***Warning to all readers (if any)***
I have never written in a blog before, so I would appreciate critique. The reason I want to start now is because I have a clandestine drug problem and cannot talk, vent, or discuss it with anyone who understands or even wants to listen. I am currently on the road to recovery, and just get the need to write sometimes. I have a journal (well many) and write creatively for my own pleasure, but I would like to detail the history of my usage in an attempt to help others with similar problems or perhaps ward others off from repeating the same or like mistakes. That explains this weblog. Please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. I can be a dry writer, so I'll try bore you to death. Anyways, the show must go on...
As always, it is a beautiful day in San Jose, where I currently reside. I am in my mid-twenties and am an opiate addict. Not to scoff at any heavier opiate users, but I am addicted to something far less serious than Heroin or Oxy, the current bane of my existence is Poppy pods. I have been using them for well over 2 years, but have been using various opiates on and off for well over 10 years. I have lived a rather normal life up until about a year ago. And by normal, I mean not opiate dependent. "Didn't you say that you have been using pods for over 2 years." "Yes, my loyal reader, but up until last summer I had managed to keep physical dependence at bay." Not any more, I have joined the masses of people plagued by everpresent opiate dosing, lingering withdrawls, and persistent side-affects. I won't go into too much detail about my life at the moment (mostly because it's fucking boring, especially compared to many of bluelight's more experienced users), but I just would like to add that up until about 6 months ago, my drug usage has not really been a hindurance on my daily life. I have slowly become more apathetic and consumed by my daily doses. While my tolerance has remained somewhat the same, I find myself absolutely consumed by thoughts of getting high and doing nothing (well, nothing productive). It has got to the point where I have almost no emotions, I feel numb all over. I feel as if a limb has been amputated, but I can still feel its presence. The same for my emotions, I don't feel them at all, and while I know that I should, they are just not there. This has had a profound effect on me, and while I continue to use, I miss those roller coaster of a ride that used to exist within me. And, though if this were the only one this were to affect, this would not be such a nuisance, but I am engaged to a beautiful and amazing girl, who I feel should not have to suffer my indifference.
So, on this beautiful day, as I'm at work waiting for a single phone call to bide my time, a fleeting moment of emotion hits me, and I become a bit nostalgic. Perhaps it's the neglect to which I have shown my past, or perhaps it's the morphine running through my bloodstream, whatever it is, I feel like reminiscing right now. Oh, where to begin...
**Flashback resolve, cue music**
Its July 2004, and I'm home from college. San Diego, my old stomping grounds, has become a place of regrets and haunting memories. I wile away my time by smoking weed, going to the beach, meeting old friends, reading unfinished books from the school year, avoiding my ex-girlfriend, and delving into my mom's many Morphine 30mg EX pills. At this point, I had not developed a tolerance or even a mental addiction, just a taste for the finer opiates. I had experimented with all sorts of other opiates, mostly prescription, but have yet to experience any of their nastier side-effects. My mom, being rather oblivious to my taste for her meds, doesn't hide them, she just puts it on her coffee table right next to the couch. Plain as sight. It's too much to bear, and I find myself taking 2 to 3 of them every week or so. My parents had divorced a long time ago, and when I come home from school I follow my old pattern of a week at my dad's and a week at my mum's. So, while I'm at my mom's I begin my coptic ritual of crushing the little red pills on her bathroom counter, pouring them in a glass of warm water and chugging it down. It begins as a rare event, one looked upon with much anticipation, and soon develops into a biweekly one. At the pinnacle of the summer, I plan a lonely evening with my new found love, morphine, at the movies. This will be my first time taking the drug and doing anything outside of watching TV late at night or driving around in my mom's car. It's kind of like a first date. But unlike a first date, I plan on getting beligerently fucked up and actually having a good time. This summer was also the first summer after I had been dumped by my ex-girlfriend and I knew she was home from school as well. She had wanted to maintain a friendship with me, but after I felt she had ripped my heart out enough times, I was not in the mood for troubling emotions. I find it funny and a little ironic because I had started using opiates to escape emotions, and I want to stop for that exact same reason. Anyways, my ex and I had talked about meeting up and I accidentally told her about the movie.
"Why can't we meet up and see it together," she pleads, "are you going with someone else?"
"No," I retort, "I still don't know if I'm going myself." Liar. "Besides, I know you don't like Japanese movies, especially samurai ones." Still trying to think of a reason why she couldn't come along without actually saying that I dreaded seeing, nothing came to mind. Also, I knew I would melt in her arms if I saw her, so I was dreadfully afraid of seeing her and falling into old habits (I hadn't had sex or any kind of sexual contact in over 6 months).
"Amy, I'm sorry, I just want to go by myself and need some time alone," now she knows I'm full of shit, "it has nothing to do with you, I just need more time to recover."
"Okay, I guess I understand. I just thought you would want some company," she says in her most pathetic voice. "Well, maybe another time."
"Yeah, sure, we'll meet up another time, maybe get a coffee," liar.
Deep down, I knew why I didn't want her to come and it had nothing to do with the reasons I gave. I wanted to be overwhelmed by the warm, comfortable feeling of an opiate high. I didn't want to feel, and I certainly didn't want to relive any of the chaotic emotions that I felt after our breakup.
Planning ahead of time like a good little drug user, I swipe 2 and 1/2 of my mom's 30mg ex pills, and proceed to drive to the theatre. Now, those that are familiar with San Diego know that is far from being a haven for any sort of artistry. With the exception of a few communities, it is almost completely devoid of anything even slightly creative. So, needless to say there are only two independent movie theatres in the city proper; Hillcrest and La Jolla. The movie I had planned to see,
Zatoichi: The Blind Swordsman, was playing at La Jolla. The theatre parking rests behind the actual theatre, which is where I parked to prep my little concoction. Knowing that it takes 30 to 45 minutes for the MS to hit me, I put the water bottle in my pocket after mixing in about 70mg of Morphine Sulphate with warm water inside. I proceed to head in the theatre and buy a sprite to wash down the nasty chemical taste of the pills. I take a seat as the previews are beginning and waste no time in chugging down as much of the mixture as I can without vomitting. In two gulps, I'm finished and then mix a little sprite in the soda to get the remaining MS, and then wash it down with another big gulp of sprite. Now, the waiting game. I wait patiently, with a big 'ol grin on my face as the morphine slowly hits me. Slowly, but surely, I feel a warm tickle start in my stomach and spread throughout the rest of my body. I slouch in the theatre's old, uncomforitable chairs, but don't feel any discomfort all. Quite the contrary.
To be continued...
