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always look for a new problem to fix.

or is it i'm a problem looking for a new solution to fuck up?

Well, today...well..yesterday[the 14th] I turned 23 years old. I am currently back on amphetamines, and haven't had a break off opiates since my 17th birthday(besides the couple of weeks, when your too broke too sick to cop, of course.)

can't get crack out of my head this morning...haven't smoked any in exactly 11 months and so-and-so days...I'm glad, but in a way, feel almost apathetic about it, I guess would be the correct way to put it. Being back on speed along with the opiate-bullshit, is putting me in places I'd forgotten about, and wish I'd kept in my past.

fuck.

I'm still feeling good, its day 3 of feeling like this good. Like i havent in ..... holy crap....a decade, fuck im getting old LOL

Im smiling, im happy, im being silly again...hell playing with kids toys in zellers, trying on neglegees in zellers...haha ya not the fucked up anxiety me..... that's the goofy, weird, REAL me.

Hell I even think my BL posts are sounding less bah and more uplifting now too....

I've even gone girly a little....still a little tomboyish, probably always will be at heart but I find myself wearing dresses, make-up, buying high heeled kinky boots that I actually like and can walk in. I find myself smiling alot.

Hell I even found myself asking someone on a date. Damn, that's a first for me, actually thats a lie, I did when i was 14 and he laughed at me and said no and kept laughing as he walked away....the jerk. lol.

This time, though I was nervous, though I shouldn't have been as I trust this person with my life....with the life of my kids......

I found myself being stupidily girly and nervous and all that early 20's shit....not hittting 30's shit.

I kept smiling though, no matter what his answer would be, I knew I would keep smiling as just talking again with him was a step in the right direction.

Not sure if its wise to ask said person out on date considering our past, considering how i feel for him, and considering he is in a possible relationship with another girl.

I just sound myself smiling and typing the shit out, and then realizing....out shit.....I just asked the dude out on a date....and didnt even realize it......and laughed at myself....and my stupidity.

I found myself smiling on the bus last night and being goofy with this 2yr old lil boy who was a mouthy lil thang but cute.

We'll see how the other matter handles out. Not that its anyone's bee's wax, but hey....

if I can keep smiling, if i could get to this point....who knows what's possible out there.

Like "Dotty" from "Nemo" says..... "just keep swimming, just keep swimmin, swimmin, just keep swimming".

Well I need to "Just keep smiling, just keep smilin' smilin', just keep smiling" no matter what happens in life.

When you smile at the world, the world smiles back at you and your luck tenfolds, or so im told.

Funny thing is, being engaged twice and failed and such.... i have NEVER been on a date, how sad is that? always just relationship this and that and no dates....

Shit, I don't even know what one is or what one wears or how one acts or such...... fuck almost 30 and I'm starting to feel like Drew Barrymore from "Never Been Kissed"

but I do know reality from fiction and I know not all thingshave happy endings and knights on white horses and shit.

I would just love to know how the fuck to wear make-up and what I should wear......

Not that I have to do either, I could show up in mud stained ripped up clothes and I'd be alright on this thing.

Im just being stupid here. I dunno.

All I know is its day 3 of Smiling and feeling good.

12/14/09 6:05 PM

disease - abnormal condition; illness
(source: dictionary.com [mobile version])

addiction - the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.
(source: dictionary.com [web version])

What does 'the disease of addiction' mean to me?

My disease is the darkest parts of me. The parts of my mind that doesn't like me. The part that wants me to run from life's 'problems'. The part of me that wants me to be lazy, expecting rewards or benefits without applying effort. Its the part of me that only thinks of me and no-one else. Its the part that allows me to lie to myself and allows me to believe those lies.

It wants me to hurt or punish me in my sick way of 'making things better' for the things I do

12/15/09 5:00 PM

After looking over my answers to these questions I realize that I haven't really answered to the best of my ability. I copped out and took the lazy approach.

What seems to work best for me is writing a piece at a time as things become more apparent and clear to me.

The 'disease' part of addiction isn't some three headed monster that kicks my door in and sticks a needle in my arm or implant negative, self-centered thoughts. The disease is ME.

fucking shit cock fuck.

Sometimes, no matter how much I tell myself I don't care anymore, its been forever, fuck her-your cooler anyways, forget about it, ect.

and regardless of many drugs I do,

I still fucking can't keep a bit better composer....by that I mean I'm a fucking tool who just blew a kiss towards her house, as I now live very close by. (just out the win of my room mate)

This is a really shitty feeling. I can face up to, comitte, handle, and then lol about horrible violence and shit.

But I'm more 'traumatized' by some girl I use to see. WTF? I mean I fucking adored her. (yeah...I still do) and shit, but still, its not usually a epic trauma, this kind of thing. In any case, I've been though worse trauma, which did not cause me any issues.

Why am I sometimes turned into such a pile of lame?

fuck this shit...I don't know what i'm gonna do, but I need to unfuck myself.

Im back. when did this happen? just all of a sudden this past day or two.... ive been...i dunno.....happy, goofy, silly, in a good mood. a big kid......everything i was before i was "sick" and stupid.

I feel so..... such...... relief.


No matter what happens in my social life, my love life, my family life. I am not stressing, no drama, no nothing. Just smiles.

Smiling, I feel like smiling again.

This isa good thing.

Though I also want to get high and get totally fucked up but i did drugs when happy too.

I am thinking of getting some drinks, getting fucked up and just enjoying a night.

Have a good time, and hope this smiley, happy, nice stage stays awhile, I havent been this way...... in so many damn years.

Since Jube, i think that's the last time I was this happy, before jube died.

Being silly, being goofy, joking around, fliirting, asking men out on dates, getting all girly again after over 20yrs of being tomboyish.....i actually look girly these days.

I like my life right now, only 1 thing could make it better.

We'll see though.....either way, I am happy and nothing can stop that from me right now.

edit: and here i am now, an hour later. completely fine. thinking as clear as i can after smoking a bowl of church lol. i just cannot wait until i can go to a professional and get this shit under control.

---

i need a fucking xanax. i guess i was trying to prove something to myself by not taking any. but then when my boyfriend comes home and i actually have to talk to a human being in person, i realize how fucking miserable i am. and i wonder why i torture myself every fucking day by not taking any xanax, just because i need to prove something to myself.

fuck it, what is there to prove? i am addicted. i have a fucking problem. i feel horrible right now. i feel MEAN. fucking MEAN. my skin is crawling from the inside. i feel sore. i can't fucking think straight or rationally. my thoughts are all fragmented and there are so many of them. i feel nauseated.

i was on facebook and i noticed my boyfriend's sister's status. it was like "making christmas cookies with the girls" or some shit. i thought about how that stuff doesn't make me happy. i would be bored, and uncomfortable. and i thought about how non of that happy holidays shit makes me happy. or how i think "normal" family things suck. and then my boyfriend came home and told me i have to go to his sisters tomorrow to eat christmas cookies and see the new baby. i should be excited, but i'm annoyed. i don't want to fake a smile and eat fucking cookies and pretend the baby is oh so cute. i don't want to watch my language and pretend i'm a happy jesus loving girl with good morals. that isn't me and i shouldn't have to fake a god damn thing.

somehow i got out of going to thanksgiving dinner. i'm not gonna get out of christmas. last year i had to sit in a circle with his family and watch them exchange gifts. the only thing that got me through that was wine. i was so out of place. and even then i didn't have social anxiety to the degree i have it now. it's going to really suck. i already have that nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach.

truthfully, i am jealous of those who can enjoy making cookies with their family. or driving around to see the christmas lights without having to take some LSD for it to be amusing.

i'm thinking way too much. i've been all day. and i don't give a fuck, i'm taking xanax now. i don't need to feel like this. i guess you would call my boyfriend my "enabler." he has seen the drastic change in me, from being a complete headcase to the nice girl i used to be naturally. he's been making sure i have xanax whenever i need it. earlier i asked him how he puts up with it. and he said he can see through it, and knows i'm still in there somewhere. he really loves me... and i know i love him. but this me, right here and now, loves no one or nothing. i feel heartless.

....let's see how i feel in twenty minutes or so....
*sigh*

is that simple and effortless, possibly in-applicable or contradictory ad-hominem's can be highly effective at countering the most soild and well reasoned arguments.

No matter what, after they spend 20 minutes telling you their point, with facts to back it and a clear logical though process, caling them a cum guzzling faggot (bonus points if its a female where the two statements would contradict each other!) or a neckbearded virgin (often not far from the truth...) is often enough to enrage them and reduce their solid argument down to baaw.

this troll moment brought to you by

--fleshlight: holy shit, it feels just like a real pussy!--
and
----------moot: gheying up /b/-----------------------

thanks for tuning in.

Got this from a thread in the psychadelic drugs forum from about a year ago.

I'm typing this as I’m coming down off of my first DXM trip. At this point it is still difficult for me to concentrate.

I drank 300ml of tussin, I think it came out to 600mg of DXM overall. The trip was not enjoyable for me, most of the time I was nauseous. I was high for maybe 6 hours and during that period I felt like my mind couldn’t concentrate on anything for more than a couple seconds. I’m not 100% sure if I had any true ego loss, but at one point I felt like I was floating in my room, and it was almost like I could look down at my body on the bed laying there motionless. The air felt very heavy and thick. My mind would go from one idea to another very quickly and it seemed like I couldn’t focus on anything. I was in a constant state of discomfort, like I suddenly had an idea to do something then instantly it became a bad idea for some reason. I would think “I’m hungry” and get up to go make food then a second later the thought of food was repulsive. It was a constant state of unrest.

At one point I was staring at a fan and after a while the swirling blades started to meld together to make some sort of crazy illusion. I saw all kinds of patterns and shapes in it.

I felt as if my consciousness had been ripped out of my body, it was incredible and horrifying at the same time, I don’t recommend it. While this trip defiantly had some good parts the negative effects are way too harsh. For the first time in my life I cant seem to control my short-term memory. Never doing this again.

Today I was thinking back to a moment earlier this year that struck me really hard, and made me realise just how much my drug addiction was affecting those around me. Over a period of about a year, I'd been noticing that my dad was acting more and more distant towards me. Conversation was minimal, and he'd never ask about the latest goings-on in my life.

Eventually I approached my mum about this and asked her why he was doing this. She sat down with me and explained that dad had been trying to emotionally distance himself from me for a reason... because he was predicting that I'd soon die. He was mentally preparing himself for the shock of finding me slumped on my bed, dead, or getting a call from the hospital informing him that his daughter had fatally overdosed or been murdered by some dealer or gang member.

It was such a wake up for me.

Now everytime I tried to get clean, there was always something wrong. My so-called “Last Run” was never up to par. It always consisted of doing JUST enough to get right before going into detox. So, I think that was what I was working towards while I was in the street, and one day in January, it happened.

Now, I did something VERY horrible in order to attain this money. It involves my grandmother, and her ATM card, and $1,000 dollars. Catch my drift? Okay, so after that was done, I went to the spot and got two bricks of heroin and 200 dollars worth of cocaine. That’s 100 fucking bags of heroin, and about 4-5 grams of cocaine. All the junkies are drooling over their keyboards right now. I had about $200 or $300 dollars left after this and I spent this on a shitty little hotel room for the next three nights and got fucking wrecked. The amount of dope and coke that I was injecting directly into my bloodstream was almost inhuman, but this was how I NEEDED to go out if I wanted to get clean.

You better believe it when I say that after all this ran out, the withdrawals were absolute hell. I was extremely desperate and willing to do absolutely anything to get that feeling back. After I finished everything and had not a pinch of heroin or cocaine left, I did something else extremely drastic. Well, first I begged my mother for money for a few days but the amount she gave me just could not compare to the extreme bliss I experienced a few nights before in that hotel room. I knew I needed another good score and my grandmother (of course) cancelled her ATM card already. So what did I do now? Well, I did something involving her car, and trying to sell it to thugs for a mere $500 dollars or so. This did not happen though, and the car had less than a quarter tank of gas so I was forced to bring it back. I parked it and crept in the house through a basement window so I had some place warm to sleep and shot my last 2 bags. Something told me that this was the end. I couldn’t go on doing these things to my family, and if I kept trying to find that feeling I experienced in that hotel room, I know I would do something extremely desperate and probably wind up dead or in jail, so the next morning, I made a desperate attempt at calling everyone I knew trying to procure some more money to go cop, but after that didn’t work, I crept upstairs from the basement and showed my face. The look on my grandmother’s face was that of absolute terror. She was demanding I bring her car back, and after some refusing I gave in. I was lucky though, because without what happened next I may have never gotten clean.

She called her next door neighbor, who turned out to be a counselor at a Methadone clinic in New York, and he came over and saw the condition I was in. It was Sunday, so he and I knew there was no where I was going today. The detox centers do not accept admissions on the weekend, so I sat there pleaded with my family to just give me $20 dollars and train-fare to get what I needed to make it through until tomorrow, but my father would not give in. “I am not giving you money to get drugs,” I believe were his exact words, and I know it sounds insane, but it was really the only thing they could have done. I told my father that there was nothing else that anyone could do for me until tomorrow, but he wouldn’t give in. Eventually he kicked me out of the house, but I crept back in through the basement window before he could see me. However, once they found I was back in the house, they called the cops and the cops came and arrested me for being in possession of a hypodermic syringe. A stupid misdemeanor charge. The cops weren’t even concerned with charging me. They saw how much of a wreck I was and just wanted me to get me to a hospital. The same hospital my father was actually trying to get me to go to earlier, but I told him that they were just going to discharge me and not let me stay the night.

Well, when the ambulance dropped me off and I told them what I was there for, they gave me a quick once over and what do you think they did? They fucking discharged me just like I said. They said I was not withdrawing because I was on 2mg of Xanax. So I called my father, furious, and told him that they were kicking me out of the fucking hospital and I needed a place to stay for the night. My grandmother agreed to let me sleep there after all I put her through, and the Xanax I took earlier was enough to let me get some sleep through the night.

When I woke up the next day, I begged my grandmother to give me money for the “train” but I spent this money buying a few bags. I scraped to get by the next few days by actually getting some money from my mother, but I realized that what I was doing was useless. I was just delaying the inevitable, and I needed to go to this Methadone clinic.

On February 9th, 2009, I shot my last bag of heroin in a stall in a homeless shelter in NY, and did the unthinkable. I actually went to the Methadone clinic and got admitted into their program. I have relapsed one time since then, but other than that I have been clean from heroin and cocaine ever since. Since getting clean, I have been attempting to mend most of the relationships that went sour during my addiction, and the people that truly care about me are so happy to see me doing better that they were actually able to forgive me for some of the truly horrible things I did to them. A lot of my friends that I lost touch with during my addiction are supportive of my recovery, and even though I am not with my ex-girlfriend KB anymore and things still are not great between us, I have a new girlfriend who I absolutely LOVE and loves me for who I am, even with all my mistakes. I have a job, and an apartment, and life is absolutely great. I am still on Methadone, 100mg actually. I am working on tapering down and lowering the dose gradually so I can be completely substance free in a few short years.

I really don’t even want to think where I would be now if I never would have gotten clean, and believe it or not, if it wasn’t for my “last run,” I like to think I would still be chasing that feeling. My last run helped me see that that feeling of bliss that these drugs supply you with is extremely temporary and short-lived. You can be much happier if you find something else to replace the drugs with, otherwise you will be stuck chasing that stupid feeling that you experienced that ONE time. There’s a lot more to life than that, and I hope anyone that is currently addicted to drugs and reading this will find some kind of help in what I had to say. If not, at least I kept your mind occupied for a little while.

Okay, I left off on the night I got thrown out of the christian based homeless shelter or “rehab” that I was in. Like I said, the reason for me being kicked out was because I broke curfew while I was picking up drugs. I was actually on the hunt for a syringe and that is why it took me so long. I made it back there an hour late with 5 bags of heroin and a dime of coke and they kicked me out on the street at midnight. I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do, but I had half a bundle of heroin and a dime of coke so I was (sadly) happy. I did a speedball almost immediately after getting kicked out and began walking around the Northern New Jersey streets. I came across some guy who was obviously drunk off his ass, and who also turned out to be homeless. I explained my situation to him and he told me he would find us a place to stay tonight. Well, that place turned out to be a hallway in some random building. So yeah, I took my spot in a corner of the stairway and nodded in and out throughout the night. We left around 5:30am next morning before anyone in the building would be waking up and went to a nearby hospital to get a meal. I had a tuna fish sandwich and this drunk was so shitfaced last night that I remember him waking up in the middle of the night and saying he had to go to the bathroom, but rather than go outside and relieve himself, the motherfucker just pissed his pants right there! So when we got to the hospital, they gave him new clothes (I guess he’s a regular there or something, because they seemed to have this routine down) and then I made him lead me back to town so I could ditch him, and that is exactly what I did. I had 2 bags left, so of course, I decided to bang one of them, and then I decided to finally face the music.

I called my father first and broke the news to him. Of course he told me I was shit out of luck and that I could not come home. So I called my grandmother since I could not remember my mother’s phone number, and had her call my mother to break the news to her. My mother was not too pleased as well, and she basically said the same thing, that being that I was not welcome at her house either. My grandmother didn’t know what to tell me either, but I had a feeling that if I showed up at my grandmother’s house, that she would not be able to turn me away, so that is exactly what I did. I managed to convince two conductors of two trains to get me to Central Jersey and they did just that. I showed up at my grandmother’s house at around 11pm and just as I guessed, she couldn’t turn me away. I did my last bag of heroin as soon as I got there and immediately stole 4 of her xanax to send me into a coma. She noticed the Xanax missing and immediately knew that nothing had changed with me. I was still a fucking mess and now I was in her house. So I basically stayed there for 2 weeks, using every few days until the end of the second week. By that time I was already back to stealing from her and it didn’t take her long to catch on and give me the boot (once again).

So now I was on the street, and I called my mother and asked her for help. She actually did all she could and put me in a hotel for about a week while we tried to get me into a detox. All we could manage to do was get on a 2 week waiting list for a 28 day program, but my mother was not in the position to pay for my stay at this hotel for 2 weeks. She was also supporting my habit while I was there because I manipulated her into thinking that my piss had to be dirty in order for them to accept me into a detox, and that is not even a complete lie. Your urine must be dirty with heroin if you are to be admitted into a detox unit. I’ve actually seen them turn people away because homeless people like to go to detoxes to get a warm place to sleep and eat for a few days, so I wasn’t being a complete scumbag by telling her this. After my week stay at this seedy hotel, my mother tried to get me into a Salvation Army program but they all had waiting lists as well, so there was nothing I could do. Like any junkie would do, I told her to give me money and just take me to Newark, NJ, aka the heroin capital of the East Coast. I was home(less). Get it? Ha! As soon as I got there I went straight to the dope spot, spent every penny I had and got high all day, and by the time night came, I tried to get myself admitted into a detox out there and thought I succeeded, until 8PM when the doctor came up to me and told me I was being discharged. Now I was homeless and sort of banking on getting into this detox, so I spent the night in the waiting room only to awake to a cop telling me to get out of there at 8AM the next morning. I explained to him that I was homeless and asked him to help me find a homeless shelter over here. He handed me a list and actually personally called them all until he found a place for me to go. The Goodwill in Newark, NJ. This place was to be my home for the next 2 months or so.

The Goodwill was an absolute shithole. You slept on these skimpy ass mats on the floor in the chapel, and had to be in by 7:30PM if you wanted to spend the night. They served you a shitty, skimpy meal at 5PM and this was usually the only meal I ate all day. They also served oatmeal and muffins with coffee in the morning. They also made all the residents take a shower every night. Sounds amazing right? A homeless shelter forcing bums to take a shower? It was fucking horrible. You stood in a line while people stripped down naked right in front of you and hopped in one of the 3 shower stalls. It was absolutely disgusting, and it blew my mind that this is what my life had resorted to. I was still using everyday while I was here too. In order to get money, I ran scams with other junkies, or panhandled at the train station, and I also went to detox twice while I was at the Goodwill, but the reason I was going to detox was because I wanted a nice bed to sleep in, 3 meals a day, and a clean place to shower, rather than going there to get clean. As soon as they discharged me I found a way to get money, usually by having my mom pick me up to give me money before I lied to her by telling her I was going to an inpatient program and just needed a little bit of money to get by. This went on over November and December, and then the person in charge at the Goodwill had enough of me. They knew I was a drug user, and I was constantly nodding out inside and making it blatantly obvious that I was using drugs. I was only supposed to be allowed to stay there for 14 days, but I kept swearing to them that I was going to detox and that I just needed a little bit more time. A little after Christmas, my time ran out and they gave me the boot. Now I was rightfully on the street with no where to go and a nasty drug habit to support.

Over January of this year, I was sleeping in airports or in the subway system, and finding ways to use everyday. The cops came to know me as a homeless junkie so I had to watch where I showed my face, and life was absolute hell. Everything didn’t get better until my last run, but I am going to save that story for my next entry.

So until then, Legz is out.

I believe I left off after my first attempt at going to a detox. Like I said, I signed myself out the same day after going in and told my girlfriend to pick me up and that I was discharged because they found Suboxone in my blood. She had called my father on the way to pick me up and he actually agreed to let me back in the house under the agreement that I would get clean using Suboxone at home while being held under lock and key. I was not allowed out of the house unless I was with KB, my girlfriend. Even with these restrictions, I still found a way around them to get to my precious heroin.

I was lying to everyone at this time. My dad & step-mother so they would not kick me out of the house, my girlfriend so she would continue to support my habit, and my mother so she would give me money when no one else would. I convinced my girlfriend somehow that I wasn’t using and that I was paying back drug dealers money that I had owed them from when I was using. This was anything but the truth though. I was still shooting up constantly, and I kept up this charade for 4 or 5 months before she caught on and I had no choice but to tell her that I was, in fact, using. She was devastated, of course, but she STILL did not leave me. That blows my mind when I think of it today. I think it was because I promised her that I would go to a detox and get clean as soon as I could find one to accept me.

I turned 21 somewhere around this time, and I was still using everyday and living at my father’s house. Then one night, we had an electrical fire that started in the attic. I awoke from my nod on the couch on the deck to see my dad and step-mom running around frantically and calling the fire department. I spent the night at my girlfriend’s house, and a few weeks later we moved into a temporary house less than a mile away from our home. The fire did not cause much damage, but the water damage was horrible. So horrible that it made living in the house impossible and we were forced to live in this temporary house for about 9 months. Well, I did not make it the whole 9 months. By the time we got there, my dad and step-mom started to notice money missing and were on to my habit again. My girlfriend had just about given up on me and we were at a very rough patch (like the rest of our relationship wasn’t just a big rough patch, but this was even worse than that) and I was on the look for a detox/rehab to go to. My parents told me I was either to find a detox to go to or I could not stay there any longer, and KB told me that she would not stay with me unless I did what my parents told me. So I was looking for a detox, barely. I basically just faked calling places for a few weeks just so I could keep using, and then, something horrible happened.

I was upstairs in my room and I just finished scraping my brick of heroin baggies (that’s 50 bags for the non-junkies) to get the remaining powder that is always left stuck to the inside of the wax-paper baggies. So I scraped them all, loaded up the brown liquid into my dull, over-used syringe, and by this time, my veins were pretty shot, so I was poking around in my arm trying to find a vein for a good 20 minutes. There was blood everywhere, and I must have looked like an absolute mess. Well, during this time, apparently my sister crept up the stairs to look for something and saw me, sitting on the bed with my belt tying my arm off, poking around with a needle trying to hit a vein. I did not even hear her though, but she went back downstairs and told my step-mom what she saw and now she crept upstairs to see if she could still catch me in the act. Just as I heard her, it was too late. I tried to take the needle out of my arm and the belt off but she saw me, and the only thing she said was “Why?” She wanted to know why I was doing this to myself. Why was I throwing my life away and becoming a slave to something so small yet so powerful, and I could not find an answer. I said something along the lines of “I’m fucking sick, and I need to get right!”

That’s when she gave me an ultimatum. I either go to an inpatient rehab for a few months or I hit the streets. I agreed that I couldn’t do this on my own and that I would go to a rehab. For once I finally picked up the phone and got into a program the very next day. My girlfriend and I were practically broke up at that time, but I begged her to supply me with enough money to get me through until tomorrow morning when I would be going to detox, and that is what happened. I picked up 5 bags and a dime of coke and got high for what was supposed to be my very last time.

I entered detox the very next day and got through most of the day before hitting withdrawals. I stayed in the detox for 3 days, and then they found me an aftercare program to go to. They failed to mention that this rehab program turned out to be a Christian based program and was more like a homeless shelter than any kind of rehab. Their idea of rehab was letting “God” take care of you. That just did not work for me. God would not get me clean, I knew that, but I still tried to tough it out. After I was in the program for two weeks, this little fucker by the name of, well, we shall call him Itch, came to the program. He was a 22 year old kid there for the same reason I was, smack, and he had no desire to get clean. Once you’re in the program for 30 days, you’re allowed out for 4 hours a night, and of course, I was allowed out before Itch was, so what do you think he asked me to do the first night I was allowed out? Yup, go score some dope and coke. I had no money, so I told them that but of course they told me that as long as I went they would take care of me. C’mon, about 30 days clean and do you really think I already had the willpower to say no? Fuck no! I went and got a bundle of dope and two dimes of coke. The coke turned out to be bunk but the dope was all I needed to start me itching for that feeling of supreme bliss again. The leaders of the program became instantly suspicious of our little clique and piss tested us but we cheated it and got away with it the first time.

So over the next few weeks at the program, I made using a thing to do on the weekends, but during the whole week that was all I could think about, so I knew I was in trouble once again already. I tried calling my father and telling him “Dad, listen, there’s people in here getting high, and I don’t know how long I can hold out for,” and do you wanna know what we told me? “Dave, this is what you’re going to have to deal with when you’re out in the real world, so no, you can’t come home.” I did not even want to come home for good either. I wanted to go home until I found another program to go to, but nope, that was not an option. That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard also. Sure, I have to deal with being tempted with drugs in the real world, but it will not be as close to me as it was in fucking rehab! The guy in the bunk to the left of me was shooting up for fuck’s sake! How was I supposed to resist? It wasn’t long before I broke curfew one night when I was out copping dope and could not produce a urine sample. They kicked me out at midnight and was basically told to fend for myself. That’s mighty Christian of them, isn’t it?

Well, that’s where I am going to leave you for now, but trust me when I say that this is not the end. The next period of my addiction was the absolute worst and most embarrassing, but I will write about it in a few short days.

Until then, this is Legz signing out.

Heroin. Wow, where to even start about this fucking horrible chemical that plagued my life for years and has done the same to thousands of others. I was first introduced to Heroin by Scum, my 40 year uncle who I mentioned in the post before this. I cannot blame him for getting addicted to it though. I would have certainly found a way to get it without him, but he was the first one to get me heroin. He was also the one supplying me with Methadone, and like I said in my previous post, I was heavily addicted to painkillers (Oxycontin & Methadone) before even considering doing heroin.

So I will begin there. Pickle and I started off using together. The first set of bags we got were stamped “Dead End” and I find that to be kind of ironic, because that’s exactly what heroin is–a dead end. Once you start using heroin you know there is no where to go but down. Well, you might not realize that immediately but your eyes will soon be opened to that.

I started out how everyone else starts, by snorting it. At first it was lovely. A bundle (10 bags) would last me about a week or at least 5 days. I could snort one bag and be nodding and be right nearly all day. I was probably about to turn 19 or already 19 when I started snorting it, and like any other drug I tried, it was fun and social at first. My friends and I would all throw money together and get a bunch of skag and just blow lines until we were too stoned to do so anymore, but unlike most other drugs, this honeymoon period did not last long. I’d say it was fun for about 6 months or so, while I was still in denial about having a habit. I met KB at this time too. I made it clear to her that I have always been a drug user, and let it be known that I was dabbling with heroin but again, I denied I had any kind of addiction to the stuff. Our relationship took off and was great at first, but it didn’t last long, yet she still stayed with me. I don’t know why, but I am guessing that she thought that I would eventually stop. As bad as I wanted to, my love for her was not strong enough to stop me from doing the drug. As sad as that sounds, it is the honest truth. I remember a countless number of times where she would ask me if I would choose her or my other girlfriend, heroin, and I would try to be honest when I would tell her that I would never choose a drug over her, but I think she even knew that I was lying. She knew I needed my fix to do anything, like get out of bed to take a shower, brush my teeth, go to work, or anything for that matter. If she wanted me to take her out, she knew I needed to be high to do so. It was a horrible one sided relationship and I wish I would have been more dedicated to getting clean back then, but still, I can’t say I regret where my addiction left me. My life right now is awesome, and I have more knowledge about the horrors of drug addiction than I would have if I never would have done the things I did.

Okay I got a little sidetracked there, but back to the story. I stuck to snorting for the first year or so of my addiction. I watched my habit go from snorting 1 bag to get right to breaking open 5 bags at a time just to get where 1 bag used to take me. Does that make sense? To any junkie it will, I am sure of that. During this year, all the friends that I was using with grew distant, as did all my friends who watched from the sidelines as I became a nasty heroin addict. I can’t say I blame them either because it’s a disgusting road to go down. So anyway, snorting began to get expensive, so one day a friend of mine, we’ll refer to him as Dom. He told me he was had a doctor’s appointment and he was going to try to get a needle or two because his habit was also leading in that direction. I told him to get me one, but of course I told him I probably wouldn’t use it. Ha! As soon as he got back I had him tie me off and inject me with 1 bag and the instant warm sensation that came over me blew me away. I instantly knew I was in trouble, that I had not even seen a thing yet, and I was right. From that day on snorting was not an option, and shooting heroin directly into my bloodstream was the only way to go. I told myself I would never do this when I started doing heroin, but then when I was doing painkillers I also told myself I would never do heroin either. It’s crazy what addiction will do to our morals and standards.

Now I was still 19 when I started shooting, and it seems like my habit just began the first day I picked up that needle. The withdrawals were 10x worse compared to when I was snorting, and now I knew I had a problem. KB was still with me and I remember how terrified and ashamed she was when she first noticed a trackmark on my arm. I, of course, assured her there was nothing to worry about and that by administering the drug this way I would be saving money and therefore would be able to take her out more. Ha! Yeah, like that happened. Any penny that I owned went towards dope, and nearly every penny that she made also went there.

I was an absolute junkie by the time I was 20, and I was living with my grandmother at this point. I started robbing from her around this time too, that is, after I ran up all my credit cards and sold everything that I owned. I guess she was used to this because like I said, her son, Scum, was a junkie too, so throughout his childhood I am sure that she lost tons of money to his habit. After about a year of pawning, losing jobs, using people I love, and stealing from my grandmother, she had enough and gave me the boot. I had no choice but to move in with my father again. I am lucky he even allowed me to move in, because he was well aware of my habit but I lied to him and told him that I was clean before I moved in, however the same night I moved back in I remember shooting at least a bundle beforehand so my habit was still very much in full swing.

I was 21 by the time I moved there, and was lying to everyone telling them I was clean, but was still stealing from everyone in my family and my girlfriend and somehow getting away with it. I don’t know if I was really getting away with it or if everyone was just turning the blind eye to everything that went missing. Maybe they wanted to believe so bad that I was actually clean that they did not want to accuse me of stealing from them. It wasn’t until I was arrested for a second time that they knew that I was in fact lying to them and still a full pledged junkie. After I was released after spending a night in a holding cell with my two junkie buddies, I was faced with an ultimatum. That being I either go to rehab, or that’s it. My girlfriend would leave me, my dad would not allow me back in the house, & my mother would basically disown me. In order to please them, of course, I went to detox, and I left the same day by calling my girlfriend after discharging myself and told her that they kicked me out. Luckily my father let me back in the house, and I somehow convinced everyone that under lock & key I would get clean myself. Do you think that happened? Come on, now. I never wanted to get clean in the first place, I was just trying to make everyone happy.

So, anything come as a surprise to you yet? If you know anything about drug addiction I doubt any of this surprised you, but the best is yet to come. In my next entry, I will tell you how my habit lead to my homelessness and much much more.

Until next time, Legz is out!

Addiction is a very powerful thing. There are things that would you never do in your right mind, but once you become a slave to a drug, those things become very reasonable and almost normal. Stealing from loved ones, using people for your benefit, robbing stores, and lots of other things did not come into play in my life until I was physically addicted to heroin. I used to tell myself that I would never even let myself do heroin, but once I became addicted to painkillers and those ran out, heroin seemed like the logical alternative. I thought it was a godsend at first because of how cheap it was and how little I needed to get right. I also told myself that I would never stick a needle in my arm and directly inject the drug because snorting it seemed to work so perfectly. These things went out the window once I became addicted.

Now I believe I last left off where things were starting to get out of control, and addiction was starting to set in. Let me just recap a little bit for anyone who is too lazy to read my previous entries. I smoked weed at the age of 14, got into alcohol and psychedelics at age 16, tried cocaine and painkillers at age 17, and was fully addicted by age 18 or 19.

It started out with the painkillers of course. The first time I got high off them I took two 5mg percocets, melted into my couch, and absolutely fell in love with the feeling of absolute bliss it provided. After that time, I started mixing them with alcohol and weed, and since I was drinking or smoking everyday, they quickly became an everyday thing. A friend of mine who I am going to call Pickle was into pills with me, and he had a solid connection for them and always had them on him so I had lots of access to them. I caught my first “habit,” or addiction, during this time even though I was completely unaware of it. I must have been taking Percocets for a month straight when I lost the funds to do so, and I thought it was strange that I couldn’t fall asleep and felt extremely anxious for a week or two. I combatted those feelings of anxiety by smoking a lot of herb though and got through this first withdrawal process without a hitch.

I stopped doing the pills for a few months after this and had fun with psychedelics, but the psychedelics soon dried up and I was, again, looking for something else to occupy my mind, so what do you think I did? I was hanging out with Pickle nearly everyday so I started hitting him up for pills again. He had never stopped using them, so by now he was doing Oxycontin, Fentanyl, and any heavy painkillers he could get his hands on. Then I moved in with my grandmother, and her son, I’ll call him Scum because that is what he was, pure scum, was living with her. Mind you, Scum is in his 40s and yes, still living with his mother. See, kids, this is what drugs will do to you if you aren’t careful. Well anyway, he has been a heroin junkie since he was in high school, and he was on Methadone. Now, Pickle & I are both developing habits by messing with the pain pills, but our connect for them soon dried up so we started buying Methadone from Scum. This had the words “Bad Decision” written all over it, but did we care? Fuck no, we needed our fix!

I figure I should mention this as well. During this time, I met a girl that I absolutely loved. I’ll call her KB, and she was with me from the beginning of my addiction to the ass end of it. She was the first girl I actually loved, and why she stayed with me for so long is beyond me. I treated her like shit, used her for anything I could get out of her, and I regret everything I did to this poor girl. She meant the world to me, but because of my addiction, I couldn’t show her that. All I could show her was that I was a filthy fucking junkie. So, if you happen to be reading this, I am still sorry for what happened between us. She doesn’t even talk to me anymore, and I can’t say that I don’t deserve it. I just hope that one day she will accept my apology and realize that if I wasn’t plagued by addiction I could have gave her the world. And she damn well deserves it. She’s a great girl and anyone would be lucky to have her. I felt that this was worth mentioning since she was there with me through the (few) good times and the (many) bad. I am truly sorry for everything.

Okay, so where were we? Right! Methadone. So we started buying Methadone from Scum so he could support his dope habit. It wasn’t long before we were full on addicted to that, and it also wasn’t long before he got kicked out of the clinic and guess what we resorted to? I’ll save the rest of this story for my next entry. I have a lot to write about this part of my life in general so it surely deserves an entry to itself.

This is Legz, signing out.

Okay, I believe it is indeed time for another update on the chronicles that is my life. Let’s see, where did I leave off…oh! Right, when the drugs were introduced. Okay, on with the story…

Like I said, my parents got divorced sometime while I was in the 8th grade. Now, you may think that I blame my drug use on this, but that is absolutely and completely false. I happened to get into drugs at this time because my parents were too preoccupied with their own bullshit to see just how fucked up I was getting. That is the honest truth.

I was introduced to marijuana while I was in the 8th grade. I traded someone I am going to call D-Zero a copy of Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 for the PC for a nickel bag of weed. Since this was my first bag of weed, it basically sat inside my computer (Yes, I took one of the CD panels off and hid my lone bag of weed inside my shitty packard bell computer) until D-Zero and Dippy had asked me if I wanted to smoke. Now, I was very nervous. This was, after all, my first attempt at consuming drugs. I was in my “gangsta” phase at the time as well, so my choice of footwear for the day happened to be a pair of Timberland boots that were WAY too big for my feet. I chose to wear these not knowing that we would be walking to east bumble fuck and back trying to score weed for these two fools as well. So we finally procured their bag of herb, and made the hike back to Dippy’s pad where I watched D0 roll up a blunt for me, and a blunt for them to share. Now since this was my first time, D0 and I shared a blunt and we probably finished about half of it when I began to feel the effects. My mouth dried, my pupils dilated, and I began to feel a sudden feeling of euphoria and one with everything and everyone. I was extremely giggly, and of course, I was hungry. Those people that are naive to drugs and reading this entry, yes, marijuana does cause the munchies. So we walked up the road towards a Quick Chek and just before we got there I remembered that my mom was working in the deli at that very store. I got extremely paranoid and told these guys that I could not enter the store because my mom would know I was acting differently, so I had them go in and get me a roast beef sub. After going back to Dippy’s house and finishing the sub and listening to some music, I made it clear that I had to go home, so I took what I had left of the blunt and walked home by myself.

That was my first experience with marijuana. I have many other stories to tell about that drug in-particular but I will save them for another time because I want to get to more fun experiences with drugs. So yeah, me, being a freshman in high school, I instantly gravitated towards the stoner crowd and became friends with most of them. There was ND, NP, TC, SM, SD, and probably many more that I smoked with but simply cannot remember their clever little initials right now. Marijuana opened my mind towards a lot of things, one of those things being more drugs of course. You see, when it comes to me, marijuana was certainly a gateway drug. It intrigued me in such a way that if this one chemical can change my perception on life and alter my moods and feelings, that the other drugs out there must also do the same thing but each in it’s own unique way. So I soon made a pact. This being to consume every chemical out there at least one time in my lifetime, hell, perhaps even before I graduated high school.

For my first two years of high school, I found it extremely funny to see all the kids who were calling me crazy for using drugs in junior high were now also using drugs, some even using more and harder drugs than I was. For my freshman and sophomore years though, I was basically strictly a pot smoker. I smoked all different types, but my favorite bags were the ones my buddy ND could get from one of his older brother’s connections. We had no idea of what strands they were, but we simply referred to them as “da dank nuggets” since they were sooo much better than anything else we smoked. The bags were extremely tiny (.6grams for 20 bucks, or 2.0grams for 50) but the bud was so amazing that it was worth it. With pot that good, there was really no use for any other drugs, but my mind soon grew tired of the drug. I actually remember the exact day it happened as well. I was sitting and smoking in ND’s room and we were both sitting there in absolute silence. When ND asked me why I wasn’t talking, I said because there was nothing to talk about, and ever since that day I began to notice something called social anxiety. Certain kinds of pot would make me so paranoid and so anxious and nervous that I would feel that everyone was hearing my thoughts, calling me stupid, or laughing at me, and that right there made me want to experiment with other things.

First came alcohol of course. The first time I got drunk I drank nearly a whole 750ml bottle of Jim Beam and could not see. I literally thought I was blind, and the hangover it gave me made me want to fucking die. Drink a bottle of water, throw it up, and repeat for nearly the entire next day. But yea, since my friend Juice had a mother who would let us smoke and party our asses off in her basement, alcohol became a very good friend to all the pot we would smoke. It wasn’t long before someone stole some painkillers from their mom and introduced them to us as well. The first few times I took them, I took too little a dose and did not feel shit, but I remember my first time getting two 5mg percocets and sinking into my couch like never before. I fell in love with them, and I did have a lot of fun on them before things got out of control, but I am going to save that for the next entry I decide to write. There’s still more fun stuff to tell you alllllllllllll about!

Now around the same time alcohol was thrown into the equation, I became fascinated with mushrooms and LSD. Psychedelics! Yes, I had much fun with these (and still do actually) whenever I could find them. The first time my friends tripped on boomers, I was kinda scared because I hadn’t read up about them enough yet, so I didn’t join in on their little adventure, but a few weeks later, I found out a friend of mine by the name of Vink had a 10-strip of acid and was looking to get rid of a few hits. I told him that I definitely wanted three hits, and that I would be over his house after school to get them. So yeah, I called him after school, and he told me that he was about to go out for the night, and that if I couldn’t get there in like 20 minutes then I would have to see him tomorrow. This will just go to show you how much I wanted to trip. I hopped on my fucking mongoose (The bike, you fools. I didn’t ride around on a wild mongoose) and rode to his house in 11 minutes flat! I listened to the first 3.5 songs on 311’s Self-Titled album on the way to his house and found his dad outside washing his harley. I ran inside to find Vink in his room ripping apart my 3 tabs from the 10-strip. So yeah, I made it there on time, took my time going home, and invited my friend’s ND and SM to join me on a crazy acid trip in my small ass room that night. I will save the story of this trip for another time, but yeah that is what started my fascination with hallucinogenic drugs. Since that first acid trip, every summer I made sure to procure enough liquid LSD or mushrooms to make it through the summer. I also had a ball with Salvia Divinorum, which is a plant that is smoked and produces intense out of body visions in almost a dreamlike fashion. I experimented with MDMA during this time too, but did not find it too fun unless I had some pure MDMA on my hand or some really pure pressed pills. A lot of the pressed pills I got were cut with garbage and thus lead to shitty experiences.

After the psychedelics wore thin, during my senior year in high school actually, I was living with my mom at the time, and like I mentioned in my previous post, she was also in a very bad place at the time with her crackhead boyfriend, so I was allowed to smoke, drink, or basically do anything I wanted to in the apartment. I took advantage of this and hosted a plethora of parties my senior year, where drugs, booze, and girls were a-plenty! This is when things began to take a bit of a darker turn. I tried cocaine for my first time that year, and I loved it if I had alcohol or painkillers to bring me down afterwards. I also caught my first addiction to oxycodone (oxycontin, percocet, ya know, painkillers) at this time too, but I was too young to really take notice to it so I got through it rather easy, but as this year and the next went on, the parties got smaller and the drugs got harder, things started to take a darker turn. I’ll get to this in my next update.

Until then, this is Legz signing out!

For the first entry, let me begin by telling you about my life growing up. I was born in February of 1987, making me 22 today. I had a fairly normal childhood. I was four years old when my first brother was born. We’ll call him MJS. MJS had it rough from the beginning. During his childhood, he had to have three open heart surgeries to close a hole in his heart. My brother and I fought a lot, most of the time we were just playing or imitating wrestling matches. Then when I was eight, my sister was born. We’ll refer to her as Jessie. During this time I was into video games, and going out to play wiffle-ball or bounce-pitch with my friends. I was also involved in Little League Baseball. The first year I played, I think I was 10 or something, and this is also the time my 2nd brother was born. I’ll call him Guzz. Anyway, I was really involved in baseball and the first year I was in the International League we won the championship. I also continued to play for the 8, 9, and 10 year old All-Star teams, which were all coached by my father. I started to get less and less interested in baseball as the years went on though, and my father did not like that. Baseball was the only thing him and I really had together, but after my third year in the American League, I put away my bat and glove for good. My brother MJS took my place though and began playing baseball, but I was on a different path.

Now during this time, I noticed my parents fighting more and not sleeping in the same bed anymore but I was young so I didn’t really think much of it. I was in 8th grade when they had decided to get a divorce. It didn’t bother me much, but what did bother me was how my father invited his new wife to live in the house less than a month my mother left. Yes, my dickhead of a father stayed in the house because “he built it” and left my mom to find another place for herself. Now, when my step-mom came to the house, she didn’t come alone. She brought her two daughters with her as well and they were a fucking thorn in my side. They annoyed me constantly, and since I wasn’t related to them I just kept building up the frustration and anger inside me. During this time, I decided to build my first personal web-site. I had built web-sites in the past, and even made some money designing them for friends, but they were mostly all wrestling web-sites and this time I wanted to make a web-site where I could post about whatever I wanted to. I named the web-site ‘Verbal Assault’ and I was involved in the E/N scene when it wasn’t flooded with tons of useless blogs and people bitching and complaining about how shitty their life was. Verbal Assault ran alongside of sites such as Lameking, Snoogins, HamsterStyle, John’s Crawlspace, and many others. The site went on for years, mostly during my Junior High years and due to a server crash, I lost all the content before becoming a Freshman. But sometime in 8th grade, while I was still running Verbal Assault and galavanting with my friends around the area on bikes, I was introduced to something else. Marijuana. I smoked for the first time with two guys by a river in my town. I was instantly intrigued by the feeling it created inside me, and by the time I got to high school smoking was basically an everyday thing. Yes, I even smoked weed before I consumed any alcohol or smoked a cigarette. Alcohol always disgusted me because of how nasty it tasted, and I didn’t understand why anyone smoked cigarettes when they could smoke weed and get high! It baffled me, but it wasn’t long before I became good friends with booze and cigs too.

So, when I graduated my Sophomore year in High School, I turned 16 and decided to leave my Dad’s house specifically because of my two fucking step-sisters that annoyed me to no end. I also wanted a pad to smoke pot in with all my friends, and since I was a very spoiled child (My mother basically caved in to my every will), I figured I could convince my mother to let my friends and I smoke and get trashed there. And just as I guessed, that is exactly what happened. My mother lived there with her boyfriend, who turned out to be a crazy fucking crackhead, and she also was in the worst condition in her life. Her scumbag of a boyfriend had her smoking crack and drinking like a fish, and since my cousin owned the apartment we lived in, I guess she figured that he wouldn’t mind if she didn’t pay rent, but not only did she not pay rent, there were times when the electricity was cut off as well and we would run extension cords from the empty apartment upstairs into our apartment to run the various electric appliances. Talk about embarrassing. I didn’t mind though, and my friends really didn’t either since we had a safe place to chill, smoke, trip, drink, snort, and consume any kind of drugs we wanted to.

This is where I will stop for now. As you can see, I was a normal child during my early years. Just a normal kid who wanted to play video games, run around town with his friends, skateboard, kiss girls, ride bikes, play sports, watch movies, and basically just have good ol’ sober fun. As I progressed into my pre-teens and early teenage years though, my idea of fun changed from those things I just listed to consuming all sorts of chemicals and thinking I had everything in control. In the next entry or two, you will see just how out of control things had become.

Skinny OUT!

Hello, my name is David but on this site I will refer to myself as Skinny or SL (Skinny Legz). That is the only time you will see my real name and I will also not be posting any other real names in my journal to protect the identities of the people I am writing about. I am a 22 year old male originally from New Jersey with a kind of crazy life. That is what this journal is going to consist of, all the crazy stories and things I have gotten into over the years. Unfortunately, I do not own a computer as of right now so I will only be updating when I happen to be in an apple store, or at my lovely girlfriend’s house. She will be referred to as BC, or Babycakes. Again, I don’t have time to update right now but expect the first post to be about my childhood from birth until my parents divorce. Basically from the innocent days of my life, when video games were my form of addiction and emotions or feelings were the furthest things from my mind. I’ll try to convey my life in the most detailed way I possibly can, and I just want to warn the readers right now that the further entires will contain PROFANITY. So please, fuck off if you’re gonna be a whiney little baby.

Until next time, Skinny is out!

When I met Melanie, I begged myself not to push her away. She's funny, nice, really, really cute and most importantly, a little broken on the inside, just like me! I really liked her too. While some might take hope from the lack of finality in our last conversation, nine out of ten impartial observers would have to agree that I pushed her away.

As I was saying to a close friend a week earlier, the whole "dating thing" was making me uncomfortable, enough to make me think that I wasn't ready. Too negative, lacking in trust and blind to the possibility that anyone could accept my life as being worth spending time in right now.

Really unhelpful thoughts, I know but I spend most of my weekends out of my head. I don't really want to be here half the time, nor do I want to be sober long enough to have to think too deeply about my life right now.

I should be grateful for the small things.

That I'm enjoying work, making new friends, don't mind waking up each day, off codeine, laughing again and actually want to live. After two years of a madness I often thought would be the end of me, it's nice to have time to breath, to give thanks that I'm here and recognise it took a lot to make it. The very term "breathing room" though implies that I still expect it to fall away under me at any moment.

It's that fear that makes me keep my distance.

I still have moments when I question everything, especially myself. There are still moments when all I can find when I look inside myself are blame and bitterness. There are still moments of spite and hurt when I want to tear down and destroy all that's left and to punish the people around me for being my friends.

This is why I haven't told anyone at my new work much about my personal life, in particular the last two years, nor have I mentioned my dad or depression. Some of the people who worked with me over the last year will always see me through a lens of sadness and pity, which is expected, but through such a prism, it's not always easy to see how happy one can be in the present.

pix as promised to certian women who live in places where its actually nice out LOL joking girl..... no nice snow pix but i love the docks so i went there and took pix.

i have to put then on another site as this one only allows 4 pix. Slow picture load, sorry.

http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g220/thehudsonfamily/december2009014.jpg (me after bawling for hours at home.)

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http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g220/thehudsonfamily/december2009003.jpg

http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g220/thehudsonfamily/december2009002.jpg

Hopefully those links work.

I tried finding the area my bestfriend and I went to, it was gorgeous and amazing to take pix, i wish i took pix that night I wasn't able to find it, I might try again some day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jD1TKBQvIxM

"Don't tell me I ran out of time
If it takes the rest of my life
Baby I will wait for you"

Click to expand...

I thought I was so hardcore, just cuz I've been addicted to heroin and cocaine fer years and kicked cold turkey literally thousands of times.
But benzos are hardcore.
And one hell of a brutal kick.
I gulped almost all the benzos i had laying around da crib.
Now I'm down to just a few,
PANIC TIME.

I usually Blog the shit outta Bluelight but I haven't been posting lately.

I wish I had. I've been learning a lot about myself lately through a variety of experiences.

Some of these have been painful lessons but quite effective in delivering info about myself.

Some lessons have come from watching others.

Some from simply being still.

During these times I should have written about what I have learned about myself as well as how I have learned.

To be honest, I have introduced a couple of people I know in real life to BL and I'm concerned that they may take what I write personally or out of context.

I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.

Another reason is that people that know my real life BL associates are manipulative, egotistical, hurtful mother fuckers who I consider 'enemies'. The less they know about me the less they can fuck with me.

These 'enemies' are a trial for me. One dude in particular has harmed someone close to me, harmed her mother and harmed her friends. I am TRYING HARD not to let my ego get in the way and play the role of some sort of 'administrator of justice'.

You see, this guy always has A LOT of dope at his house, A LOT of guns and, apparently, a lot of money. I am struggling with giving his address to some hardcore dope fiends I know who would LOVE to get their hands on the aforementioned. It would be an easy score for them, he would get terribly hurt and I would feel some sort of satisfaction.

Who the fuck do I think I am? Its not my place to play judge, jury and executioner. I'm trying to practice humility, patience, acceptance, compassion and faith concerning this.

IT IS NOT EASY. I truly want this dude to get what is coming to him but it really isn't up to me no matter how bad he deserves it. I need to have faith that life/the world/nature has its own way of correcting these things. I just wish I was a fly on the wall when it finally does.

Merry Fucking X-Mas to me huh?

When I lose it all, I really do lose it all don't I?

This time I'll get to see the true failure that is me as I see a man possibly die in a diaper or his own waste and watch our son cry and be fucked up truely day by day until he slowly either goes crazy, forgets his own father or goes the way of his mother's family.

We won't know until he can get a specialists appointment, which could take up to 3 months..... nice system huh?

While he sits here in pain, losing weight and sobbing in his bath each night thinking he is dying and might mever see his son fully grown, might never see grandkids, might never have any more kids of his own......Ohhhhh that's right......that last one is already ta shit....... fuck.

Whoever the fates are, can go fuck themselves and their due reason for picking a life like this for me, for terry and everyone that I truely fuck up in their life....or they fuck up in mine.

Shit. The damn fool got double fucked. Lost his fiancee, and possibly his life.

What a wonderful person I am, and yet, I cannot pitty be with him, though we are friends and I do love him in ways - he is my son's father after all.

fuck, life sucks big reindeer balls.

I hope it's not cancer, no matter how much he pisses me off or I hate him, I would never wish death or cancer on anyone.

Dear Santa?

I'm probably pathetic and crazy for posting this, but hey, what do I have to lose, when you've lost it all already...? y/n? So for once I will grow some balls (Jingle Balls? lulz) and post this thing.

This is long - be prepared- but please read!

I was falling so fast for you, the way we kissed and held each other, this is me after you have said goodbye even tho we shared just a short time together i will never forget you the way your lips brushed mine the way you ran your hands across my body i felt so alive and renewed it was all sureal but as quickly as we met it was over i just wish things were different i wish for a lot of things but i cant go back and change the past as to what happened to us, Darlin i just wish i had the oppertunity to unfuck the situation and be worthy of forgiveness. I just wish i had the opportunity to say goodbye in person, to hold you close to me let me hold your face in my hands and kiss you one last time, but i will never get to do that and i will always wonder what it will be like. Unless I'm fortunate enough to one day be worthy of forgiveness and I can have the pleasure of that heaven's kiss, such a wonderful bliss.
Until we meet again, I wish you well, and I'll love you always. You will always be my friend forever, I will always love you, but thinking of you day and night and how you broke my heart, it cannot go on or i'll end up going crazy from not bring able to touch you, or even hear your amazing voice once again. I went to call you the other day, I was going to be downtown, but then I realized that I no longer held that right, heald that pleasure of doing that anymore, so with tears in my eye, I put away my cell and kept trotting on. This stupidity- this fucitry that haooened broke my heart and deep like no other before - for some reason. The reason being YOU- the amazing REAL you. So I guess I have to try, day by day, to live my life again....without you my most amazing bestfriend in it. I think of you-I must admit at times when times of words that you have uttered I hear from others mouths or at those certian subway stops and downtown trips. Most times I have to hold my will, hold my breath, clear my throat, chin up, "man" up and not allow myself to cry-most times I fail though, like a weak little baby. If we cannot get unfucked, I must move on, live my life, no longer cry over a man that no longer (or ever) gave two whips of shit about me. Maybe once in a blue moon, I might write a I MISS U note on blue light, for the hell of it, why not try huh? Maybe one day. I am a Taurus, we never give up.
Things didn't work out how ......we? expected - dare hoped for them to. You will forever be my bestfriend, and I will always be greatful for meeting you that day on craigslist, that day on MSN, that day at VP with my bratty whiney kids.
You have been my rock, my touchstone. My heart is yours forever-for whenever you want it again. I am here-a phone call away, whenever you need someone, some help, just someone to get fucked up with?.
I was on the subway today, coming back from Mom & Dads house - they say hello and send their hugs by the way- I was passing VP, and I suddenly realized what if you fucked up and did something stupid drug wise, what if you died somehow, someway, anywhere in this great wide world......how would I ever know? I wouldn't, we no longer speak, none of your pals know of me, no trails of me at all except maybe a couple pictures.....if you kept them. I would never know none the less, you've always said your tag would go to HER, just for the lulz for seeing her bawl. How would I know? Would I ever? Fuck, I dunno If i would want to know, it would slowly kill me little each day if it did happen - heaven forbid. I must admit, while thinking about that on the train ride home, then for some reason I smelled your scent - weird huh? Maybe I'm going crazy, who knows - look at who my family is right? lulz. I must admit that tears came down by the bucket load, wouldn't, I tried to hide them, they wouldn't stop until METRO's parking lot, which didn't help either, the reminder of that sweet kiss in your truck, but I chinned up, "manned" up, and unfucked myself to by what I needed to buy.
Now here I sit at almost 7am in the morning, wishing I was spending it with you, coming down from stims all night, laying in your arms, touching your cheak as you faught off sleep and at times failed. You touching my ever soft skin of my hip talking softly of things I cannot hear as once again you forget I am deaf in my left ear - I smile thinking of that. I do hear the times you called me pretty, beautiful, the i heart you's. Wishing I was with you all stimmed up to the T, walking downtown talking non-stop, both of us, like we normally don't do much of without the help of lovely PV. To hear your lovely voice again-what I would give, for one more night of all that. What I would give for one more touch of your stubbled face, one more touch by you on my body, one more kiss - softly from your lips to mine. Your lips sweetly amazing. One hug, one more time to touch your face as I did as we rested in your bed after a stimmed filled night walking downtown, one chance to hold your hand, one chance for you to hold me in your arms all night long - touching me like you did back then. Talking to me - though deaf in my left ear and could not hear, the sound of your heartbeat - that techno heartbeat budda thump stop stop budda thump thump stop stop.
To feel wanted again, to feel loved perhaps again?
To feel that damn awesome once more, one more time. Then again I know what it would do, leave me wishing for one more day with you again.
Last night i had a dream, a dream that my wish came true - the first dream of you in awhile. First thing I did was throw my cell out the window and said FTW, then we laid in each others arms all night long, at times talking, at times just resting listening to each other breath, our heart beats. Thinking of what may. I laid there saying a million I'm sorry's and even more I you's. As all dreams do though, naturally, it ended and I awoke, I faught to dream again, dream of you. I could not, which is why I am up so early for me, writing this for you. Hoping you are reading it, and seeing how hurt I am, and how bad I miss my bestfriend and need you in my life. You said you were no good for me, your job, your habbit. So what? like I care? I was born into the drug life, I lived it, I used to DO it and want to again at times, or whenever. I was born a 5th generation army brat, no job could scare me away, hell your rifle in my face didn't, why would you or whatever you did or did not do...? How could I not love you, for everything that you are, the amazing man that you are- the one that you seem to not see in yourself.
That dream, those wishes won't come true though will they? It's up to you darlin', I will await always for your word, as pathetic as that may seem, you are worth it, you are most definately worth the wait. it won't come though will it? no matter how many I'm sorry's, no matter how many I LOVE YOU'S!
I fucked up big time, with my stupidity, my fucking impatience, fucking stupid taurus quality, I fucked it all up. Even though I am the one that walked away deeply heart broken, it is all my fault.
I lost another love of my life, lost another best friend, lost another amazing person, an amazing man, this time not by suicide gunshot to the head prolonged. This time by my own fault, I guess my own verbal gunshots that fucked everything I loved and heald dear, now washed away with the dish water. A man that most likely doesn't or ever did give two slap shits about me - but I have always and will always call you my besyfriend, treat you as my bestfriend, and forever love you and keep a big place in my heart for you.
I fucked up, -I- fucked up. I am always the stupid fuck up and probably always will be.
Keep fighting the "good" fight, keep living-don't you dare die before me!,be truely happy please, that's all I ask.

I LOVE YOU MY BESTFRIEND, I LOVE YOU. I MISS YOU EVERY DAY - ALMOST EVERY SECOND I BREATHE.

I'm sorry I fucked up and I know the I'm sorry's won't be good enough this time, though I wish they were.

When I sit on Santa's lap - that fat hairy pervert- my one christmas wish was.....? it was to have my bestfriend back in my life..... he looked at me and gave me a candy cane and wished me luck.

I don't think I belive in luck anymore, or fairytales, they died when the fairytale of you and me was over.

I'm sorry. I miss you, and I will always love you my bestfriend - and beyond.

Happy Holidays!








Dear Santa??