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This is a nice tune that simplifies my feelings today:

Sounds From The Ground: London Fields

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you go by the power of thought, completely believing that if you say something with enough conviction it will be accepted as truth. you may only use that kind of manipulation with me but the harsh reality of what really transpires will surface, if what i believe is indeed submerged in your slight lies. the best lies are tied with small truths and youve found out how to utilize fiction with reality for your greater gain.

sometimes i actually doubt myself when youre talking, you wouldve made for a great hitler, but in a figurative black and white situation it's easy to see your feigned disposition. what i have continuously failed to understand is how youre able to do what you do. im sure the act of nonthinking plays a huge role, but what about the times youre ridden with guilt?

chivalry, honor, valor, loyalty, honesty

i thought these words played a part in you. maybe they do in the life youve made for yourself, the life youve chosen to keep so separate from her, but you cant leave any block in your life unturned in order to be the man you claim to be. reread the words to yourself and think if they truly describe who you are in ALL aspects.


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not sure if ill be sending this one. there's hardly a point, but im a firm believer in writing things down to get them out of my head. this is definitely not something i wish to keep in there anymore. his actions are his actions and all i can do is focus on what i can do for her. redundant me is redundant.
the sad thing is he still calls and talks to me. rarely to ask how she is but to say if he's late with child support. ill ask when he's going to see her next, he tells me, then the date flies by and no word.
were all of my efforts useless? or did i subconsciously know they were and just expressed how i felt to make myself feel better? should i even concern myself with this subject matter anymore and just how idiotic should i feel? do i have any idea what the fuck im talking about?
where's a damn handbook...

I started DBT yesterday and I'm really excited about it and think it's going to help me a lot. There was only 4 of us that showed up and 2 of the other ones were new too (I thought I was going to be the only new one). The other girl is going through DBT for her 2nd time to gain more out of it and it seems like she's already gotten a lot out of it. Every session starts with meditating and a lot of DBT is based on mindfulness and being in the now which is what we talked about today. We talked about how the reasonable mind and the emotional mind can combine to create the wiseful mind which is the ultimate goal. We also talked about anger and how to react to it. I talked about the problem that I repress a lot of my anger and then I eventually just explode. They told me that I need to recognize the anger that I'm feeling when I'm feeling it and it won't get out of hand like it sometimes can. After only the first session I'm learning to like and accept myself better. The people there seemed to be really supportive too which helped a lot. I'm actually looking forward to the next session and I don't mind that I have to get up so early for it. I think anyone could really benefit from this.

We masters at this. every one of us was born to wait. we waited on phone calls, waited for the streets to cool down, for the block to get less hot. we waited for the brick man to come, always 15 minutes away, always comin around the corner right now. " I just turned the corner nigga I see you! im right here yo, I see you right now ight Ill be right there!"

we waited for the d boy to get to our car, parked in line waitin to be served. roll down the window, quick, hand it off and go, make a clean getaway, waited til we made sure nobody was on us before we let ourselves feel safe.

we waited for payday, we waited for sisters and moms and to get home to borrow their credit card, for grandmas to need help with yard work, anxiously waitin for the pocketbook to open, hoping against hope we would get handed a few bills and the checkbook wouldnt come out to pay us instead.

we waited for the 45 minute drive to the only store that allows cash back when you buy shit with a check to end. we waited to finally be on our way to the dope and not just on the way to another one of the 500 things a hour out of the way that we had to do to get the money to get the dope before we could even begin.

we waited to find someone who would trade bundles for phone cards, for GPS's n ipods and electronic equipment, we waited for checks in the mail from somethin or other, birthdays, christmas, unemployment. we waited for our rides to get out of work to take us down, or back from coppin our shit while we waited at home. we waited for our connects to get out of jail, to get back from the city, to be done at probation, to get up in the mornin, we waited for them to put more minutes on their phones, sweatin n twisting in our seats, sittin in our car in some fast food parking lot hoping theyd remember that they told us to come up in 10 minutes and that theyd notice they hadnt got a call since then. hopin they didnt turn off the phone on purpose, that the jump out boys hadnt came thru, that they wasnt up there pushin everybody against the wall, hopin that they didnt run out and waitin to find out if they did.

we waited for court to end so we could take our hot-n-cold, sweatin, chill-shiverin asses a few blocks away and get right at 9:30 in the mornin, pushin the memory of wooden benches and the smell of munincipal carpeting to the back of our minds, ignoring the seriousness we felt just ten minutes ago while we stood in the defendant box and swore up and down we were done with that mess, waited for our mindsets go back to normal after keepin those reformed'n'redeemed fronts up for the judge, shakin off the sudden spell of confusion, of "is this really worth it anymore?" that washed over us while we stood listenin to the mess we'd be into if we didnt stop this shit before the sentencing date came up.

we waited to get to the pharmacy to get a pack of needles, cussin ourselves for only bringin one old ass set that clogged the second we tried to draw up water for the shot. we waited on line behind sniffling bronchitis-hackin babies n fat old heffas with toe fungus who waited for cough syrup antibiotics n foot cream. we waited for the pharmacist to look us up and down with that disapproving, slit-eye look , same as a cat does when its ears get all flat cuz it dont like somethin youre doin. we waited those fateful few minutes while she decided if they were just gonna happen to be all out of insulin syringes today, or give us the brown bag with the blue "i know exactly wat you up to" needle safety pamphlet inside.

we waited for a safe, or not so safe place to boot up, we waited for everyone to leave the bathroom, we waited for the people parked next to us to get out of their cars and go inside and stop staring at us. we waited for our hands to stop shaking while we unwrapped the rubber band, we waited for the stupid tape to rip open when they used the shitty shiny kind thats a bitch to slice thru to pack up the bags. we waited for the dope to pour out of the bag, we waited for it to come unstuck from the wax paper while we flicked it a million times tryin to get every last flake out into our bottle cap. we waited for it to dissolve into the water while we mixed it feelin like we were in slow motion, waited for the dope to slowly fill the syringe barrell as we drew it up, finally so close and time is going slower than it has all day in those last few seconds before liftoff.

we waited to find a vein, slappin at our arm, flexing it, squeezin our fists , prayin for one to show enough to hit it, we waited to see blood feather out into the barrel as we stuck ourselves over and over into one ruined, collapsed, scarred-ass vein after another, and finally pushed down the plunger, and then we waited, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, daaammnn..............for the rush to hit......

And after makin it thru one more day, we waited to wake up and do it all over again, the hustle, the phone calls, the drive and the tense-ass 10 minutes that could make or break us. we waited to make it off the block and back to the fringe of the city, the downtown, the area for people just passin thru, we waited for the light to change, nervously tappin our fingers on the wheel , eyeing the rearview for any of those blue and red stripes on a long white body with letters that spelled out trouble, and if we saw them we waited for em to pass, waited to see their blinker signal the opposite turn than we were making before we sighed with relief.

when we drove up the on ramp for the highway we drove careful, cautious, anxious waitin to get out of the danger zone where the hondas and fords and dodges with full black, deep tinted windows always lurking, always following a few cars behind their target, actin casual till theyd zoom in for the takedown. we waited to just get far enough away, to get back into neutral territory, to cross the invisible line somewhere up the road that would turn us from suspects into regular people just goin about our days. we felt our hearts skip a beat n go a little faster when we passed by that old enemy, the black on black charger, black rims black tints black grill, and it pulled out behind us.

and as it gained on us, not changin lanes, not goin around us, not just coincidentally headin off to some call that it got dispatched to at the same time we drove by, we waited again. Only this time it was the bad kind of waiting, the kind where you wish you could just cut to the end and spare yourself all the trouble in between, but instead you gotta sit thru it like a movie you seen a hundred times before, and tell yourself i told you so, and all you can do is wait.

So we waited for the inevitable, playing out in slow motion, knowing more than we ever knew anything in our lives up to that moment wat was coming next n not being able to do one damn thing about it, waited for the lights to flip on, red n blue light bursting off our mirrors like a explosion of fireworks set off by the TNT squad to celebrate "youre fucked" day.

when the stiff blue suit in shiny black boots stepped up to our window we reached for our papers, trying to stop our hands from shakin, handed them over almost guilty-like, feelin like a child giving back something he swore he didnt steal. and then we waited for the computer to run our plates, our licenses, our names, our records, knowing the things that would appear on the screen would turn our situation from a "lets just have a little look here and see wats going on" into a painfully simple "2+2=?" type problem for the officer. we waited for the other patrol car to show up and for the second or third cop to appear at the window on the other side, surveying the floor, the back seat, shining flashlights, and we waited for the questions we could count on coming next, the why are you here, wat you doing, where did you go, and do you mind if i look around the car a little bit.

we sat on the side of the road, or with our hands on the hood while cigarette packs and used up match books n water bottles n q tips with the tops pulled off n magazines n mcdonalds wrappers got stirred to the top of the piles in the backs of our cars by the quick, efficient pink-knuckle sausage hands of the state police, inspecting everything in the car til they found wat they knew was there somewhere in all that mess, waited for them to stop for a second and call to the other officers to come over and stand as witnesses while they read our rights, cuffed us up and led us to the back of the cruiser.

we waited for the ride to the station to be over, for papers to get processed , for the mug shots and fingerprints to get done, and behind closed eyes we waited n schemed on how to cop another couple bundles before we got home for the night. got released with some papers and a court date n went back to the spot, knowin the odds are that gettin caught twice in one day is almost never gonna happen, and copped right this time, in and out, quick and clean. and even though it killed us, this time we played it safe for once, waited til we got back home to hit the dope. we waited til we stepped inside, kicked off our shoes, down the stairs, shut the door, and unwrapped our sweet escape, got higher than high before we passed into a deep, dreamless unconsciousness, lights on, shoes on, feet hanging off the bed, door locked and a needle laying half under us on the blanket, surrounded all over by half burnt cigarette butts dropped by fingers that lost their grip halfway thru, and a orange safety cap printed into the skin of our back the next morning.

i found a .38 special round in my droor today. it was a gift from a while ago i cant stop thinking i wish i had the gun it went to. the fmj against the back of my skull puts me at peace. its fucked up i have to think about dying to feel better. i think ill buy a .38 just to keep around. maybe staring at that will help me out.

thx for the bullet Kari in some fucked up way i still miss you.

In light of some darkness in my life.
quitting my job- ingloriously, by creating an insane vortex of everything fucked up.

i loved my job, but resented that my boss put everything on me, no vacation time, no assistant. So in the span of 3 months - stopped caring.

I am not so sad about not having a job, as I am sad to make M so upset and stress, and angry at myself for allowing such misjudgment to fuck so much up. Extremely outside of my personality.

I have never fucked up so horribly with such disregard in my life.

As last night was another sleepless night of anguish, worry, disappointment, and hamster wheels of criticism thwarted at my psyche. I keep remembrance of being present and focusing on now, because really that is all I can do.

So now, I am currently cramming in 10 years of Mathematics to score well on the admissions assessment test. I really would like to avoid taking classes I aced in high school, alas dusting off the algebra that lay on a forgotten fold in my brain next to chemistry & DARE.

I forgot how much I actually enjoy studying. I hope I recall this feeling when knee deep in exams.

For now I am hopeful, though fearful of my future. But the good docs and their amazing tests will only tell. I worry that I may have cushing's syndrome or something more on the serious psychiatric side. Not histrionic, just serious self evaluation of how i feel; chronically fatigued, unfocused, non-cohesive thoughts and speech, forgetfulness, apathy, lethargy, and other actual physical maladies that are a bit too personal than I am even will to share with bl. None are attributed to drug consumption, actually it seems (haha) the lowering of mind altering drugs over the past 2 years (not that I was amazingly excessive to begin with) shows an opposite curve to my well-being.

But this too I am striving to set aside until the appropriate evaluations are allocated. Though, I wasted three days of potential studying to slump into a pile of fright, bitterness, and shrill.

Because of my health, truly fucking up my past job, and going to school in a few short weeks; I am left with little self-confidence concerning new work. I keep browsing through adverts...

Too much responsibility, too many hours, too menial, NO food (the last restaurant I worked at, I developed bulimia!), No Background checks, No drug testing, Too far from where I live...

Unfortunately I too often take on more than what is humanly possible (lol). I promised myself I would only seek what I can actually handle.

Though because of the "economy" I note TONS of managerial positions- which a year or two ago I would have jumped to the occasion.

You know the jobs that make you the company bitch- Ordering, data entry, Customer Service, Research etc etc.

Yeah, I have concluded that companies that offer theses "all inclusive" jobs- are bat shit crazy to think one person could effectively do every task perfectly. Been there, done that- check please.

No amount of pay could make such an advent worthy. 99% of the time an employer will pay a person 14 dollars an hour and promise an assistant "in the near future" - which will never happen. So there goes vacations, days off, sick time, planning for anything outside of your job.

Slowly I am getting myself together, for now a crawl- maybe tomorrow a sprint. Or whatever I have energy for.

xo

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

An updated version of a poster I made recently. When I'm high on meth, I'll sometimes feel spiders crawling beneath my skin (usually on my arms or legs, but occasionally my face too!) and I have a bad habit of trying to pick the spiders out. I know it sounds pretty fucked up, and I guess it is!

Sometimes, I get a warm, pleasant feeling within me.

Sometimes, I see a purpose.

Sometimes, I hate myself.

Sometimes, I can't understand not being understood.

Sometimes, I chase simplicity.

Sometimes, this chase is complicated.

Sometimes, I see a future.

Sometimes, I see my own death.

Sometimes isn't all the time.

I'm glad for this.

NOVEMBER 20th, 2004, age 20 - Proof I'm A Pedantic Bitch When Hooked On P
Okay well I've been slack about writing over this past week. To be honest it's a fairly hard week to recall. I binged.
On Wednesday I slept all day since I'd been up all day Tuesday night writing in here. I was still fairly exhausted from last week's binge so with a mixture of morphine, Phenergan and good old mary jane I slept all that night as well. Marika always tells me I need to not use any drugs other than weed until the weekend because otherwise I start binging during the week, or I end up using during the week anyway - I really should start taking her advice. Of course the pills made me wake up tired and of course being tired made me crave stimulants. Since my main drug of choice is...well...a stimulant, giving in was inevitable. Especially when I had to drive around on Thursday morning with five grams of beautiful crystalline pure, of the best quality Pete can cook, in the glove-box, and with Graeme puffing away beside me. So that's how early on a Thursday morning I ended up on the P...and of course once I'd started I didn't stop because that's just how it works with me and P.
By Thursday night I was through nearly two grams and needed more. I don't understand this - I was in detox just two weeks ago!
I was also out of weed...so I went round to Alannah's to see if I could score a fifty bag off Andrew, or maybe his dealer, Carl (and I guess, deep down there was a slice of hope that she'd have a bit of meth to keep me going), however it turned out that Andrew was in Australia this week, taking part in a giant crystal meth haul. Not a big dilemma - maybe he'll be nice and bring Alannah back some crystal, which in turn she'll share with me?
She'd texted Carl but then she'd gone and crashed her car by putting the steering into lock and running over the kerb in a fit of rage because her loser methhead friends (okay maybe I can't talk...) wouldn't give her any P when she'd chipped in towards a communal gram. Of course her phone charger was in the car and the phone's died before Carl could get back to her.
Instantly I formed the perfect plan in my racing head - I told Alannah that if she helped me find some weed (since she always goes on about all these tinniehouses she knows in Otara) I'd hook her up with some P. Easy solution.
She was eager and since even though she reckons she doesn't have a methamphetamine habit she was crashed-out big-time and looking pretty stressed about not scoring, she was an easy fish to bait. I have to laugh at how Alannah and I use each other - we'd never be friends if it wasn't for weed and meth. We're not really friends - she annoys the shit out of me...she's a compulsive liar and over-exaggerater (like Harley but worse) and of course smoking P makes that ten times worse! She's ditzy, stupid, egotistically vain and totally selfish - she's like May with red hair.
Not to mention the shit she puts other people through - she's stringing along, like, ten nice guys (who all think they're her boyfriend) at once, and her little daughter, Trinity (who I'm actually, admittedly, becoming quite fond of) gets toally neglected. All the power's off in her house because she hasn't paid the power bill for months, yet she still goes out buying P! Now if she was like that because of her little addiction to P I wouldn't judge her for being like that but she's always been like that. Also she thinks she's so gorgeous, and she always did used to have an attractive figure (not too fat, not too thin, and with decent tits), not to mention a gorgeous olive complexion, but really other than that she's fairly average. In fact now she's a little underweight with those saggy little tits you get from abusing stimulants (John calls them 'meth tits') plus she has that typical pale grey shade across her skin, super-visible veins and dark circles under her eyes that also come with the territory. Still she's the only person I know who actually thinks everyone's jealous of how beautiful she is.
Okay I'll stop bagging her there.
So I drove us all the way down to Otara, expecting to be driving round all these new tinniehouses, then we stopped outside the first one, and it was a block of council flats. Alannah couldn't remember for sure but she thought it was flat B - but she wouldn't come in with me! So there I am in the middle of the seediest side of Auckland, not even knowing whether the place I'm outside is really a tinniehouse or not - of course I didn't go in! I lost my switchblade to the pigs when they busted me - remember...
I was so pissed off because Alannah had made out that she was going to hook me up. Then it turned out she didn't even know any other tinniehouses. In the end I drove on to Papakura in a fairly shitty state. I was starting to come down from my last hit of P and I didn't feel good. Luckily my favourite Papakura tinniehouse was open and well-stocked with some decent shit.
I drove back, picked up Trinity (who we'd dropped at Mark's place) and, because I was feeling nice (and fiending) took us to Pete's place so Alannah could score some P. Now I've hooked Alannah up with a reliable dealer when it was supposed to be her hooking me up! Oh well, at least I got another ounce of P. I'm hoping that will do me for two weeks. Maybe I'd better get back on the needle since my tolerance is building up so fast again.

NB. - Marika was my drug and alcohol counsellor for nearly 5 yrs - tbh she helped save my life
- Pete was a gang member I used to cook/deal/distribute for (methamphetamine only)
- Graeme was a friend I used to cook/deal with (also a gang member - same gang) now doing time for cooking P
- Alannah was a drug buddy, who has now moved to Sunshine Coast to escape the drug scene, give her daughter a chance at life and escape her abusive ex-partner who always tried to fight for custody of her daughter
- Andrew is Alannah's brother, now doing time for Ecstasy importing
- Carl was the guy cooking/supplying P/E to Andrew
- Harley is my ex
- May is one of my friends, but shes still a heavy stimulant user
- Trinity is Alannah's daughter; she was about 2 wen this was going on, so she'd b bout 6-7 now
- John is one of my friends, one of those lucky guys who can use P without getting hooked! (he does like the booze a bit much tho....)
- Mark is Alannah's violent gang-affiliated meth-addled ex, the father of Trinity
- tinniehouses (to u non-kiwis) r basically underground tinnie ($20 worth of weed wrapped in tinfoil - can vary in size and strength/quality of the weed itself) shops that stoners learn of by word of mouth
- as usual, not all the names i hav used here, for obvious reasons, r real names...some r definitely aliases, as if those ppl got on BL for any reason and saw my pic/read my entries in this blog, theyd know who i was straight off!

Where to begin, where to being!

So much has changed in the time between these posts, it really reminds me why I wanted to keep track of my thoughts in the first place. So unfortunately I haven't been writing and that is going to be a new years resolution this year. I really, REALLY want to write about all the stories and experiences that I have been going through in my life so I can remember them when i'm older and see the progression and progress i've made over time.

Today its a cold day in December, not too cold mind you - but cold enough to make you shiver a little bit. Since out last depressed post I have made leaps and bounds of improvement, which is exciting in its own rite - but exciting me to be able to WRITE it! On October 7th (or around there) after much internal struggle I decided I needed to seek some outside help in taking control of my opiate-run life. I researched some options and decided that methadone would be the best of the 3 options I had (as I saw it). My parents were out of town for 3 weeks, I had blown the $1600 insurance check that I had gotten when a lady side swiped my car on heroin, and thus had no money and a huge dope habit. Plus all you had to do was take one look at my arms to see how deep in I was.

So I managed to scrape up enough money to buy 2 last bags of black tar heroin, one for bedtime and one for when I woke up. I had heard the intake process at the clinic was long and arduous so I knew I wanted to be at the very minimum "normal" feeling if not "high" while filling out/waiting the 3+ hours it takes to go thru.

I got off work about 9pm the night before I was gonna go to the clinic, let my dogs out/fed them. Got a bite to eat myself and trudged upstairs to my room where I turned on the TV and tried to relax and decompress the days thoughts. I pulled out my works and started prepping for my bedtime shot. Knowing in my head that this might be the last time I got to do this ritual for quite some time. Spoon? Check. Tore open the biggest looking balloon and smashed it down into the spoon, and then carefully but quickly yanking the plastic paper off leaving the sticky tar stuck to the spoon with no residue left on the baggie. You could say I had gotten good at this by now. Uncap the insulin syringe - drew up 50ml of water and shot that into the spoon. Picked the spoon up now careful not to spill any water (with my notoriously shakey hands) and added heat by way of my bic lighters flame. Once the tar was beggining to dissolve and mix in with the water I removed the heat and carefully sat the spoon back down on my bedsite table - propped up by a pack of ciggarettes (marlborol lights). I pulled off the backside of the plunger and used it to mix the heroin and water together to form a unified mixture. Once the solid tar had dissolved to my liking and everything was ready - I reassembled the syringe and pulled out a q-tip. ripped off a peice of cotton from one of the ends and rolled it into a small, tight little ball between the ends of my fingers. i pressed that onto the tip of the needle and gingerly put the needle tip down into the solution - ever so careful to not let the needle push through the cotton cap I had made. I pulled back on the plunger, sucking the heroin/water mixture up into the barrel making sure to get every last drop. My mouth was salivating like pavlovs dogs. I tapped the barrel of the syringe, knocking off the cotton filter into the now empty spoon. I then dipped the exposed needle into the cup of purified water I was using to remove any heroin that was on the outisde of the needle because I had found that when injecting - that little bit of heroin left on the outside of the needle tip irritated my skin and left a much larger than normal welt which was obvious and tell-tell and drew more attention to my arms than I felt comfortable. I had always been a master of deception. Its the little things, ya know?

As I sat perched on the side of my bed, I didnt even use a tourniquet. Blessed by the dope gods, my veins have always been huge and bulging. Never EVER had need for a tourniqet. I used to use one because everyone told me so and everyone else did - but it was just a hassle so I never used one when I was by myself. Fist pumped a few times to get them to really "pop" and selected my favorite. Deep breath in, and then *poke*, *poke* almost like an underwater burp. You could hear the needle peirce the vein and I knew I was in without even registering. But to make certain I always register. Pulled back on the plunger and *poof* that beautiful crimson column of blood came squirting into the chamber of light amber heroin. 3...2...1... BLAST OFF.

I slowly pushed the plunger down, down, till it stopped. Instantly aware of all my senses, so in tune with my body. The rushing came up from the depths of my heart, pumping, pulsating - pushing throughout my whole body. It was amazing. Nothing short of. The ringing in my ears continued as I pulled the needle from my arm and began the washing and cleaning rituals. I grabbed a washcloth and applied preassure to the injection spot (to help prevent bruising) and lay back on my bed with not a care in the world.

wow. just writing that was insanely cathartic.

that was my life for the last year. ill have to add in some of the scoring stories cause some of those are great too but wow. I cant believe I can write like that, I cant believe my life was really like that. its so intresting and odd the way we detach and compartmentalize so its sometimes like we arent even living that life - we are just experiencing it through someone else.

im sorry i got off track. the clinic... where was i???

oh yes, so I went to sleep and woke up EARLY at 6 am. took the dogs out/fed them and then took my last shot on the way to the Mcleod Center (methadone clinic)...

ill have to finish later.

This was from another old diary I found (just realised, I would have just joined BL by then!)

25th November, 2005 - HOW I ACT WHEN I'M ON P
Okay after I wrote in here last I vowed to sleep off this shit so I'm not dying of lack of sleep and heading for another little breakdown or something.
It's quite hard because I talk too much when I'm tweaking so everyone knows, which makes me paranoid, which makes it more obvious I'm tweaking.
For all my hard-earned paranoia Mum doesn't know unless I scratch myself. So I don't scratch, around her anyway.
I did another few grams this morning instead of sleeping because I need to have been up on it for a good number of hits - I either crank it all at once and have a really super-power twitchy, in-your-face short but sweet meth buzz or I tweak away pleasantly for days, holding out until I can sleep deeply.
Otherwise I don't sleep properly.
See what's worse, consistently having cravings and disturbed sleep after a once-daily hit, or having huge (well a day or two) periods of not using P but sleeping deeply and tweaking more?
It's a smarter method of tweaking in my opinion.
Still I need a lot to stay up now. The first time I took P I was off my nut all that day and night - and I snorted it then! Now I can sleep by the end of the day should I keep strictly to 4 grams.
Well I'll sleep tonight - one night of tweaking, two days off - that's great for me!
Still I am hoping to cut down and I have not really cut down yet - and tomorrow's Friday. Psychologically, Friday is a P-craving day for any tweaker. Day one of the weekend run. I want to go out and do something - go out drinking and popping pills and smoking weed then hitting the P and doing crazy shit and talking about crazy shit.
Like I say it makes me talk more than anything else.
I have shameless self-importance when I'm tweaking. I brag and buzz out and try to gather an audience.
Like today I was jumping on Maverick and talking all loudly about how little the training jumps seem now compared to when I was beginning to jump. I sounded very pompous I'm sure. I galloped egotistically over the difficult coffin jumps, chevron, double spreads, oxers and plunged confidently into the water jump. I even popped Nuggets coincidentally (not) just as the kiddies rode past on their My Little Ponies.
Nuggets is the official name for the largest open oxer on the grounds, comprised of four solid logs piled up across a base of scoria. It looks more like an observer's seat than a jump and is generally the jump at Massey notorious for striking fear into the heart of every rider that hasn't reached open level yet.
I am an open rider now but I have a long way to go before I can get away with flaunting it like that. Some of the other open riders probably think I'm a bit of a dick, a bit up myself.
It is a killer adrenalin rush but it leaves me looking like a show-off. Oh well.
God I'm actually sleepy.
Okay I lie, I feel like I no longer want to write, just lie in the dark and scratch and try to concentrate on keeping my arse from jumping up and running to the cupboard where I've stored the shit I'm supposed to be selling our customers.
Good night while I tweak away - it won't be for me, I'm slowly whacking back into methamphetamine cravings.
Jeez, only I can be still tweaking, yet craving more P aleady, and about to try and go to sleep.
I'm crazy, crazier than I thought.

NB. Maverick is my Arabian horse (the one jumping in the avatar) - at this time of my life I was using IV very heavily, but I still just managed to finish getting my Pony Club certificates with him (you have to stop going to Pony Club at 22 - I was 21 by this stage) and trained this horse myself to become an open eventer (top level at Pony Club)....however we have since competed in other disciplines, his forte being show-jumping.
Massey is a suburb of west Auckland - Maverick and I went to Massey Pony Club at this stage (although when I first got him we were at Te Atatu Pony Club, which I was kicked out of for obvious reasons!)

i had two presentations to do this week for school. last tuesday i had to present bing.com, explain how to work it and all that dumb shit. today i had to present my OWN web page for my HTML class. i had to take 5mg of xanax on each day. i thought 3mg would do the trick, but nope. i thought 5mg would be a little much, but it was perfect. which fucking sucks. for sooo long now i've been managing my anxiety with xanax. i ran out of other options when my insurance ran out. i was doing so good. i would only buy a few, and take .5 when i had to do important things. then i would save my last 1mg for months, knowing that i had that one little blue pill, just in case, was enough to keep me sane.

lately i've been really depressed. my social anxiety has gotten so bad that i rarely ever leave my house. i make excuses constantly as to why i can't go out. i don't feel comfortable enough to answer my own telephone. i hate driving. i don't go anywhere alone usually. i just really hate the way i'm living right now. i don't feel comfortable in my own skin. i've experienced withdrawal before and it was horrible. and i know it's coming soon. i was going to try and taper off, but then these presentations came up and they seriously made me feel like i was going to vomit every time i thought about it. i can't even describe the feeling. and my mind would get consumed with these negative thoughts, that i KNEW were irrational but there was nothing i could do about it. it's hell.

and the ONLY thing that ever makes me feel comfortable, is xanax. fuck tolerance, and fuck social anxiety. and especially fuck depression and FUCKING BEST FRIENDS WHO KILL THEMSELVES AND FUCK MY FUCKING HEAD UP FOR THE REST OF MY FUCKING LIFE.

everything ive done lately ive fucked up.

now i might have lost everything i love.

my daughter
my bestfriend

I sit here holding back tears, i cant cry i cant cry i have to be strong.

i never meant to be anything but a good mother, a good friend.

btw, i never meant to come off as stalkerish or anything but a friend.....and to my kid.....a good mother.

seems i can't do anything right.

i cant cry, i cant cry, i MUST be strong.
crying is a weakness.

i fail at everything.

i cant cry i cant cry i cant.

Several things have come about.

I dont know what will happen to me.

Serious health issues- two major possibilities. Each contain potentials to destroying my life as a normal, functioning person.

Devastating truly.

Endocrinologist soon, I hope to get a appointment by next week.

I'm going back to my old house tonight. There is nothing but memories that last time I was there I was curled up in a ball crying. I can't handle being there. The only reason i'm doing this is I don't want my mom to spend the night alone there. She gets depressed and I worry.
I knew there was no heat and I just found out that the water got shut off and I can't help her with it till the 16th. I feel like since I haven't seen her much I should be there now.
So many memories..having to face our old room. I'm scared.

probably deleted it. knowing my luck.

So, I bought some seeds from cannabisseeds.com
I hope the're legit b/c i spent 60 buckaroons on these bad boys...
I've tried reading up on them, all old posts (circa 2008) so I'm kinda hoping most of the people are wrong about them. I recieved them in a timely fashion, took my money on the 29th, sent them on the 1st and recieved them on the 9th....
I just started to germinate the 20 whitewidow and 12 of the hayamilain (sp?) gold... hope they actually sprout...seeds look kinda small but they are all nice n dark and tiger coated and none are brittle...*crosses fingers* weeeeee

I regret this episode in my life and don't try this at home

OK, here is the story of me as a young lad new on the drugs scene (but wait, read on, I have questions):

Me and my friends used to take lots of pills. In fact we would have competitions to see how many we could take (so stupid it's unbelievable).

Any way, often what would end up happening is we would start talking to inanimate objects, ordering pizzas on phones that where not there. From a first person perspective it was like losing focus and suddenly you are somwhere else entirely, not as lucid as proper trips, but strange at the same time.

[Anecdote] once me and some friends had an ounce of mandy and 100 vallium. Lost a week of my life - no recolection till I woke up on the floor next to a tv that had been completly dismatled and realising that I had to catch a train in an hour. People tell me they would come by the flat and I'd be talking to my ipod (not iphone), and my friends would be doing similar stuff, staring at a fridge and laughing, talking to a spanish dictionary ect. ... apparently at one point I went rollerskating around a park (odd as I don't own roller skates and don't know how to use them). [/Anecdote]

Any how, my question is this. I'm sure a lot of people know what I'm talking about, but why do you think it happens? How dangerous is it? Sometimes it seems to come with dosing for too long or too frequently, I wonder why.

Any thoughts, or stories? By the way, don't do this, it's not fun and its not pretty! It also is probably really bad for you.

Right now I'm having a nice benzo nod on 10mg clonazepam... maybe more. I lost count somewhere along the way. My memory isn't very good. And my bottle is starting to get empty, so I figured I'd better stop taking more tonight. Feeling good though. No worries, no cares. I just finished a slurry conversation with my mum, about my meth dealer, and how he's a good guy who could really make something of his life. I'll probably regret that conversation in the morning. But right now, all is well in my little world. I'm wrapped in my warm benzo blanket.

I flick the flame and watch intently
The shards crackle and melt down gently
White clouds start to fill the pipe
Swirling 'round, what sight!

I hold the glass stem to my lips
Slowly inhaling a nice big rip
Then it hits me like a sudden spark
A bolt of lightning in the dark!

You-

I feel guilty. Why do I feel guilty? I don't recall doing anything wrong. But I feel guilty and aweful and horrid I don't know why. I feel..... it's hard to explain. Almost like accidently killing your lover in a gun fight..... but not even coming close but that's the closest I can come to explaining how I feel to you. And they say siroquil works...HA! well at least it has a side effect of weight gain, maybe I'll finally gain that 15Lbs I've been trying for. Well now it's 20-25Lbs cause I've lost weight in 3 weeks(over ALL the missing kid drama and everything, not just you)....now im down to 100.8Lbs from 112.8Lbs.

-me

Has Anyone tried These Pills On So Cal??
Let Me Know ASAP Thank You

It seems like I always need to be under the influence of some kind of drug. When I'm not on meth, I used to drink a lot. But now that I've pretty much stopped drinking, I tend to reach for my bottle of clonazepam instead - taking insanely high doses, that would probably make somebody with no tolerance to the drug fall unconscious. It's almost like I have an aversion to sobriety, or maybe even a fear. I need to be on something just to get through the day... just to keep on going.