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Has anyone switched from Methadone to suboxone and was it an easy transition.

Should I get a starter electronic keyboard, or a starter electric guitar and amp set?

Time I started learning to play an instrument again!

:D

So, I picked up again.

I was feeling good and felt like 'one more time'. I have a lot of experience that tells me that there is no such thing as a last time.

A couple of days into my stupid decision, I was shooting coke and was rather paranoid. My girlfriend called and texted me a bunch of times and I didn't reply (I was fucked up).

I had both locks on the door as well as the chain. I had done a nice shot of the last of my shit and was sitting on the floor of my bedroom leaning against the bed. The lights were off in my room. I had the closet light on with the door slightly open to allow a bit of light into the room.

I heard someone at the door. My girl came over and was able to reach her hand inside the door and undo the chain.

I knew what was coming when I heard the steps creek that led upstairs. I startled her when she got to the bedroom door. The light from the closet was angled directly where I was sitting on the floor. I was sweaty, shaky and my heart was pounding.

I told her I fucked up and that I was shootin' coke. She was devastated. I lied and hurt her. The deceit is what is most hurtful, I believe. I lied to her and we were doing so well.

The next day when I was at work, 'M' came to my house and found my needles, spoons, empty bags, weed pipe, plastic weed containers and, worst of all, bloody paper towels. She also saw blood droplets on the kitchen floor.

She came to my work and confronted me. I made her cry from this bullshit decision. She was furious, hurt, deceived and betrayed. I never wanted to hurt her. I wanted to use a little and then stop. Just keep it my own little secret. She is the one person that I feel comfortable and safe telling my secrets to. I'm an asshole. I hurt her.

I will be in a rehab facility in (hopefully) a week. My insurance doesn't cover behavioral health so in order to get funding for treatment I need to get a letter from my insurance company stating that this isn't covered. Once I have that, I need to go to the Welfare Office and get a rejection letter. THEN I can call this place that will give a one-on-one assesment and hopefully pay for the Rehab up the street from me.

I may have destroyed the best thing that could ever happen to me.

I wonder how big the hard drive was on the mech suits they use on FF3(the american FF3)

I remember feeling good.

I remember confidence.

I remember being respected.

I remember respecting myself.

I remember the comfort of money.

What have I done?

So I finally finished my last final. I think I did.. eh, ok.

I got super hammered last night after I finished my last test. Luckily so did the rest of the 1L class so I'm thinking my drunkenness might be forgotten.

I managed to fall face-forward on the downward iced wheelchair ramp at my apartment building. Seth said it was one of the worst falls he's ever seen. Pure banana slip style, failing to put my hands out to stop the rest of my body hitting. Somehow I didn't get terribly hurt. Just scratched face, hand, knee and a skinned shoulder.



Ah, well, back to doing nothing. :D

djlkas;jflkjfsdlkfjsd;jfsl;

Edit- Just testing

Since my last post things have necessarily calmed down a bit and I am grateful although still a bit stressed but otherwise somewhat calm.

Kristen sensing impending financial doom is sound asleep somewhere in the back of my mind letting me work steadily and consistently for the past 3 days. I'm still medicated but at the very lowest dose possible. A good parasite knows not to kill its host.

Oh, happy mothers day by the way. Congratulations on your ability to produce human larvae which I'm sure will grow up to be fine upstanding citizens. I wonder if there is a mothers day for fish or kangaroos or viruses that produce offspring in the millions? Kristen's mom was very happy with the flowers she sent and probably by now watching some sitcom. Television, the true opiate of the masses. She produced an outstanding creature, she deserves them.

Okay, so the poll was totally serious (other than the four option which makes Kristen smile) and if you know about guns PLEASE give me some advise by either voting or leaving me a comment sending me an email. While half of me was refined by Beverly Hills finest, I live in a very different neighborhood. I am no stranger to guns but handguns are not my area of expertise. I did however do a bit of research and narrowed it down to those two models. I even went to the store and handled about 20 different makes/models and liked the Glock for its light weight( I have arms like an anorexic supermodel) and reputation of being reliable. 9mm is good stopping power without the recoil of a larger shell. I also know Glock is the choice for law enforcement and has a 17 round clip (which must be modified to 10 rounds in California). Why do I need a gun? Why not? Kristen has survived a home invasion once and now sleeps on the verge of waking. So over coffee one morning we debated...

Kristen: Hey, lets go buy a gun.

kristen: huh?

Kristen: Remember the shit that went down before. I haven't slept well since that night.

kristen: Bullshit Kristen. We are drugged into oblivion each night. The only reason you wake up is cause you need more junk.

Kristen: Your sound asleep but I'm always awake listening and waiting...

kristen: So the Gated entrance, the double steel reinforced doors, the motion detectors and the video camera's just are not enough, eh?

Kristen: Not to me.

kristen: Alright, fuck it. (looks up gun dealers on web)

Kristen: Laser sight. Fixed sights are no good in darkness.

kristen: Right. Would you like to up-size your order with a side of grenades for an extra 50 cents? Jesus, Kristen.

Kristen: You have enough narcotics to drug a small country and enough expensive tech to make this place a target.

kristen: welcome to the jungle.

Kristen: Fun and games.

kristen: Ok, Ok, what about a week ago when we on the very edge of psychosis from what you decided was a needed 'phet mission' and ended up paranoid, seeing spiders scurrying around our desk, and those goddamn shadow people (side note - many people on amp for extended periods bordering on temporary psychosis see the "shadow people", there should be a wiki on it). So given that do you think its wise we have firearms?

Kristen: I TOLD you to ignore that shit, didn't I?


It's strange and maybe appropriate being mothers day but when my grandmother died a few years ago I felt nothing. She was schizophrenic and my whole life she was so heavily drugged that she really was not there. As I kid I never really understood what her 'reality' was when she was not drugged into being zombie and so I had no feeling toward it or toward her death since there was no real communication. But in the dark and disturbing hours that passed where I think Kristen did take me over that line for a little while and where I was not completely in reality I suddenly realized what life must have been like for her. Hearing sounds and not knowing if they are real or imagined, seeing things appear out of nothing and disappear as fast, the paranoia, the feeling of being watched while alone, the terrifying idea that this state might persist and I would not return. And finally, the realization that reality is an illusion of stability that can falter at any moment. For the first time in my life I actually felt very very sad for her, a life spend in that place where nothing is what it seems.

I'm sipping my liquid crack (starbucks - 4shots - venti) and looking at my production schedule again...


originally posted here:
http://kristenincontrol.blogspot.com/2009/05/mothers-daze-and-liquid-crack.html

Lately I've been feeling really self-reflexive, and while it can be useful at times I get worried that I will withdraw too much. However, I do tend to learn something whenever I get this way.

For example, lately things have been a bit weird at work. Nothing bad really, although things seem to be heading a bit south as far as the major project is going. But little things are bugging me, like how my coworkers react to me, how I react to them, and how they interact without me. It's probably my social paranoia acting up again, but sometimes I feel like they're just getting ready to get rid of me. Which is silly, since I'm the only chemist there who is 'comfortable' with trying to solve chemical problems.

But why am I doing this? As in why am I a chemist? I got onto this path through my fascination with psychopharmacology, both recreational and therapeutic. After trying to get a degree in the field, I found out really early that biology is not my thing. Fair enough. But chemistry was amazing. First it was mostly just the synthetic side of things that I loved, but eventually I learned to adore the theoretical end as well. My appetite for learning new things was growing, and yet was always near-sated.

Then I started working. I don't use anything past 2nd year analytical chem. The reactions that I perform on a daily basis could be done by a mid-level high-school student. Yet I still enjoy being able to solve problems. Sure, I wish that I had the chance to play with more complex apparatus, or perform more involved, multi-step syntheses. But I suppose this is okay for now.

My restaurant idea has been pushed to the back burner of late, but having met with my friend S on Tuesday I realized that I have still been thinking about it. I happened across a show on the Food Network a couple of weeks ago that involved a fellow who at one point ran a small restaurant entirely by himself. He did the prep, took reservations, cooked, tended bar, bussed, served, did the dishes, everything. The latent (but getting louder) control freak in me really dug this, and the challenge of it would be amazing. Plus I could cook whatever I wanted whenever I wanted; the idea of such a small restaurant is that the menu would be constantly changing, so I could always be playing. Such fun!

But at the same time it would be really hard to pull in a good living doing just that. Only serving 20-30 dinners in a busy night just won't cut it. So that has to go even further on the back burner, for after I have a successful larger restaurant.

Or maybe not. In the right location and with the right marketing I might be able to pull it off. Maybe not here though. Man I'm indecisive.

it was teacher appreciation week at work and lots of kids brought in presents for us. one child was super excited to give me her present. there was some soap all nicely wrapped up but that wasn't what she was so excited to give me. also inside was a pink paint swatch which was what she and her little sister picked out all by themselves. the child was so proud and happy and convinced that she picked the perfect pinks to give me all by herself.

its silly little things like that which keep me from quitting my job

aaa

I am back on smokes more than ever. Like 1-2 packs a day and of many brands.

Have packs of newports, parliament lights, camel lights, camel unfiltered, camel crush, marlboro "reds", two types of djarum clove cigs, a bag of roll your own, and a bag of pipe tobacco w/ pipe. I smoke all of these daily and have been for the past month since i relapsed.

I am finally able to go to a bar and socialize without having nothing to do half the time if i am not drinking. My social life is better than its been in a while. Ive met tons of new people. But a feel like a piece of shit, and worse perhaps is that i feel like shit from the cigs. Even though i love them i know how much better my body feels without them.

During an anxious comedown from some L, in a tent, i once wrote in anguish "why do we do this to ourselves?"

Thats how i feel. Weak! But i love to smoke...

arggg time to light up another

its weird seeing old posts of mine bumped back to the top.

as i mentioned in a thread, i used to be far more open on here than i am now. so its interesting to read back thru what i posted here, as opposed to now. for the first few years i was a member here, BL and real life was separated. now they are pretty intertwined. and i wonder what people (who i now know in real life) would think if they read some of the stuff that has been bumped.

oddly enough, there is a thread where someone asked a question similar to what i mentioned above and i said that it would not matter. while i am not all that worried about these old posts, i am a wee curious if anyone will read them and rethink how they view me.

Wow, journal has gone. I wish I had of known so I had the chance to salvage anything I may have wanted to keep.

Bummed.

I was readin on somebody on here talkin about hood coppin. How they scared due to race, apearance, how they will stand out and all that. I dont want to tell them that they can be jus like the bum they step around on the corner some day. Not tryin to be somethin they aint, but a real , live, hood rat, scramblin thru the trash piles every day like its just another part of life. It takes time but youll see it. I guess I rather not tell em. Keep em to their over price bundles and coppin in the nice part of town.

..............

I aint somebody whose roots is outside the hood so maybe it makes me different than some of the rest of yall. I dont know. I know there is a select few on here who knows wat it is like to not be viewing it from the other side of someone with no bizness bein on the block. Some of the earliest memories of my childhood is in paterson n Ive always felt, na known, in my heart that it was home, even tho I moved away at a young age, i still spent about half my time down there back and forth as i got older. It was never too far away, and it was never a place i thought of as soemwhere to get drugs...It was just where we went when we needed our car fixed, or to buy a car, or to visit family, or watever it was, paterson was home base even after leaving. so i never viewed it as the place that some of yall did. as a "scary ghetto" or a place to get drugs. It was just , paterson. The place my heart is born from.

As I got older and heroin took hold I realized there was a whole lot more to the city than my cousin on Montgomery st. tho.

Anyways , My point is, I been doin this shit so long, Im in it for life now. People in the hood know me. Everytime Im down there whether its coppin or for watever other reason Im there for, I see people I know. I dont even mean my friends, I mean jus the people on the street, the people in the stores, I see people I dont even know, who know me. "Hey ma I seen you on broadway last week!" "Mamichula U was at the bar on lafayette and e. 19th last time I seen u!" people is suprised cuz Im white. They remember my face but they see me over and over and kind of wonder wat the hell she is doin down here anyways.

Like I said. I lived on North 3rd st cross street with jefferson for a lil while. Well, If you dont know about northside, thats on you. I aint one of the kids from fair lawn or wayne who goes from my nice coldesac over to the hood to cop and then share my bricks with my collar poppin tanning bed slut guys n girls. I hate those people. I know they gotta get their fix just like me, but it hurts me, it feels like they are using my city, and it aint even my city to say i own, but damn. Think of it as something more. It makes me sick the whiteboys who drive thru to cop their dope and laugh at the milk crates nailed to the telephone pole for a ball game, who start cussin 'Fucking lazy nigger!" When their guy dont pick up the phone. Ugh. the word makes me sick inside , thinkin of my best friends, maybe someday my daughter or son, having to hear those words against them. So easy to come here and take wat you want, and leave wat you dont. The people here, aint got that choice. Only to keep on trying , prolly off your dirty dope dollar.

People come to use and abuse. To take pictures of the projects for their deep and thoughtful photo albums. whether they realize it or not, thinking they are sympathetic to the people there, thinking I dont know the hell wat, I want to tell them get the fuck out. For every "touching" or "symbolic" moment that lense and shutter snaps and freezes in time, there is a 100 fold repetition of the same ol shit, every damn day, all over the city, just a part of life, outside that liberal college students camera.

A real life that goes on and continues and hurts and bleeds and suffers and cries, whether or not there is a audience to witness it and comment on some stupid fuckin blog about the subject and composition of the photo. To come in as spectators and all watch the way "the forgotten class" lives. Well I dont want you watchin me and my moves and the moves of all the lost and disconnected souls wanderin in and out the projects and buildings and porches of Silk city.


I might not of spent every moment as a kid raised in paterson. I got raised with the hood values and the usual shit. lights gettin turned off, waitin on the check to get some food , nothin for lunch but crackers and water and drinkin Kool Aid without no sugar in it cuz we didnt have none. But it was outside paterson. the disconnect put me away for a few years. but dope brought me home in a funny way. it dont make a difference. My address on my driver license might say that I live in a po dunk town in north jersey, a place where suburban kids drive their parents escalades to paterson to cop, but when Im back in the hood its flowin thru my blood like I aint left. silk city in my left tittie til the day I die.....

You spend enough time on the streets , you become the streets. I dont feel like I can ever go back. My mother tried to move me away as a kid so the streets didnt get to me and change me as I was growin up but it was too strong and as soon as I was old enough I was gettin into that shit anyways. Nothin can change the inevitable. I dont feel no fear of the unfamiliar walking the block. Just the same old heavy-ass weight in my chest knowing wat Im doing is slowly killin me shot by shot. But shots or not, Ima still be on the block. i cant live without the corner store, the rubber band nappy head of my best friends daughter while i sit on the porch and watch her hair get twisted into some bouncy lil braids that will flop up and down while she skips up the street to the stop sign. I cant breathe without the pink tinged sky of the night time, without the hot breeze thru the dark streets makin me feel like I live forever. The trees growin up thru the windows of the house across the street are just a friendly reminder that everythings eventual and its comforting in a way that we all someday gonna turn into decay. My house sits on a piece of grass. A deck in the back. Only gets robbed once a couple months. I got the online and the cable TV, I dont know for how long with how money is right now but, We aint taping garbage bags over broken glass windows for now. But my heart beats in time with the streets, too far gone to change, the mark is permanent, a wall built up over years and years, eyes dried from tears and empty of fears. hardened n wiser, cool talkin smooth walkin with a dip in my hip and a smile at my lip, aint scared to stand proud as wat I am, not so much a stranger but a daughter come home to a land I made my own.

I've done a report on the incident, which can be watched here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5bvWd6-39Q