), part 2, #44 6-MeO-THH (See Harman entry)
*"Harmane (1-methyl-9H-pyrido[3,4-β]indole) is a potent, tremor-producing β-carboline alkaloid, and emerging literature has provided initial links between this neurotoxin and ET."
Beta-carboline alkaloids and essential tremor: exploring the environmental determinants of one of the most prevalent neurological diseases. 2010. Louis ED, Zheng W. ScientificWorldJournal, 10:1783-94. doi: 10.1100/tsw.2010.159
Also see 5.4 Neurotoxicity of β-Carbolines, page 87 in Isoquinolines And Beta-Carbolines As Neurotoxins And Neuroprotectants: New Vistas In Parkinson's Disease Therapy. Lucyna Antkiewicz-Michaluk, Hans Rommelspacher. Jan 2012. DOI: 10.1007/978-1-4614-1542-8
*Our findings strongly suggest that some foods, especially coffee, can act as a rich source of β-carbolines,
β-carbolines have been detected in tobacco leaves, cigarettes, and cigarette smoke [9,11].Our findings strongly suggest that some foods, especially coffee, can act as a rich source of β-carbolines,
β-carbolines have been detected in tobacco leaves, cigarettes, and cigarette smoke [9,11].
Bioactive β-Carbolines in Food: A Review. Piechowska P, Zawirska-Wojtasiak R, Mildner-Szkudlarz S. Nutrients. 2019 Apr 11;11(4):814. doi: 10.3390/nu11040814
This is the first time I've attempted this, and I think it's time to start talking about what true mental health is to some people. I am schizophrenic, a paranoid schizophrenic going of "categories", and am able to deal with most things in life without medication or help for the most part. Working, kids, wife, and the whole 9. A lot of people see "Schizophrenia" and become terrified of what they have attached to that word. They see monsters, talking to walls and speaking gibberish, violently lashing out, and it's not the normal case. I've had children steered away from me at the store because of how I dress (camos and band t-shirts), and was told by pastors I was going to he'll without ever speaking to me. Of course they didn't know I was schizophrenic, but the schizophrenia pulls thoughts around in my head over and over again.
I'm lucky to be aware of how it usually affects my thought patterns, and can generally muck through the cognitive effects, usually coming off as weird and eccentric, but overall good. I've been in the mental hospitals, both voluntary and involuntary. I've held a job since graduatng high-school. Married and kid, with multiple psychotic episodes, 5 or 6 official mental health diagnosis, and plan on making it further just out of rage, piss, and sheer because I Fucking Can.
I had early onset, though no formal diagnosis of schizophrenia until I was 22. My first hallucinations were full color Victorian era people, generally in dark areas and they wouldn't speak, but we always made eye contact. I distinctly remember one man I called the whittler. I saw geometric patterns also, extremely distinct and rememberable, but they mostly stopped after being given 6mg a day risperdone while I was 14. Most cognitive effects didn't develop until closer to 19. Honestly, most negative and cognitive effects started around 18-19, although I'd have hallucinations in front of people. I remember my mom being asked if I ate some acid when a neighbor saw me chasing fairies.
My main symptoms now are visual or audiotory hallucinations, paranoia, avolition, anhedonia, overall withdrawal from people. I'm in a better place mentally than I've ever been before, truly getting grief that's been built up for years out of me, from childhood abuse to my mother's death last year.
I've been battling daily drug use more since her death, and although I have fought with myself for years about it, I think I'm finally aging out. More working on my mental health instead of covering it up. I just started a new job, all top teeth replaced and bone grafts done, building up because I have a son and have to do what wasn't for me.
I was stalked after my mom's death, I won't go into detail, but it happened, people were arrested and they labeled me as substance induced psychosis and was given haldol injections. I'm still dealing with the mental issues from that, and that's where I'll start.
I'm still occasionally getting watched by people, they watch whenever I smoke cannabis concentrate or amphetamines, or stay up really late. They cant watch me directly at work anymore, I no longer work in an open kitchen. I feel so many less eyes on me. They stare through me, I can feel them watching. I narrate to myself to stay on track, I have no real inner monologue. I'm a bad ass on the grill and in a kitchen, so people let me do me since I'm nice and work hard.
I can't keep track of people anymore. Some points when I was in an open kitchen it felt like everyone in the restaurant was staring at me because I used drugs at home, usually the day before. When I kept track I was days short of writing and connecting them on a board there were so many. Groups watching and following me. I knew trying to watch them would drive me crazy. (One of my only people got arrested on federal charges and some of "them" were really thinking I was in on it). It wrecked my immediate trust of people, and I have to walk through the logic of "them" in every situation or the paranoia and delusional thoughts build up.
People don't understand I have to let those thoughts out to not have them to ruminate on during my downtime. If I ignore them when they come into my conscious they build up and run like wildfire. To the point of insanity and incoherance. I remember looking at someone one day and saying "I know it's impossible, but I can't stop thinking and looking at the car hidden between this 2foot tall shrub and house that was planted there to record me on dash am sitting on the porch." It only got worse after that, because how should someone react to that?
Today was good overall. I'm happy, new teeth, new job, new outlook on life, and ready to build everything back. My thought pattern stayed on track today, but I had a lot of slipups with some word salad and speaking. I have to think hard before I speak. But it was my first real shift back in a full kitchen after 2 years, and I rocked out like Jimi, Ozzy, and Cobain. I flowed like water and am happy to be able to be great at cooking. I made up for it with my actions and showed myself, and them, I can do it regardless.
I'm lucky to be aware of how it usually affects my thought patterns, and can generally muck through the cognitive effects, usually coming off as weird and eccentric, but overall good. I've been in the mental hospitals, both voluntary and involuntary. I've held a job since graduatng high-school. Married and kid, with multiple psychotic episodes, 5 or 6 official mental health diagnosis, and plan on making it further just out of rage, piss, and sheer because I Fucking Can.
I had early onset, though no formal diagnosis of schizophrenia until I was 22. My first hallucinations were full color Victorian era people, generally in dark areas and they wouldn't speak, but we always made eye contact. I distinctly remember one man I called the whittler. I saw geometric patterns also, extremely distinct and rememberable, but they mostly stopped after being given 6mg a day risperdone while I was 14. Most cognitive effects didn't develop until closer to 19. Honestly, most negative and cognitive effects started around 18-19, although I'd have hallucinations in front of people. I remember my mom being asked if I ate some acid when a neighbor saw me chasing fairies.
My main symptoms now are visual or audiotory hallucinations, paranoia, avolition, anhedonia, overall withdrawal from people. I'm in a better place mentally than I've ever been before, truly getting grief that's been built up for years out of me, from childhood abuse to my mother's death last year.
I've been battling daily drug use more since her death, and although I have fought with myself for years about it, I think I'm finally aging out. More working on my mental health instead of covering it up. I just started a new job, all top teeth replaced and bone grafts done, building up because I have a son and have to do what wasn't for me.
I was stalked after my mom's death, I won't go into detail, but it happened, people were arrested and they labeled me as substance induced psychosis and was given haldol injections. I'm still dealing with the mental issues from that, and that's where I'll start.
I'm still occasionally getting watched by people, they watch whenever I smoke cannabis concentrate or amphetamines, or stay up really late. They cant watch me directly at work anymore, I no longer work in an open kitchen. I feel so many less eyes on me. They stare through me, I can feel them watching. I narrate to myself to stay on track, I have no real inner monologue. I'm a bad ass on the grill and in a kitchen, so people let me do me since I'm nice and work hard.
I can't keep track of people anymore. Some points when I was in an open kitchen it felt like everyone in the restaurant was staring at me because I used drugs at home, usually the day before. When I kept track I was days short of writing and connecting them on a board there were so many. Groups watching and following me. I knew trying to watch them would drive me crazy. (One of my only people got arrested on federal charges and some of "them" were really thinking I was in on it). It wrecked my immediate trust of people, and I have to walk through the logic of "them" in every situation or the paranoia and delusional thoughts build up.
People don't understand I have to let those thoughts out to not have them to ruminate on during my downtime. If I ignore them when they come into my conscious they build up and run like wildfire. To the point of insanity and incoherance. I remember looking at someone one day and saying "I know it's impossible, but I can't stop thinking and looking at the car hidden between this 2foot tall shrub and house that was planted there to record me on dash am sitting on the porch." It only got worse after that, because how should someone react to that?
Today was good overall. I'm happy, new teeth, new job, new outlook on life, and ready to build everything back. My thought pattern stayed on track today, but I had a lot of slipups with some word salad and speaking. I have to think hard before I speak. But it was my first real shift back in a full kitchen after 2 years, and I rocked out like Jimi, Ozzy, and Cobain. I flowed like water and am happy to be able to be great at cooking. I made up for it with my actions and showed myself, and them, I can do it regardless.
The Boogie Man walks again.
Not in fairy tales, but in campaign rallies.
He wears a suit now.
He speaks in slogans.
But the gravel still crunches beneath his feet.
And the dogs howl.
They howl because they sense a bad omen.
ICE agents knock on doors like ghosts of Gestapo.
Children are taken.
Families are shattered.
And the sirens scream not just in the streets, but in our bones.
Let this be a warning.
To those who think it can’t happen to you.
To those who sleep with the lights off, believing they are safe.
To those who mistake cruelty for strength.
I was a child when I first heard the sirens.
I am no longer a child.
I am the one holding the light.
And I will not turn it off.
Neither should you.
Not in fairy tales, but in campaign rallies.
He wears a suit now.
He speaks in slogans.
But the gravel still crunches beneath his feet.
And the dogs howl.
They howl because they sense a bad omen.
ICE agents knock on doors like ghosts of Gestapo.
Children are taken.
Families are shattered.
And the sirens scream not just in the streets, but in our bones.
Let this be a warning.
To those who think it can’t happen to you.
To those who sleep with the lights off, believing they are safe.
To those who mistake cruelty for strength.
I was a child when I first heard the sirens.
I am no longer a child.
I am the one holding the light.
And I will not turn it off.
Neither should you.
Nostalgia. That kick in the guts I get when I walk through downtown. Past the monuments of our past. Our love the "good old days". The apartments we fell in love in. The park we slept at the first few months of our homeless adventure. The last place I saw jj. The capitol we strolled by a million times. I feel like I should be able to temporarily step back into that past. Long enough to kiss you. Long enough to tell you how sorry I am for all the fuck ups to come. To just experience you looking at me and touching my face and those beautiful blue eyes. God they glow like diamonds. But it doesn't work out like that. So I say a silent prayer that in 5 years we will look back on our current life with nostalgia. That your still with me. That we make it. Next stop capitol and rice on the train back to snelling. Thin line between heaven and here