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.
).
![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
