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I guess I can say whatever the fuck I want....no one is reading....

What do you do when you've had shitty relationship after shitty relationship and then you find The One? You know in your BONES you have found your Happily Ever After?

You are wildly happy...and then you feel it fucking up? You don't know why...you don't know how...but as you look into each other's eyes, it's like being on two life rafts in the sea and the storms are pulling you apart...only, you're the only one reaching out...

and your Happily Ever After is just vanishing into the blackness?

What do you do?

How do you fix it?

Should you even bother if you're the only one who seems to care or is it because your other half is just paralyzed by terror?

What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO????

Well, shit...it's 3:50 am and I'm up..high as fuck on some really good fucking blow! My boyfriend and I traded some pills I had stashed (since I've been on methadone I haven't used my pain meds. I'm saving them for when I might really need them, like after I come off methadone and if I'm ever really in need of them-like if I have to have surgery for my wrist or whatnot) for a gram of this really good stuff a few days ago. I think we've had it for two or three days. So really, I didn't even do a whole gram tonight with my boyfriend and I'm still fucking high and I still have some left! I'm thinking I'll probably just do the rest tonight and say fuck it, since I only have a few (good) lines left. I did get my shift at the restaurant covered tomorrow (or well, today now...) covered, and I may even have the day off! I asked my friend if she'd pull a double today for me, and I'd pull a double on Thursday for her. So, out of four shits (two today-am and pm, and two Thursday, am and pm) I only had one shift...Wednesday morning (or this morning) but I asked her last night if I could trade her shifts and she said yup! So she was going to work my am shift and I'd work her pm shift on Wednesday, and I'd have all of Thursday off (which is cool, since when I got hired, Friday the 4th I've worked over 70+ hours with only one day off (Monday the 14th) AND I got her the job at my restaurant!
However, since I decided that I was going to get this high tonight, I figured I'd ask her if she'd work a double tomorrow (her picking up my morning shift and then taking her original dinner shift) and I offered to work her double on Thursday. So, she was working three shifts over Wednesday and Thursday, but now, if she agrees, she'd work two shifts and I'd work two shifts. Although if she wanted to work all four shifts, she totally could. I could use the time off with my girls, since tomorrow (or today, I suppose...but really, it's not today until I go to bed..right?) I fully intend to let my boyfriend (the girls' dad) take full responsibility for the girls and I'm just going to crash and rest and veg...basically take it easy! I plan on waking up (if I have gone to sleep yet) to go to the clinic around noon (since they close at noon thirty) and then come back, lay in bed, and eat a French dip (my absolute favorite Sammy) and watch movies or sleep (and I usually don't turn the television on until AFTER my girls go to bed).

I've worked so hard these past two months... and really....so much has changed since just this summer!

And I did ask my boyfriend (probably numerous times) if he was ok with me doing this...if he was ok with me making the decision to keep on doing the blow when he stopped (I did ask him if he wanted to keep doing it with me, but since he was tired, he decided to stop, especially since the other night he stayed up until 3am when I went to bed at like, eleven or midnight). The original plan was to do a few lines of blow when I got off work at 4pm (well, when I got off work and got home, I nursed my toddler first, because I knew I'd be doing blow and I didn't want to let her nurse after I started indulging...I've always been kinda weary of her nursing after I've done certain substances...opiates and kratom were ok, especially since my doctor is the one who prescribed the opiates knowing I was nursing AND I have done extensive research on breastfeeding and opiates since my best friend has fibro and she also was on methadone her entire pregnancy and is still on it. She has been for well over ten years, if not more. So I needed to do everything I could to help her when she got pregnant. So I know for a fact that opiates are completely safe and compatible with breastfeeding. I really wish that there was more information and research on "street" drugs because most lactation consultants will tell you that there is really very little medication that is really contraindicated for breastfeeding. So do they just say street drugs are bad because of what society says? Or because they are illegal? I don't know..but I wasn't willing to risk it. Plus I feel really guilty so I choose not to breastfeed and do drugs) and then probably go to bed around 9 or 10, since well, one I had to go to work at ten am, and two, the girls need to get up around 7am, and three, I have to go dose before 9 (if I'm going to work at 10..if not, then my clinic closes at 12:30, but I usually like to get there at least a half hour before they close since I have to be breathalyzed before I dose and for them to do that they have to close the dosing window and I hate to hold up the line so close to closing time-the pumps shut off automatically at 12:30, except on Saturday, when they shut off at 7:30am).

We were going to save the rest of the blow (more than a half gram of this REALLY GOOD FUCKING BLOW) and my boyfriend was trying to find a sitter for the girls because a band member from neurosis is playing at a local dive bar (a local punk favorite bar) and he really wanted to take me out. The bar is only a few blocks from our apartment and there was no cover, AND the bar is notorious for people doing blow ALL FUCKING NIGHT there, so it was a perfect place for us to finally get outta the house together, listen to live music, which we BOTH like to do, and do the rest of this killer blow! I mean, I personally enjoy just staying home, doing blow, and talking, or scrap booking, or just doing girly stuff, but he's a guy, and he doesn't really talk like us girls (like bonding type talk) and he doesn't scrap book, so getting outta the house and being a social butterfly is the next best thing for us!

A lot of times when we go out (especially if we're talking going out to a bar and I'm drinking) I either get one of two ways: A) I either get super socially awkward and I am super shy and I don't really have a good time or B) I get super drunk because of my social anxiety

-whenever I go out in social situations like that, I usually have a drink in my hand, and it's usually an alcoholic drink, but if it were water, I'd drink it down nervously and quickly just the same. So when I'm at a bar, I'll have a beer in my hand and usually a shot on the bar. I'll take my shot and then I'm left with my beer, which should last me quite a while as I socialize. But since I have that anxiety, I'll keep drinking the beer until it's gone, and I don't even realize I'm getting smashed. I wish I didn't do that, but I do. If I'm with my girlfriend (well, I guess I don't have her anymore, so I don't go out anymore since I do the following when I'm with my man) I would be totally cool with that. We'd have each others back and have a great time and I never felt guilty about it. I don't know why...maybe it's because we're just two girls, having a good time. There is no expectation of what is going to happen, I was free to flirt and be my silly self, but with my man, I can't do that. Ugh..I'm so complicated and such a mental mess! LOL...well, shit. I'm probably just rambling, but it feels good to get it out, and since I want to let my boyfriend sleep, my blog (journal/diary/whatever) is what I'm using to get it out! And it's soo much easier to type than to write... anyways..back to the thought train...

But for some reason, when I'm with my boyfriend (of eleven freaking years..well, eleven next April and I've known him since I was fifteen so..I've actually known him for 17 years!) I get really drunk, and I get confused I guess, and then I get angry that I'm confused, and then I get mad at him, and I yell and argue with him and it just gets all bad..ugh)

BUT when I have blow, I stop the super drunk train before it gets too bad because blow can sober me up when I'm super drunk for some reason. So I can go out with my boyfriend to a bar, enjoy getting drinks and still have a good time with him. I know I know...complicated and fucked up and all sorts of stuff right? Well..at least I know myself!

Shit..where was I? Ha hah ha

Oh yea..well he wasn't able to find a sitter for tomorrow night for the show, so we were going to just end up staying in any way. So that's when I decided to keep doing the blow. Since I didn't have to save it, and once it's gone, it's gone. It's not like dope. I won't want more just to function during the day once I've recuperated (sp?) from it.

Man I just read up through the last couple of paragraphs to see where the fuck I was going with this and realized that I really am just rambling! LOL oh fucking well! It's my journal and I really only write for me. And I need to do something. And I'm trying to write every day and I'm not really able to every day. Even if this is just a coked up rant, I feel good doing it. .It's doing something. And one day, years from now, I can look back and read my entry's and kinda see where I was at this time. And sometimes it's nice to write about the neutral times, or even the good times. Because I have so many bad times in my many many diary's (I've kept one since I was in third grade..the same grade my oldest daughter is in) and I really want to remember the good times in my life too. Even if it is just me giving myself a break and letting myself indulge!

Oh yea! So even though my boyfriend isn't that verbal and talkative (with me at least) he let me talk. And he assured me over and over again that he's totally cool with me doing this. He told me that I need a break, and I need to let loose once in a while. And that I deserved this. So that's cool..


shit..I bet I'm just about out of characters for this post...I should copy and paste and see. That's that only downfall of writing online instead of in my paper journal. The limit on the amount of words I can write in one post. At least my handwriting isn't all crappy because I've written so much that my hand hurts!

Hi there, my boyfriend jake died. We think it was from a heroin overdose. Still waiting for the autopsy results though. If anyone has had a boyfriend die, how did you move on? Or find the motivation to live? Because I'm struggling right now.

Read some of my blogs / posts from the past

Man I was a fucking tool

Just felt the need to share that

well, I've been TRYING/ATTEMPTING to get clean over last 2 months. coming off a 12yr abuse of drugs/opiates with 5 of those years being sober but over the last 3 my addiction has hit a new high, esp. w/ using H daily at 1-2grams a day.

struggling w/ fam/GF since coming out and admitting to my problems and asking for help.. but can understand their frustrations since none of them have been the "addict" i have. i can see the love being there but just wish they fully understood the struggle and understand relapse does NOT MEAN i dont want to quit, cuz i honestly and truly do and have been doing my best over the last 2 months than i have over the last 3-4 years.

been posting on here for the last 3 weeks and find it to be very helpful. glad to get in touch w/ those other addicts/former addicts who can relate/understand fully. of course i have other friends in recovery or using and they relate to but this board has been so helpful.

been semi-sober for last 5-6 days, and thats coming off a week+ of sobriety prior. totally understand this does not seem like alot to those who never used but us users know its hard as can be. esp withdrawing at home w/ no help. bad news is just yesterday i took methadone trying to help w/ day 4 of withdrawal, so maybe i shouldnt even say im sober; although, i only did 60MG rather than 2G day of past; but thats just the addict in my saying it SHOULDNT be looked at as not being sober.

Tuesday i go back to the dr. for either subox or vivitrol; although, i think w. my recent done use i may have X'd out the vivitrol. hoping things go my way and MAYBE, just MAYBE, i can overcome this painful past.

glad i finally got to hit my blog. its something i am going to keep up w/ in my road to recovery just to see how things/post change as time goes on.

much appreciation to the love and support ive gotten from this board.. it truly has helped.

It took me some time to find a drug/philosophy site that I could access from home and work. I work in random camp settings where Internet is often filtered, blocked or even not available at all. Bluelight seems to pass most filters.

This year is my first year without alcohol after years of successful alcoholism. For the first time after moving I don't know where all the various alcohol supply stores are around me. For 10 months there have been a number of unopened liquor bottles in my living room and they don't call me. Something has drastically changed.

New years eve I had my last drink. It wasn't even a big moment, I just decided to stop. I'd been weening off for months, taking sober days where I'd just smoke weed eventually sober weeks where I'd just use mj edibles and eventually just quit. Some sweating and a lot of anxiety later even the craving is gone.

I have switched my addiction from alcohol to marijuana. Still an addict, I can easily go days without using weed. Just to be sure I could stop I took a 90 day break from weed and still didn't crave alcohol.

So now I'm choosing my addiction. While I don't have experience to know what horrible outcome I may be heading towards it cannot be as horrible as the direction alcohol was taking me.

My finances are in ruin but my income has improved by a factor of 500% over the last three years, I can see daylight in a pit of debt.

Our 14 year long relationship has turned a corner from living together to being in love.

I have purpose, my life has meaning and I have vision for a much greater future.

Why is marijuana not available free for people that need it?

I woke up to the sound of a tow truck backing up, 3 a.m. Monday morning. I threw on my robe and rushed downstairs just as they were driving away with my pickup in tow. I yelled, 'Hey man, Hey! what's happening?" They yelled back, "Peace and Love".

This is NOT peace and love.

My husband pays all the bills. Except that he doesn't. Tuesday they shut down the cable and the internet. Wednesday my car was to be repossessed but I called just in the nick of time and explained the situation to the best of my knowledge.

And here is what I know: My husband of nearly four decades has not paid our bills in months. We get a pittance since he became disabled, but we can almost scrape by. I have seen signs of this coming and many times have asked, suggested, even pleaded for him to let me help him keep track of the bills, at least. Let me write things down for you at least. But he hasn't let me help or let me see anything.

I finally ransacked his whole area this week and found huge stacks of unopened bills. He cashes his check every month and pays the house payment. That's it. The rest has apparently all gone for groceries. He's big, he overeats and he overfeeds our dogs. He doesn't drink or smoke or have hobbies or a sex drive.

I tried to get him to the doctor this week but he refused to go.

I feel so defeated. We are being sued from our homeowners association because our trees are too big and crowding another area so I got estimates. $800. $850. $1000. So my husband says HE is going to cut down the branches.

Well if he tries I'm going to have to have him 51-50ed... he is DISABLED and can barely walk much less climb huge trees. Plus my truck is GONE so we have to way to haul the mess. My car won't start, either, but that's another issue.

I took his wallet, his keys, his id's, and all the bills. I made out a budget for December but there's nothing here for food, nothing for Thanksgiving, and Christmas is cancelled.

This could have all been avoided if he had let me help him.

I haven't talked to him since Tuesday. He's here, and I'm here. I'm disgusted, and angry, and scared.

(I could most definitely use a blunt, but we have no money. Come to find out the November money was gone two weeks ago.)

He has nothing to say. Nothing. He just sits there on the couch watching tv like everything is fine. I tried to talk to him about the truck, and he said he doesn't care.

I replied harshly. "Clearly, husband, you don't care. I get it. But other people in this family DO care, and you could have let someone around here know what the hell was going on."

The kids don't know what to do, and they all have plenty of their own problems, you know.

I don't know what to do either. I am just sitting here in the dark, as sober as I have ever been, staring off into space...

I've always wanted to learn to draw and paint. Living in a city that has a rich artistic tradition, I could no longer resist. I recently started taking art lessons from an artist friend and trying to learn on my own too. I practiced drawing for several months, and then tried a few paintings.

I suffer from frequent migraines. One phenomenon taht often accompanies a migraine is a visual aura. An aura is a visual effect caused by the migraine. The migraine aura I see looks like the golden auras surrounding holy figures in medieval religious paintings.

Living things and many inanimate objects have them during a migraine. The aura around a flower is fairly simple. It's just a halo. The halo has several components. First, there is a clear area directly surrounding the flower taht matches its contours perfectly. It looks kind of like a transparent skin. Next, there is a violet/ultraviolet aura that extends a little farther in space. Finally, there are jagged rays and wisps of nacreous lines. They are often animated. And in the empty air and surrounding everything is an ocean of phosphenes. On a sunny day, it looks like fools gold or mica suspended in water when the sun strikes the tiny gold and iridescent particles. *

An interestign thing about the migraine aura is that it resembles the entoptic phenomena experienced while under the influence of psychedelic drugs. There are geometric patterns from primitive shapes to animated three dimensional fractals that are so complicated, not even an army of CGI artists could create them. There are alsio iconic images like animals, plants, landscapes, and people. It also has some things in common with paleolithic art and the shamanic art of some cultures like the San and Coso.

If I'm going to do art, I want to do something original or else it's a waste of time. I want to express an aspect of something nobody else has ever painted before. I would also like to study the migraine aura. So this is what I have been working on.

I had to read a book about color theory, buy my own pigments, grind them, and mix up my own paint to create some of the effects. I've painted three paintings in my entire life so far. This is my third. I waited until I had a migraine, packed my painting kit, went to the nearest botanical park, and found a tall flower against a plain background with a clearly visible aura. I painted it in between vomiting. I was lucky the guards didn't see me and throw me out for looking like a drunk. the painting still sucks, and I ruined the background, but I'm still a beginner. Also, this one isn't finished. Mostly, I'm still trying to work out the background and fix the aura so it doesn't look so jarring.

Here it is:




I read the George Bush took up painting a few years ago. He hired a celebrity art teacher to give him lessons in Palm Beach, and as a result has produced a large number of pieces. His art is displayed in galleries and constantly shown on television. It sells for a lot of money, I'm sure. If he can do it, I thought I might have a chance. Seeing what he did not only helped motivate me to start, but his art helped me to not feel ashamed of showing something I did, no matter how bad it is.

I've been thinking of nothing but "why did I get on Methadone?" I mean I really, really, want to get high lately. And all that goes through my head is why did I go so high? Why did I go up to 75mgs? Why didn't I stay at 40mg? At least at 40mg I can still chase the dragon and get high, or I could eat some pills and get high. OR, if I would have stayed low, then I may have been able to still get a little 'boost' from my daily dose. Nothing much, but definitely a noticeable affect with my receptors not being at blocking doses of methadone... I may not get SUPER high, but I can at least get high....and then I think, well I went up to 75mg because I wanted to go up high enough to where I couldn't get high on dope of meds! I wanted to be able to save money and not go through the ups and downs of getting high. I thought I was ready to actually BE sober. Like almost all the time sober.

Well, maybe not ALL.THE.TIME. sober. I would have liked to get stoned occasionally (like at night, after my kids are in bed, and I'm curled up in my bed with a good movie and some ice cream), would have liked to drink and do blow on occasion as well, oh yea, and ya can't forget the good old classic psychedelics, which I do ever so rarely

I'm at this point where I'm questioning my decision...Like...do I really want to be sober?

I got a new job a couple days ago and ended up working a few doubles and when I got off, all I could think about was how much I wanted to get high after a loooooooooong day.

But it would take me more than twenty pills (doing CWE of course) or a gram of dope to even possibly feel high. And getting drunk is outta the question due to the breathalyzer every morning.

So I ask myself...do I really want to be on methadone? And I get pissed that once upon a time, not too long ago, Kratom worked just fine for maintenance. And I kick myself for going on methadone because it just jacked my tolerance up and it's now a huge process to wean off, where with kratom it's not that big of a deal. Ya...you ought to taper off kratom.. Just stopping cold turkey will hurt for someone like me. But it's NOTHING like methadone. NOTHING.

But every once in a while I get a glimpse of either clarity...or stupidity. Depends on the mindset I guess.

Why do I say that? Because sometimes I can hear myself telling me that the reason I got on methadone was because I can't handle chipping opiates. Even though I think I can, my attitude changes, my behavior changes, my thought process changes.

The highs and lows I experience effect the way I interact with the world. They effect what I want, what I do, how I feel, and what I think.

Even though at times I don't want to believe that.

At times I want to believe that I can handle the drinking and drugging life. At times I want to convince myself that getting shitfaced and high whenever I wanted was ok. But I have children now. I can't just sleep the day away to shake of the hangover. Or I can't just get though work/class and then just crash. I have to be alert most of the day.

I guess I'm just struggling pretty bad with the back and forth.

I'm struggling with the good/evil dichotomy.

The angle/devil.

Part of me wants to kick myself in the ass because now I am actually seriously considering, not just fantasizing or wondering about IV heroin. I am actually thinking I may just want to try that to shoot through the methadone since I'm at a high dose and I can't just smoke dope.

What the fuck did I just do? Am I really considering injecting dope??? Seriously??
What the fucking hell???


Shit. what did I get myself into?

I probably won't IV anything.

Maybe I'll actually come out on the other side and actually think drugs are bad...mmmmkay?

But I doubt it. I like getting high. It doesn't need to be something like opiates that end up making me feel like I can do every day.

But good coke, good lsd, good mdma, stuff like that. I like doing every once in a while. I just really miss being able to have an opiate to come down off those experiences. Something that I can use to wrap me in a warm, comfy blanket and fall asleep.........

It's been days since I wrote last, and I feel really bad about it. I really wanted to write something every day...even if it's just a single line or two...but I haven't carved the time out of my not so busy days.

It's been 37 days since I jumped on maintenance and 21 days since I leveled out at 70mg. Some days I really want to go up again, just to catch that buzz, but I won't let myself. There are a few reasons why I want to keep myself at 70mg...some of those reasons are healthy reasons and some are not healthy.
* Staying at 70mg*
~What goes up must come down: the more I go up the more I have to work to get off methadone when the time comes.
~At 70mg I can still get high if/when I chase the dragon (this is one of the not so healthy ones) but not enough to want to keep doing it. So if I buy a few points, I can smoke and not fiend for it right after.
~I can't get high off my meds anymore-unless I do a CWE on a HUGE amount of pills, which I'm just not willing to do.
~I'm hoping that I can still get a boost off my methadone since I'm not at a high amount, but I might be just a little too high-I am actually thinking about trying to go down to 65mg or even 60mg. I'm not sure yet.
~I don't have too many cravings at 70mg. I mean, I do every once in a while, but they are pretty manageable, especially since I know that it would take too many pills to get high, and smoking heroin, while it can get me a bit higher, doesn't do the same as it use to.



Now that I have stabilized at 70mg I am having some self doubt I have to deal with. I am doubting that I did the right thing. You see, I'm not an abstinence type of gal. I enjoy altered states of consciousness. Or to put it bluntly-I like getting high! I love psychedelics, but only use those on special occasions. I love empathogens as well, but again those are more of a once in a while thing. Alcohol played a huge role in my life but now that I get tested for it each and every morning before I dose, I either have to become a day drinker (which is pretty much out of the question due to me having kids and I don't really want to get drunk during the day) or rarely drink at all. Cocaine can be great!! If it's real coke...BUT for almost all of these substances, I really enjoy opiates for the come down. I miss the warmth. I miss the coziness. I miss the glow... Now I'm left with being super tired by noon each day if I sit down for longer than ten minutes. I get up at 6am to go dose, come home and get the girls ready for school and do all my household chores and I'm done by noon! Super happy that I am very productive now and I have time to read, or write, work on my marketing for my business, but any time I sit down to do that I just about fall asleep at my computer! It's not that I'm high, at all...it's just that I'm REALLY tired Then I have to figure out how to NOT fall asleep, but by doing that I become really irritable and just kind of pissy. My boyfriend smokes pot all day, and I join in AFTER the girls go to bed, because if I smoke during the day I stuff my face with junk food (mainly candy) all day and become even MORE tired! I don't know how he does it without being grumpy, but he does. It pisses me off that he's high all day because he eats us out of house and home! Especially any of the sweet treats that I've bought for the month. And when he is eating, he's doing it AS I'm cooking dinner! Ugh. Pisses me off so much! When he does it, the girls are watching him and they are asking why they can't eat the ice cream/cookie/cake/doughnut/______________. It's infuriating!

Why is it SO infuriating? Because I moved out in April with our girls into my own apartment, where I was able to set certain rules that I thought were important (eg., no tv on during the day, no sweets before dinner, veggies and fruits for snacks instead of chips and candy, etc etc etc) for the girls and since he's moved in it's becoming harder and harder to have him abide by the rules--making it more difficult for me to enforce those rules for our girls. When he first moved in, he respected my boundaries/rules with no problems. The longer he's here though, the easier it is for him to believe this is OUR apartment and thinks he can break my rules....like I'll leave to go interview with a potential client and when I come he's got Dr. Phil on, while he's on the couch with his pot pipe in his hand...shit now I'm just rambling.

I don't want to just write about what he's doing that pisses me off, because I do love him. And he is TRYING to do better this time around, he is. No one is perfect, not me, not him, not our daughters, no one. So right now, even though I may vent, I don't want him out of my life. I do love him. I just need to vent in my journal so I don't go crazy on him. Once I write things out, I can better talk to him about it, which means we can work towards fixing our problems. That's what we need to do.



If I'm not feeling my dose at all, then maybe it's already time to start tapering down? I mean, fuck...maybe I'm not ready to be on mmt. Maybe I'm not sure if I want to be sober.

Of course a part of me wants to be sober..and I think that is what I'll write about in my next entry.

...because isn't every day a beginning?

For me, 10/31 is the end of the year so 11/1 heralds the genuine beginning of 2017 (those who might find numerology interesting note this is point blank Year One).

My New Years over the past decade or so have had PhDs in shit slinging and havoc wreaking...this year felt different. I'd been waiting for whatever was around the corner and it felt as if I'd finally found the corner.

Now, I mention this because [I don't remember at the moment]...ah, yes. The Bullshit, much like The Neverending Story's Nothing, is highly reluctant to let go of such a tasty morsel, one upon which it has selfishly and mercilessly gnawed for nearly a decade...while I feel refreshing blessings pouring in, there are some intense battles yet to be fought before I can claim true freedom.

Now then, would you like to come on a journey? I'm certain I could use exactly your set of skills and I'm sure what you'll find here is nothing like what you expected...

I offer you my heart and my hand.

South Park is a beloved American cartoon, and it coined the phrase “turd in the punchbowl.” Well, there is.

This entry is full of rants and prejudices. It's offensive, and nobody should read it.

I think to develop empathy, one has to have either suffered themselves or has to see other people suffering and try to help them.

I met someone a few months ago that I have been insanely passionate about. I’m almost 40, and this is the first woman I have ever felt for this deeply my entire life. Four months is longer than just a crush, right? She’s a rich Parisian woman who spent half her adult life overseas working for NGOs in undeveloped hellholes like the Congo, Iraq, and Liberia. Maybe because of her time overseas and the fact that she has seen the real suffering that people in those countries are subjected to every day, she has developed empathy and a greater awareness of what life is really like. That gives her depth of character and helps make me like her.

I’ve gone out with a lot women in France, but I’ve been wary of French women on account of how Americanized many of them are. (Of course, they will deny that there is anything American about them.) Until I met her, I was OK being single, but I was expecting to die alone. We had been talking about commitment and she brought up marriage. We both got carried away with passion of the moment. A day later, we took the night train out of Paris. We arrived at the French Riviera just before dawn.

My new girlfriend Laëtitia and I had spent two happy weeks at her vacation house in a French village down there. It was our last full day. The air was transparent and the sea was perfectly blue. It was chilly in the shade. The wind made ripples in the pool. We had lunch under the olive trees in the yard. The sun glinted off the Mediteranean Sea. Lunch was cheese and this morning’s baguette bread from a bakery in the town at the bottom of the hill. We drank some red wine from her uncle’s winery located not far from the house. It was good with the Camembert cheese.



Half way through the meal, she drops the turd, and it plunks with a hollow splash: “for this relationship to work, we need to have three children.

“What?!”

I want to marry you but I need to have a family,” she said.

I said, “marriage is a family. Just me and you can be a family.”

She said: "I've always wanted children."

I said: "let's adopt."

She said, “I want to feel what it’s like to be pregnant and have a life form inside me.”

The scene from the movie Aliens popped into my mind. An alien life-form erupts out of the crewman’s abdomen in a fountain of gore. It looks like a lamprey with a gaping mouth. A newborn's mouth has the same shape minus the teeth. It's covered in slime that looks like afterbirth, and it screams. It’s a metaphor for my generation’s view of childbirth. It’s distasteful, gory, and ruins the figure and the special parts of the mother. It signals the death of the sex life and the end of romance. Not completely and not always of course, but the spouse is no longer the center of attention in the relationship. Freedom, time for hobbies, and even a chance for a career is gone for many.

I don’t know what her problem with adoption is. There are millions of children all over the world who need to be adopted. She’s smart enough to know about the state of the world. It's not a nice place or even a safe place for the majority. I didn’t need to remind her of the fact that the world population is around 7,4 billion. Overpopulation and human activity have caused environmental degradation and resource depletion so extreme that life as we know it is now threatened and has roughly a 50% chance of going on for another 100 years according to scientists who study these things. Add to that abusive politics, the bad economy, and ever worsening socio-economic inequities.

Smart children typically experience something called "existential depression." At a young age, they realize they have been born into a Hell World. Their illusions that the rulers of America (and every other country) are the Good Guys, that everybody has enough to eat, that wars are fought to bring about justice, that those in power care about the environment, that life is even remotely fair, that human nature is altruistic, and that life is all carefree are shattered. A form of depression sinks in. Bluelight is a monument to people suffering from it, and the Bluelight Shrine is a memorial to many of those who have been crushed by it. I left America to try to get away from the root cause of that evil. Donald Trump.

I would certainly never have one of my own and would never even adopt a child in the US because I'm horrified by the knowledge that they would become Americanized. France is a better place to grow up.

Also, I don’t care for babies. I don’t see the appeal. What’s the difference between having one of your own and adopting? None. Adopting is better. You can get one that’s big enough to already be toilet trained and old enough that you do not have to wake up every 2 hours to tend it. And you know it’s not going to be crippled or have Down’s Syndrome.

Even better, you’re helping somebody. You can take somebody out of their toilet bowl country and give them a chance to live a fulfilled life.

If I want to watch something grow, I will plant a garden. I don’t think babies are cute. If I want something cute to love me and be dependent on me, I will get a cat.

It’s not just me. More people than ever in history including the Great Depression are childfree and plan to stay that way. The birth rate is below the population replacement rate, and my generation and younger has the lowest birthrate in recorded history. Immigration is the only thing keeping the population stable. "Natives" tend not to have children at all. Immigrants are more likely to be the ones having the babies. Birth rate is inversely correlated to level of education and income.

Also, I don’t believe men in civilized countries genuinely want children. My own father did not want me and he was not ashamed to tell me. Instead, it is always the woman wants it. She gets Baby Rabies on account of her biological clock. It’s just hormones. Once infected, the woman pesters or threatens to leave her husband. The husband gives in and gives her a baby. Maybe he convinces himself he actually wants it too.

Marriage as an institution developed from rape as a practice. Andrea Dworkin

Men in primitive countries are different. Women are property, and as property, they can be stolen by other primitive men. Primitive men are extremely patriarchal, and keeping a woman pregnant and caring for babies is a way to lay claim on the woman and keep her in the fetters of childbirth at home. Uneducated men also find it “macho” to have a baby. It satisfies their animalistic ego. By nature, men like to build and create. Uneducated men cannot create anything worthwhile with their minds so they try to create something with their body.

According to feminist literature (the Dwork and others), primitive patriarchal societies put enormous social pressure on women to have babies. I said before that it is a hormonal drive that makes women want babies. For some, yes, but for most women in primitive societies, the desire for babies is not genuine. Who in their right mind would want to put their body through that ordeal?! The external pressure to have babies is a control mechanism created by the patriarchy, and it is so pervasive that it becomes a form of brainwashing. She internalizes it and becomes convinced that it is her own desire.

Yeah I know I'm generalizing about men who live in undeveloped countries, but an illiterate will never write a book. Not all men are like that, but the vast majority are. Doing a little bit of research on the subject should satisfy anybody that I know what I'm talking about. One might start with the correlation between literacy rates and birth rates by country.

Sex feels a lot better without condoms. There is never going to be a pregnancy scare. We both got tested for disease.

She knows I had a vasectomy. If I didn’t care about her, I would have lied about it or lied and told her I would have it reversed. I won't string her along, and I cannot ethically justify having a child. That’s where the relationship stands after four months. She's the only person I've ever loved this much and felt this connected to. I’m heartbroken. It feels like somebody close to me has died.

People say finding love is a numbers game. I know the statistics, and I'm familiar with how to use the famous Drake equation to calculate the odds that I will find another. Unless I'm willing to "settle," there is a 97% chance that I will not. My last American Girlfriend was the result of settling, and that did not work out well for me or for my now deceased cats.



In college and high school, I passionately loved a couple of girls in a way that wasn't healthy. The relationships were sick and twisted. Each time, they resulted in me almost being murdered. I determined never again to take a risk with another woman. Since college, i loved, but I never gave anyone my heart. The love always burned itself out after a month or so. Attraction or romance did not last long. It felt more like the way you love a friend. The time I lived with one, and I wrote about her, she was more like a friend than a lover. I loved her, but did not enjoy sex with her. It was only to please her. I usually faked my own orgasms with her. I didn’t like that. It’s usually the woman who fakes the orgasm. What kind of dude has to fake an orgasm? I just wasn’t passionate about her.

When a woman reaches ****** with a man she is only collaborating with the patriarchal system, eroticising her own oppression. Sheila Jeffrys

Well, to start my name is Edan; & this is my life. I've been using drugs for 8+ years now [Opiates, & Benzodiazepines] , & have been IVing pills for about 4 years now.

Today, which is the 31st of October, & the year is 2016.
Many of you all may have things to do for the "Holiday", parties, etc... Me on the other hand, do not have any of those to attend to, or look for- nor do I even care, or want to be apart of this "Holiday". I woke up at around, uhh maybe around 1:40PM-2PM. Got dressed, popped my first few Alprozalam pills of today which was only 1MG, & 120MG's of OxyContin along side with NyQuil capsules/Tagamet for a longer duration and effects for my opaite pain medication, & my anti-depressante/anti-anxiety medication. I don't just pop my pain medication, I put both 60MG pills under my tongue, allow them to bind together, & slowly melt into a gunkey, sticky, mess of OxyContin to allow an almost IR effect to help kill my upper neck/back pain I have due to an accident I had at the young age of 12. Anyways it hit me a few hours later and I'm still feeling it now; I have another 60MG OP I will take, like I took the other two, in maybe an hour or now- I'm unsure when, but I will for sure do so. It's been a normal day today, hanging out with my father, letting my GF go visits her family with our new puppy since her mothers BF (a brother to me in a since) that also got a puppy from the same litter of dogs, so both play and I don't have to watch her all damn day and be on her little back making sure she doesn't piss, & shit all over my house. I've been mostly on my computer today watching, & listening to music. Not doing much else, & really just relaxing with my lights out so the kids don't come to my home asking for candy, & such. Got a phone call from my mother and we talked about the same ol'shit we always talk about when she calls to check up on me, trying to figure out if I've been doing good and what else she ask me. Now at this very moment [7:48PM] I'm on YouTuber, on my computer watching some top 10 or top 5 shit out of boredom; waiting on my GF to get back home then cook food for the both of us and see if my father wants me to cook anything unless he already made something for himself and me. I'll be soon to eat but that's after I take my OxyContin so I have an empty stomach to get all the bang for my buck so I can relax and sleep in a few hours after I eat, & hang out with my GF for some hours watching Netflix or whatever we both want to watch or do. I just popped my OxyContin 60MG and now it's just a waiting game- as in, waiting an hour or more for it to turn into gunky shit/syrupy shit that I then eat. I'll post more either tonight before I cook to say what I'm making, eating, & what I'm cooking for my GF. If I do not post tonight I will tomorrow for sure if I'm not too busy. It may not be right as I awake but probably the same time I started to type this out.

{End of first blog post for October, the 31st, 7:55PM}

So the cycle flips again, with new seemingly-exponentially-blossoming consciousness circuits taking form through revelation.

Status: Generally anxious and vaguely-depressing-yet-hopeful state of consciousness.
Remedy: The same tools I have been using for many years and countless trips, cyclically. All is fine and good when the cycle is allowed to come full circle in a timely manner with some sort of regularity. The problem is when the cycle is disturbed in either direction- too much or too little. I now stand at the precipice of an unusually-extended 'off' period, waiting to make the jump into the new beginning, anticipating the sweetly-scented bloom of a dew-dropped flower at sunrise, waiting for the swelling radiation to stimulate my senses and rinse my body clean as the dew evaporates off my stem and pedals, lifting me up into an physical and energetic alignment not felt since the awakening of Springtime.
Waiting for the world inside my mind to return to a crisp focus that I can only remember, as through a degaussing of my energy fields, removing a film of noise accumulated from a daily barrage of EM pollution, unavoidable in today's environment, re-centering my phase into a grounded state in me electromagnetic and electro-chemical energy systems, like a magnet taken to an old TV.

For now, I imagine. I set my intentions. I pray to the guiding spirits, I trust they will keep me from danger, as long as I listen to them and keep my ear to the ground. Stay woke AF, fam.

The start seemed fun everything went as planned . .
Then the overstep, one overstep ruined it all
Not knowing the people or thinking that the people would be another way
No acceptance, thus no future


It was all an idea to fix oneself
Failed due to overtrust the situation
Knowing but not knowing ~ reality vs advantage “%”
Not complete fail the possibly in others hands
Never sharing the full objective to others till after failure
Constant fail in location
The thought of getting fucked with or just sitting
Obvious observations
Time logs / contacts previous night
Always something more

Some days I'm just not sure how to start or what to write about. Today, as much as I wanted to write something positive instead of negative, the negative is just easier to get out. When my day is positive, and nothing is wrong I have a difficult time forcing myself to sit down and write. But I feel like it's important to write when I'm feeling/doing good as well as when I'm sad/angry/depressed so when I read back through my entries I can see that life wasn't bad ALL The time...however, today isn't necessarily a good day...yet.

Today I am anxiously awaiting my boyfriend getting home from work. Not because I'm dying to be with him! Haha, we've been together for almost 11 years. No, because I am waiting to hear back from an employer. One that I interviewed with last Tuesday at a really good restaurant that is three blocks away from my home. It's especially nerve wrecking because I don't have my own phone. My egg donor/womb rental (mother) shut my phone off a few weeks (maybe a few months now?) without giving me a heads up, so I have to depend on my boyfriend to a)answer his phone-which he has a difficult time doing, especially if it's a number he's not familiar with, and b) relay the message to me if/when the call comes in. I interviewed on Tuesday and I thought it went well and when I asked when they were planning on opening I was told in 9 days and that they would probably be calling folks back at the end of the week because things are happening so quickly. Well, I called Thursday and talked with the manager who interviewed me and he said that he wouldn't be making any decisions until Monday (today) or Tuesday. I know he interviewed a TON of people for every position in the restaurant. I really want this job. I really NEED this job. I don't want to bug the manager, but I also want to stand out because of how many folks he must have interviewed.

A huge part of me is super depressed. It seems like every time I interview and I walk away feeling like I did fantastic, I never get the job. That implies that I DO get the job when I leave the interview feeling like I failed, OR when I am hired on the spot. So because I felt so great after the interview there is a feeling in the pit of my stomach that is eating away at my mind today. I even pulled up a friend the other day and asked her to pray for me about this job (and I am not religious in any way...but a part of me does believe in the power of positive thoughts and maybe the more positive thoughts that are floating around the better? I don't know why I asked her to, I just did..that's how much I really want/need this job)...and it's completely out of my control. I feel anxious, I feel jittery, I feel sad (although I ought not to yet...I haven't been turned down for the job yet) and I feel almost hopeless. I have 20 years of serving experience. I am a damn good server! I look good on paper! A degree from an amazing university, volunteer work in the community, leadership skills....I am an honest, loyal, dependable, reliable, trustworthy, hard working employee. I would be a great asset to any company! So why is it that I'm having such a hard time finding a great job?

My plan was to call the manager when my boyfriend got home, but now I'm second guessing myself. I don't want to come across as needy or high maintenance due to calling too much, but then again, he is hiring for a whole damn restaurant, so I know he must have interviewed a TON of folks and I want to stand out. Fuck.

My recovery is up and down. My cravings are starting to come back. I think about taking 10-15 of those perks I have sitting in my cabinet and CWE'ing them and drinking the liquid...just to feel high again. But I haven't yet. Smoking herb kinda helps the cravings, but I can only smoke at night, because if I smoke during the day I do get HIGH and if I am not constantly moving around then I'm on my way to the land of nod AND I eat my weight in sugar (not great! I tell my boyfriend that we're going to give up opiate addiction and trade it for diabetes! ha ha). Drinking doesn't sound all that great anymore, and I use to LOVE to throw back a few beers with a side of whiskey. And some times I think to myself, hmmmm a whiskey and pbr sounds delicious right now, but I know better. Again, I can't drink during the day. I have two children and responsibilities, and if I day drank, I'd not be a very good mom. Hence the reasons I became an opiate addict in the first place! I could take opiates all day, starting the moment I wake up, and still be fully functional! It was great! Until it wasn't...until my tolerance sky rocketed and eventually (you all know the story) I was just using to keep from getting sick and had to use astronomically high amounts of oxy (or any other pharm) to get high...either that or switch to H, which I eventually did. I think that if I were to get this job it would really help in my recovery. Being productive and not depressed because we're so broke, with two kids and pets galore (two rats, one cat, and two bull frogs), would make a huge difference in my cravings.

But no matter how much I want this, no matter how good this job would be for me, no matter what kind of great employee I'd be, I have absolutely NO say in if I get this job. I wish I did. I can't stop thinking about how much I need this.

Oh how I need to get high, to take my mind off of this crazy torture. Do I call the manager today? Do I wait until tomorrow? Fuck, the anticipation is killing me! Just take the meds...my mind says...just take them and forget about calling today-you don't want to be "that" girl. A friend told me today that I should think of job hunting/interviewing like dating. I called him once to follow up (he knows I'm interested) and now the ball is in his court. Ugh. Maybe if I were to follow those dating rules I wouldn't have had so much problems with dating as a younger me...but that's not even me with dating! If I like someone, I don't play those silly games, I just go for the gold! Let it be known that I like them and even asking them out on a date first. Patience has never been a strong suit of mine, although I am learning more day by day.

Ahh fuck me. IF my boyfriend doesn't get home soon (as in before dinner rush time at a restaurant) I will be stuck forcing myself to wait until tomorrow to call and follow up.

I guess that's all for now folks. Don't know what else to say. Until next time!

Today is the 25th day I've been on MMT and I still have mixed feelings about it. Part of me says 'what the fuck...why did I do this? Now I can't even get high just once in a while-like to celebrate or something' and the other part of me says 'well, duh! That's why I went on it in the first place! So I couldn't get high, even just once in a while. Because it never stays just once in a while. It always turns into a binge-whether it's my pain pills all in a week or it's a bag of smack (or multiple bags of smack-until I run out of spending money)".

I suppose that really means that I'm still craving at times. Not enough to actually go use, but enough to where my mind is on it a bunch. Going up to 80/mgs just isn't an option for me right now. 70/mgs needs to be okay. I need it to be okay. I plan on staying on mmt for a while and I don't want to get up into the 100's when it comes to my dose. That's one of the reasons why my boyfriend hasn't gone up past 40mgs (and he's been on it a week longer than I), is because he plans on being on mmt for a long time (possibly a lifer) and by staying at 40mgs right now, and for as long as he can, he gives himself some room to go up when he really needs to. From what I've read though (and I could totally have just misinterpreted the meaning behind this) due to methadone's NMDA antagonist property a person could theoretically stay at the same dose for years without needed to increase their dose and still be satisfied with it. So why not just find the dose that works well and then stay there? Anyway...70mgs seems to be good for me. I figure if the cravings get so bad I'm finding my self actually trying to talk my boyfriend into copping OR if I find myself reaching for my pills to CWE, then it's probably time to go up. But for now, I need to learn some fucking self control!

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The job that I had I quit. It just wasn't going to work out. My first and only shift was on a Friday and not one customer came in, hence to tips for me (and a server lives off their tips!) then Monday I was called off not even an hour before my shift, so Tuesday I called in a quit. The amount of money I would have paid my baby sitter would have trumped what I would have made at the pizza shop. I did however interview for a sweet new seafood restaurant opening up three blocks away from my house and I have my finger and toes crossed on this job. If I don't get it, I'm seriously going to cry! I really really need this job! And I would do a great job there. I would love it! It my neighborhood, I love my neighborhood and I want to work there. It would be perfect for me, because I could walk there (my boyfriend would be able to use the car then and make an extra $1/hr by giving someone a ride), my sitter lives just two blocks up from the restaurant, and I could be working in my neighborhood. It's not a bar, so that's a huge plus as well! I'm really nervous that I'm not going to get it. I've been interviewing like crazy in this town and I have yet to be hired at a good restaurant. Part of me thinks it's because I don't have the "look" meaning I don't do my hair and make up all fancy AND my front top tooth has a small chip in it. Being on Medicaid and being an adult, they won't cover it and since I'm broke I can't afford to get a replacement tooth. But I've been serving tables for twenty fucking years. And I'm really good at what I do. And I REALLY FUCKING NEED this job! If I don't get it, I'll be crushed. I'm so tired of not getting good serving jobs. I mean, I'm willing to go work at fucking Micky D's just to make ends meet for my family, but I've got a fucking degree from one of the most prestigious public university's in the nation and loads of experience in food service. I am not religious by any means, but you better believe that I'm praying my ass off I get this job. Please please PLEASE let me get this job!!!

My family has caught so much shit recently-my oldest has been struggling with lice for over a year (schools in my county no longer send kids home if they have lice since it's only a nuisance and it doesn't spread disease so every time we beat the damn things, she gets reinfested from some kid in her class), pink eye just last month and now fucking ringworm from the pet rats I bought her a month ago. On top of all that, my boyfriend and I have made so many bad life choices in the past that we're really trying to better ourselves and our family and it seems like nothing we do ever gets us ahead. I just want to work my ass off, and have money to save so I can get my kids into cool activities. So I can take them shopping for clothes that aren't second (or third or fourth hand-me-downs) hand. So I can buy them a bicycle. So I can make things right. I'm tired of leaning on my boyfriend's mom to cover our ass when we don't have enough money to pay our bills (which wasn't a problem when it was just me, but us as a team, we've had a difficult time doing that). And yes, I know, all of these came out of the decisions I made, so I have no one or nothing to blame but myself. And I am fully capable of taking full responsibility for those bad choices, but all I'm asking for is a chance. A chance to show the owners who interviewed me what I can do. A chance to finally get on our feet. A chance to change our family's trajectory. I fucking took the plunge and traded getting high for methadone maintenance. I'm trading in my bar nights, getting fucking drunk and acting silly with friends, for cuddling up cozy with my boyfriend for movies, popcorn and pot. Or maybe craft night with him. I don't know, doing something healthy for a change instead of self destructive. Just please universe, please please please! Give me this job. Give me this chance. PLEASE!

Today I am very down in the dumps. I just want to crawl under my covers in bed and not come out-ever.

I'm feeling sad, depressed, and want to just give up on life, and I can't even get high (which is probably a good thing, in the end). I almost asked to go up to 80/mg today, but I knew I was really just wanting to feel high today so I didn't ask to go up.

I was late to the clinc (based on my routine that I've been building these last three weeks) because my boyfriend didn't wake up and go to his clinic until 6am and he wasn't back until 6:40am. Now that he's working at a labor ready type place he decided that my routine doesn't mean shit. My routine was helping ME; it was helping me feel on the ball. It was helping get me out of bed every morning and be dressed and have breakfast cooking when my children woke up. It was helping me feel better about myself. But he didn't care about any of that. He doesn't understand how this little thing could mean so much to me.

And I am being selfish. And mean. Or so I'm told.

Maybe I am being too over dramatic about this. I just don't understand why, if he doesn't have to be to work until 8am (or sometimes later) why I couldn't keep my routine going-alarm goes off at 6am, I get up and dressed and out the door by 6:15am, go dose and am back by 6:40am, giving me time to smoke with my coffee, use the toilet and then wake the girls up (if they haven't woken up naturally by then). I don't understand why he can't accept that something as little as that routine is important to me. So what if it's not important to him. I'm trying to do this whole recovery thing and when he doesn't support the little things that I'm finding helps, it hurts. Routines and staying busy helps me not use.

Before he decided to actually go accept jobs at this labor ready type temp job center, he was staying in bed until at least 8am (sometimes later) each morning while I rocked my mornings. For me to function well and have a happy clear head, I need to get myself up early and go do something; I need to have a purpose or goal for the day. Before I decided to hop on the MMT train, my boyfriend did first and we talked about what that would look like. We both agreed that he would wake up early, before the girls got up, and go dose so he could be helping me with the girls' morning routine. This was important to me because in the past (and remember, we've been together almost 11 years) I know how long he can stay in bed. He can stay in bed for HOURS after I wake up and start the day with the girls. And with him moving into MY apartment and us trying to save and build this relationship AGAIN (for the third time) I knew the things that would trigger me and cause me to want to use, or blow up and get angry and fight. And I didn't want that. I wanted this time to be different. I thought we were both ready to change... But that never happened. So when I started my program, I decided that I would set my goal of being up that early each morning (because really, my clinic stays open until 12:30 during the week, so I could have slept in as much as I wanted to and still dose each day), and focus on what I could be doing to better myself and just accepted that he was going to still be in bed until after my oldest left for school.


He acts like this should be no big deal, and he's probably right. It probably shouldn't be a big deal. I should just adjust to dosing whenever he gets back. And maybe if he had some rhyme or reason to when he wakes up and leaves, maybe it would be easier for me to adjust. BUT there is NO routine there-one day he could wake up at when his alarm first goes off at 5:45am and actually be out the door and at his clinic when they open at 6am, dose and be back by 6:15 and other days he will hit snooze on his alarm a few times, before actually getting up and, sloth like, get ready to go and then be back by 6:45/7am. There is no consistency there. And yes, I'm probably being pretty petty about all this. But FUCK this is MY apartment that I let him live in.

Yes, they are petty stupid things, but when I moved out I gained the right to have rules in my home. These little things play a big part in my mental stability. Without them I feel chaotic and restless and want to use to dull the chaos that I feel. I know that children thrive on routine and stability, and you know what? So do I! I thrive on my routine! I'm happier keeping with it and am able to set other goals because my morning routine allows me to get all the little things done and have time to focus on bigger things. I have more energy too. With raising children it's important for me to raise them right (whatever that means)-for me to show them it's important to clean the house, to learn how to cook, to have manners, to not depend on the tv to fill up the hours in the day...my kids are already going to have the deck stacked against them with addiction running deep on both sides of their parents so I think it's important to show them what stability looks like. What responsibility looks like. What normality looks like (and I say that in reference to drug use vs non drug use). Is that so bad? Because my boyfriend makes me feel like I'm a fucking nut job for wanting all that.

And now the fights are back. This morning was spent yelling at each other and fighting. Another reason I moved out of the house was to keep my girls away from our fighting. I don't want that happening in my apartment. We fought for so long, so loud and so mean when we lived together that I couldn't take it anymore. It wasn't fair to our girls. And whenever I would ask him to leave so we could NOT be fighting in front of the girls, he never would. So now I'm stuck in this shitty position...AGAIN...
When we first started hanging out again I was really trying to keep my temper in check. I was really tying to accept him and to move on and allow everything that happened in the past stay in the past. And we were doing a good job together. We talked about what we both needed and he accepted what I needed and I did the same for him. I told him I needed him to be honest with me, 100% because in the past he's lied to me, over and over again, and I couldn't accept lying. I told him that without trust there is no foundation on which to build a relationship. I also told him that I needed to be with someone who could find happiness. I wanted someone who wasn't depressed all the time. When I look into someone's eyes I want to see light, not dark and with my boyfriend his eyes have always been filled with sadness, depression and hopelessness. And that is scary. I don't want to send the rest of my life with someone who can't find happiness. Well, when we got back together he did smile! And the smile in his eyes lead me to believe that we could be happy together! I believed that we could finally laugh and joke together, and roll around and be silly with each other and enjoy life. I didn't realize that the heroin he was bringing over for us to smoke had a HUGE role in this...

...he refuses to accept that when we first started hanging out again, and everything was so amazing between us, heroin had a major role in that. I can see it crystal clear now as hindsight is 20/20-the heroin we were smoking caused me to feel euphoria and acceptance and a warm glow. I was able to forget about all sorts of small things because, everything was just fine and dandy in the fog of heroin intoxication. He doesn't think that had anything to do with his smiles in his eyes and his ability to do things and be happy with the mundane life we live right now. He swears up and down heroin had nothing to do with his happiness...but yet, now he's walking around with a deep sadness back in his eyes. He's lied to me and not kept his word. And he tells me that the reason the smile has left his eyes and his face is because I have pulled away from him. Our sex life is just about non-existent once again. And that's why he's sad...

...but on my side I've pulled away from him because of the lies that I caught him in. I've pulled away from him because of the lack of employment that he promised me was changing in August (and now it's October...and he's only worked two days since we've been back together). I've pulled away because without the heroin fog I see clearly now. I see that he's not willing to better himself and change. I see that those smiles in his eyes were him being high. I see that the things that are important to me aren't important to him.. How am I suppose to keep smiling and sleeping with him when we're so clearly different in our hopes and dreams for life.

And now here I am, after writing this post, thinking to myself that maybe it is me that is the problem. Maybe I have been too hard on him. And maybe I should just run away and disappear and they would be so much better without me. Of course I would NEVER do that. EVER. But I do think about it. And that's what has been on my mind all morning since the fight...that I just want to disappear. But my children are so important to me. I'm just so tired...so so tired...

And more than anything I want a partner who will pull me up instead of drag me down. I want a partner who has the same goals in life, who has goals in life! I want a partner who supports me as I support him. I want a partner I can trust. And on top of that, I wish my current boyfriend, the father of my children, was that partner...but he's not and it saddens me....

Four years and a few months and we have a kid.

She wasn't ever supposed to be even a possibility and yet she is here and walking and talking and almost potty trained.

After all, if a major scam like Scientology qualifies as a religion, anything is possible. Especially since Scientology is more of a corporation masquerading as a religion, I don't see why this is such a difficult thing to accomplish. It's not that we'd want money from people, or to recruit them, or even tax exempt status! We just don't need the government interfering by telling adults what they can put in their bodies. Yes, we are well aware of all the warnings, but as that pre-Revolutionary War flag says, "Don't Tread On Me." That's pretty much the long and short of it, in my view.

Yeah, I've started writing my fanfiction at Panera and I'm far more productive then writing in my bed.

Where in my bed I'd peck away at 200-300 words at a time, I wrote 1600 words yesterday and 800 words today.

I just don't think I have the money to buy a $2 cup of coffee every time I want to get some work done



OKAY FINE YOU CAN BITCH NOW

I have lagged on writing these last few days. The last time I posted was day 17...I am pretty sure I had written a post for day 19 but it was so long that BL didn't post it so I had copy and pasted it into a word doc, meaning to come back and edit it to fit here, but I never got around to it. I think it was filled with anger at my boyfriend but once I wrote it all out, the anger faded away and I'll probably just leave it as a word doc, as there is much to write about without going back to being angry.

So where to start? Last Friday I started my new job at a crappy pizza joint. I worked 4.5 hours on a Friday night and not ONE customer came in...not one. So I am currently still searching for another job. We paid the babysitter about what I made in my hourly, so this job just isn't really worth it.

Saturday night I went out to meet a friend for a night of drinking at our favorite dive bar. Since I get tested each and every morning for alcohol (via breathalyzer) I've been pretty paranoid about coming up dirty so I decided I wouldn't drink unless it was Saturday (clinic is closed on Sunday-automatic take home). Well...after what happened Saturday night, I don't think I'll be drinking like that for a long long time.

I do the family pizza and movie night with my kids and boyfriend, put the kids to bed and get ready to head out. I grab a tall boy of pbr for the walk in the pouring down rain and put my funky rain boots on and begin my walk (stomping in massive puddles the whole way). Meet up with my friend, grab another beer for the walk to the bar and then hang at the bar. I didn't come out with more than five bucks and I know my friends didn't buy my that many drinks, but I did get drunk. I swear I didn't have more than I usually drink (maybe 6-7 beers total and 2-3 shots of whiskey over a few hours) but I got TRASHED. I woke up the next morning in bed, with a nasty hangover and didn't remember even going to sleep. Didn't remember leaving the bar. Didn't remember anything that happened. I don't black out often, and I ate a TON before going out. I think it was the methadone in my system that caused the alcohol to effect me like it did.

Well, after waking up and walking out of my room to pee and then walking straight back to my bed to get under the covers again (Sunday is my only day I sleep in) my boyfriend walks in my room and tells me he's leaving for a while. He looks really depressed. I say ok....is everything ok? And he says that after what happened last night he needs to leave. I again say ok. He replies, "do you not remember what happened last night" and I say nope! What happened?
I guess I called him someone else's name during sex a few times last night, and I also kept saying "I love you Matt" (my boyfriends name is NOT Matt) and my boyfriend was pretty hurt by that. I got kinda pissed off that he was so hurt (as I have never been romantically involved with my friend Matt, EVER, and NEVER have wanted to be AT ALL) especially since I have caught him lying to me about two women that he's seen behind my back before and I had to confront him about it and feelings were actually there between them, and I was expected to forgive him. But I was also still kinda drunk, kinda dehydrated and REALLY hungover. I tried chugging water, and then drank my dose, and then proceeded to throw up my dose. At that point I was super upset because I knew that I was in for it that day. I couldn't replace my methadone, and being on 70mg I knew I was in for a day/night of being sick until I could get to the clinic Monday morning.

I try to tell him that I must have been really really fucked up last night, that I don't remember anything, and that I was so drunk that I just threw up my dose. I said that my brain must have NOT been functioning well because really this guy I kept calling him was ONLY a friend and that was it. Seriously!

I was sick all day, for the most part. I had my bottle of percocets that I was trying NOT to take, since I am on MMT, but since I threw up my dose I knew I had to take something to hold w/d at bay, so I grab 7 of them and swallow them. Not even 3 minutes later they come back up too. Along with any water I drink. So as time went by, I became sicker and sicker. I spent most of the day curled up in a ball on my bed, running to the bathroom vomiting every so often. It got so bad that whenever I went to vomit it felt like I was reaching down into the depths of my stomach and throwing up stomach bile or acid. Ugh.

I felt horrible because my boyfriend did leave for a while and my kids needed me, but I couldn't freaking move. I usually don't allow them to watch more than an hour or two of tv a day (sometimes not even that much) but that day I had to cave and let them be little couch potatoes. Luckily for me my oldest is a doll and really really helped me out with my youngest, and they are both very empathetic people and were trying to take care of me as well. But I messaged my boyfriend and told him that I threw up my dose and I was dope sick and the kids really needed a parent around that wasn't sick. IT wasn't fair to them that I made such a bad decision.

He did end up coming home and picking up ALL My slack, which I am very grateful for. I also managed to nibble on a few pretzels SLOWLY and sip on some water SLOWLY, which calmed my stomach just enough for me to swallow one perk at a time, allowing me to finally get 50mg of oxy in my system, which eventually halted a little bit of my w/d.

I slept on and off, shaking in my bed on and off, until 5am (ish) when I grabbed 50mg more of oxy so when I saw my counselor at the clinic for our monthly meeting at 7am I wouldn't be in severe w/d.
I dosed at 7am and met with my counselor and then came back home to get the girls ready for the day and to eventually talk with my boyfriend.

After apologizing over and over again, and swearing up and down that there was NOTHING between my friend and I and there never has been, he forgave me. I told him I was so sorry I hurt him so much because of my bad choice to drink like that. That my brain was just malfunctioning. I told him that I know he probably doesn't believe me when I say that there was NOTHING between us and that's another reason why I felt so bad, is that I hurt him so much when really there was nothing to be hurt about, just my brain not working.
I told him I wasn't going to be going out like that anymore, because not only did I hurt him, but I could have hurt myself. I could have not woken up. I didn't realize how dangerous it was to drink on that much methadone. But I don't plan on doing it again.

Well, I kept waiting for my dose on Monday to hit me, because I was still feeling like crap. I almost threw up an hour after taking it, well I did throw up a bit, but I held most of it back, and only a tiny bit of vomit escaped my stomach.
I thought that because I (unintentionally) skipped my dose Sunday, that my Monday dose would hit me hard.
It never kicked it! I felt like crap all day, in mild w/d and it was super hard to fall asleep and RLS started up at night too. I'm not sure what the fuck happened, but my Monday dose didn't take effect.

Crap, time is up for me to write even though I have so much more I want to write. I have to get ready to head into this crap job of mine. I want to quit so fucking bad, and I had an interview for a great job, right around the corner from my house at a new restaurant opening up in ten days, today but I won't know if I got the job for another day or so. So the responsible part of me says to keep going to this crap job, even though NO customers come in.

blogs has been inactive lately

The household of a schizophrenic parent is a warzone, and anyone born into such bad circumstances is caught in enemy fire without shelter or the protection of a supporting army. Like mentally disabled war veterans, the survivors of such parents are likely to come out mentally broken from shell shock that can manifest as PTSD, panic attacks, or crippling anxiety.

Among the symptoms of schizophrenia are visual and auditory hallucinations, delusions, disorganized thinking and speech, lack of emotions (flat affect), unchanging facial expression, speaks in a monotone, social isolation, and inability to care for oneself including extreme neglect of hygiene. Schizophrenia occurs in around 1 percent of the population, and it often starts in the twenties.

When she was still a teenager, my mother met a drunkard who promised to earn a million dollars and spend it on her. He would buy her “dream house” and give her a fairy tale life. That fact that he wore his uniform when he trolled for girls at the college near his military base must have helped make him look like he had his life together. She was swept off her feet by his act. She dropped out of college which her father had been paying for, and she married him. She had completed only one year but was close to flunking out. Although she didn’t graduate with a traditional degree like a BS, BA, BFA, etc, she got the letters that her brothers criticised her for: MRS.

My father took her to an isolated logging town on the coast of Washington state. He deposited her in a house he rented there. He was soon discharged from the military, worked at a mill for a little for a while but soon lost the job. Instead of doing anything productive (jobs were plentiful at the time), he went to the local taverns to drink all day. Left alone in this way, my mother settled into endless days of eating doughnuts, drinking A&W root beer, and dozing in a reclining chair in front of a big color television, an expensive appliance then. For company, she had fifteen cats

Within a few years, she was pregnant, and I was born. My mother didn’t talk much and went for days without saying a single word, but in childhood, my mother still spoke to me sometimes. Some of it was bizarre. Maybe she didn’t think I could remember.

My memory since 18 months of age is almost continuous except for one really big lapse at the age of two when I was kicked in the head by a neighbor’s horse.

Sometimes, she described the ongoing visits by “ghosts” while she was home alone since before I was born. The visitations happened any time of day when she was home alone and fully awake in the house. I suspect it might be one reason she never turned off the TV. They were her New Age spirit guides, and their visits were as real and solid as those of the Jehovah’s Witness missionaries that were constantly giving her piles of Watchtower religious tracts. Thee ghosts and disembodied voices told her important things about her past life as Cleopatra (what she told me) and gave her personal information about her spiritual gurus Shirley McClain and Ruth Montgomery. She truly believed all of this.

After I left home, I realized that she probably had a mental illness, but my mother never saw a psychiatrist or got a diagnosis. I hadn’t thought of what it might be until my new girlfriend asked about her. Not only did she hallucinate, but she had many of the main positive and negative symptoms of schizophrenia. Her symptoms were extreme, and maybe because of them, she did not function in life. She never even took care of herself, never bathing, washing, or changing her clothes. Before I cut off contact with her, I had gently suggested she see a counselor or doctor but she reacted like a rabid dog. Without a diagnosis, I never found out if she truly suffered from an untreated mental illness like schizophrenia or she was simply a nasty and lazy person.

Being familiar with my mother’s sick and twisted personality, I realized that she was probably a schizophrenic. I will never know for sure what was wrong with her.

Inheritance of schizophrenia is not Mendelian, and there is no single binary gene allele that causes it. Instead, heredity is complicated and involves the interaction of a number of genes as well as possible epigenetic factors. Children of one schizophrenic parent have around a 17 percent chance of getting it. More often, instead of becoming schizophrenic, the children of a schizophrenic inherit only some of the genes. Whether from that partial heredity or from exposure to the toxic environment the parent created, other mental illnesses are common in children including depression, autism, Asperger’s syndrome, anxiety disorder, PTSD, bipolar disorder, chemical dependency, low self-esteem, and suicidal tendency. If both parents are schizophrenic, the odds of being schizophrenic go up to 50 percent.

You need a license to drive a car, but anybody can have a child. My generation sterilizes themselves willingly with procedures like vasectomies or subdermal anti-conception implants. That’s still only a small demographic compared to the whole world and doesn’t make much difference in the issues of overpopulation. The human race is on the road to breeding itself into environmental collapse and resource exhaustion.

Even if you don’t believe in overpopulation and the risks associated with it, being born to incompetent or abusive parents has a strong chance of ruining the future for those unlucky children.

Since early childhood, I wanted "ghosts” to visit me too, but no matter how hard I tried to find one or see one of the many that my mother said was with us, I never properly saw one. Despite that, I didn’t give up. By the age of 12, I had read dozens of books on the subject and had learned meditation practices and occult summonings all with the intention of inducing the experience. Instead of seeing a “ghost,” mental images flashed into my mind. The images were ordinary, stable, and photorealistic. In being stable, they were fully formed images on the inside of my eyelids. Sometimes they formed outside in areas of solid color like dark pools of water, dark walls, or shadowy places like caves. The images persisted for minutes at a time.

Many of them were scenes, people, and things I had seen earlier during the previous days, but these were not interesting. In a few months something about them changed. They were things and people I would see within the next few days but that I did not remember ever having seen before.

Around the same age of 12, I started gettign weekly migraines. My parents didn’t believe in migraines, so of course, I was never taken to a doctor to get treated. One side effect of of migraines is the migraine Aura. The aura is a form of visual disturbance. First, my vision is filled with sparkles that look like specks of mica flashing in the water in the sunlight. Second, every thing is surrounded by a halo that looks like the halos that surround Saints in medieval paintings. Third, there are other strange shapes made of phosphenes that look like what people see under the influence of mescaline, ayahuasca, or mushrooms. Sometimes the effects is so intense it reminds me of an Alex? Grey
psychedelic painting.

That is when I began to sketch and describe them in notebooks. It inspired me to want to learn to draw. I wanted to prove I had seen something unusual. It would have been good evidence if I could record what I saw. I didn’t know how to draw, so despite my best efforts of drawing a portrait of an image I saw floating in a shadow or in a dream, my sketches were not close to the images I remembered.

It's been two days since my last post. If I wait for it to disappear off the front page, I'll never finish.

An author friend had just introduced me to a French girl at a party. Something about Laëtitia instantly drew me to her. There was something about her eyes. I felt compelled to look into them. I could fall into them. I felt like I was skydiving. Skydiving at terminal velocity feels good, but in this case, I didn’t know if a parachute would deploy landing me gently in the beautiful countryside or if I would hit the ground with a bloody splat. We talked for three hours, left the party, walked along the river at midnight, and had our first kiss on the Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge in Paris, with Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the golden dome of Beaux Arts, and the Louvre all in the background. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before that fast and intensely.

The writing of this gets confusing because there is a huge gap in time between the girls and by the number of characters. In the US, I went 10 years with only 1 girlfriend, not that the relationship lasted more than a few years, but here in 10 months I have been involved with a lot more than 1 girl. I always only look for a serious long term relationship, and that is all i ever wanted. Things haven’t worked as planned, and I’ve gone through a large number looking for one. I’m ashamed of how many there have been. I never wanted to one of those people. I’m only writing about the ones that had the biggest impact on me. I left Maiz out on the bridge the last time. It was the same bridge where Laetitia and I went. I didn’t even realize it until afterwards.

Not long ago, I wrote about my friend Maiz. Maiz is the young wife of the Albanian ambassador. Maiz and I were seeing each other for a while earlier this year. I had strong feelings for her, and we had/have a strong connection. I think I looked to her as a friend but not really as a girlfriend. It is hard to describe. Who looks at somebody else’s wife as a girlfriend anyway? She is married, and she had just started with the divorce. The relationship was complicated. We put the relationship on hold. We are still friends and talk and see each other regularly. We have both been open and honest to each other but kept our secret from her pederast husband. There was never any hostility between us.

Laetitia and I spent several weeks together before we professed our love, and after two months she told me she wanted to marry me. I said I would like that, but I would like to get to know her better before I make that commitment. She agreed.

The weather turned cold, and we took the night train out of Paris. In the early morning, the train arrived in a small town near Cannes. Her villa was a 15 minute taxi ride away from the depot.

Late summer on the Riviera (Côte d’Azur) the weather is warm in the sun but cool in the shade. The land is dry. Rising from the sea, steep, rocky hills covered with vineyards and trees in dusty olive greens become mountains. The sky was an intense blue. It reminded of the California coast. We were to spend a couple weeks at her villa overlooking the Mediterranean sea. The mild opioid withdrawals added a heavy tone of nostalgia to everything.

At the Riviera, I was tapering off the opiate painkillers that I had started again after a cluster of migraines hit recently. I had completely quit opiates and tramadol, but the pain and vomiting was unbearable that last time. It was the worst migraine I’ve had in a year. I hadn’t been able to move from my bed for a day. I hadn’t even been able to get up to use the toilet. I was so sick in fact, I texted my ex-lover Maiz from bed and asked her to come to my flat to help me. She had to get the tramadol from my medicine cabinet, pour me a glass of water, and feed me 2 two hundred milligram tramadol pills while holding the water so I could sip it. Maiz is a physician and is educated about migraines. I hadn’t asked Laetitia because I didn’t want her to see me like that.


photo of pool and sea

Her house is on a hilltop not far from some forgotten Roman ruins. It’s a typical Mediterranean house with a tile roof, stucco walls, tile floor, and a pool.

We spent the days visiting the surrounding medieval towns, walking through natural areas, exploring ruins, and eating. Eating is a big part of life in France. When we didn’t eat out, we cooked at home. I didn’t know how to cook, but Laetitia showed me what to do. In all, I did about half the cooking. We ate a lot of cheese, grilled some steak, vegetables, bread, olives, and wine.

Eating out was usually OK. A funny thing about French people is that they eat a lot of pork. One time, the only restaurant open in town served nothing but pork. We were both hungry, but Laetitia was thoughtful enough to go to a grocery store and buy food for a picnic lunch. I only had to mention my food allergies one time to her and there were no surprise poisonings with pork or garlic.

Castelly is a fortified medieval town built on a rock on the edge of the sea. The rock is, in fact, a plateau with sheer sides and whose top is somewhat smaller than a square kilometer in area. The town’s foundations date to pre-Roman times. The Romans conquered and destroyed it. They rebuilt it on the ruins of the old Celtic-Gaul opidum. Within its walls are a castle and a chateau. Narrow streets wind among the medieval houses which have all been preserved. They have shops on the bottom floor and living quarters above the shops.

The sunlight was a gold hue that accentuated the yellow ochres of the buildings lining the narrow street. Flowering vines, their flowers intense magentas and blues, framed the archways and grew up the walls to the eaves of many of the buildings. The flowering plants were all around and overhung the archways of passages between streets and doorways.

Laetitia and I strolled through a narrow streets. They were shaded by high walls and trees. Most of the buildings were three stories high and contiguous to one another. The shops were designed for tourists. They sold designer clothing, art, jewelry, handbags, kitchen gear and dining settings, shoes, bakeries, chocolate, and a few brasseries. Dozens of stray cats sunbathed in the middle of the streets. There weren’t any cars.




During the tourist season, it is not possible to walk down the street, but instead one must push through a crowd packed shoulder to shoulder like a crowded stadium rock concert. It was deserted this time of year.

http://i.imgur.com/XAAYZxR.png



photo of oragne cat



We walked out the city’s west gate and followed a steep path that winded down the chateau’s terraced vineyards. The sun was setting. The fall palette of the vines caught the red ochers, rust colors, and deep purples of the sunset. We found a grassy area next to some overgrown Roman ruins overlooking the valley. We had a picnic of wine and cheese with some pastries from the bakery. The setting looked like a Romantic period painting. The afternoon and, in fact, the whole trip had been romantic.

I couldn’t help but wonder whether this was too good to be true. Maybe my past experiences have made me irrationally suspicious and there was nothing to worry about.