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in my dream, I'm with my parents. Terminator came up, as I was trying to wrap a paper- a program for the play up after trying to fold it. It was length-wise, and long, and thick. The wrapping was a black trash bag of sorts, and I was duct taping it. I looked up and saw my mom in front of me, and she noticed my difficulty. I had kind of laughed just prior. I told her that "did you know that I have mental problems?", referencing in my consciousness what I just found out about my genes predisposing me to certain ones, and as well having certain mutations that make it hard for me to break down neurotransmitters and things. I laughed a little. She looked a little concerned, and said "you look all alone". The way she said it was interesting, and I understood. I raised up a little, leaning quite forward to her, and said something like "that's how I've felt for the past..." and my brain was slow on the recall, stumbling on my life, 10 years... 8 years? I'm not sure what I told her. Maybe 8. It was a different kind of alone. The kind of alone like none of this was real, and I was the only thing in existence. That I was a crazy God, sort of (can you call God God if God is all alone?, sort of), dreaming everything. No wonder I was a little weird and worn out. She began to mention my body not processing things.

The play... We had started watching it in a front row, off to the right of the stage. We were, though, facing outward, toward the rest of an audience. My pants either weren't buttoned, or weren't on. only part of the way. I found them a bit difficult to put on, as I sat there, listening to the play. A girl... That I had been with, who I remember from a part of a dream where I have consciousness of people being grown for spare parts, or something... Like clones, kind of like the movie, The Island, but I don't know if that's where I got the idea, as it hasn't surfaced in my consciousness lately. It was near water. I felt like we were incomplete somehow. The girl was with red-hair. It was a more very light auburn color, but no, red. Just not ginger. Her skin was very pale. She was thin. Her shirt seemed to match her hair color. It seemed as if I touched her, she would be very soft- everything about her would be soft, naturally. I introduced her to Christi, as Christi, and this was a mistake. I knew her name. She kept reminding me of Sarah, even at times being the same girl that I crushed on in middle school, though she was not, and I know her name wasn't Sarah. She had a British accent. Or, some kind of accent. Very nice. I had been somewhere with her, before, and this was the second time around. I just liked being with her. And things were natural. Nothing was forced. I was her friend, even if I liked her. She seemed to like me, too.

When I turned to face the stage a little, as best as I could, I was once again obstructed. I couldn't see what was going on. There was a a part of the structure, or stage. We were actually on stage, or a step below.

She had maybe wanted to go to California. This was after the place where we were, or where the consciousness of being for spare parts was had. We were by water, there.

After the play, I saw some people that looked like they were related to people I knew. It was in my old high school, or perhaps rather, middle school. This was where the play had been, I think. They have places for them. One of these people, a young man, was eating taco bell. He and they seemed like they might be a bit obnoxious, but they proved okay. I thought he said something about moving back to Mexico, as he was chewing his food, but it turned out he was talking about eating Taco Bell. On the border, he said. His friend, or someone, seemingly disabled, or on drugs- his eyes barely open, had just had a tooth pulled. We were waiting on elevators. Or I was. The guy with the tooth that was just pulled got medicine. It was green, and something fairy like through it on him like fairy dust. Or it was a machine, as he went around a turn, in a narrow passage, like stairs. I got the impression this helped.

Before the elevators, before this above, at some point, I was waiting for them. They were a golden/brass color around them. Lots of people had been in the hallway. Some people I know. Or knew. Perhaps before I met the guys above, though I feel like that was on a different level. I was acting weird. I couldn't stop moving. I was waiting on the girl, again.

Outside, it was like a mix between a hospital and a school, the campus. New ground. New roads. Some roads were already torn up even if new. some were made of nice wood, some cement mixes and other things, and some just brick. Brick was under it all seemingly.

I've got two more months to attain expert level knowledge of diabetes. And to become functional in the french language. I don't have internet st home yet and none of the neighbors do either. That's typical of the hood where I'm living until I get to paris. One good thing they have here is dope but unfortunately there is not an open air drug market. I ride to the tenderloin for that.
There was a lot of heat there today. I was surprised bc i had read on opiophile that tues and thurs are sweep days.
On my way to a spot there were a pair of what lookef like undercovet cops. They were standong on the corner. Both obvioudly well-fed. Clothes were too clean and they were wearing sun glasses despite it being late afternoon.
The raw human suffering there is overwhelming. I passed someone sitting on the sidewalk wailing at the top of their lungs. He/she was completely covered with a blsnket which had a burkha effect.
Nearby there were groups of broken-down people sitting stnading laying down squatting or even curled up on the cement.
Half a block from the undervovers i saw Jorge who was supposed to sell me a gram of chiva.
I broke the rule and ftonted him the money. He left and came back a few minutes later with a small chunk of tar. I was hoping he would give me a phone number so I won't have yo keep taking the risk of hoing back there but he was way too nervous .
after I got it and rounded I saw six cop cars lined up. Setting sanitation aside I put the dope in my mouth at the back of my tongue and got ready to wash it down eith my drink in case the cops rushed me.
It was very bitter and began to dissolve during the next couple of blocks until I felt safe enough to take it out again

I'm back in SF. I fixed up and rode an old BMW motorcycle all the way here. The worst fear of the journey was that I would fall asleep while riding and crash. Well, I did fall asleep several times per day at 80 mph, but I woke up just as I was crossing the line, either toward incoming traffic or the ditch/cliff, and didn't crash. Every time that happened, I'd stop and take a nap on the beach. I'm going to sell it so I'll have some money to get started (plane ticket, renting an apartment, etc) when I move to Europe in the next month or two.
I spent 6 days riding. I would keep stopping at all of the road side attractions, including parks, forests, interesting towns, and spent much of the time checking them out.
After the ride yesterday, I ached all over. Well I did ache but no more thanks to some cheva. I couldn't find my old connection in the Haight, so I rode my bicycle into the Tenderloin neighborhood and bought a couple of grams of tar from a crew working one of the street corners.
Copping on the street is dangerous. It's not the people (dealers, junkies, one legged scabby prostitutes, etc) but the cops that I hate. They've been cracking down on the open air drug market for several years now.
Anyway, tar heroin often (almost always) needs to be heated a little for it to dissolve. Hence the whole Hollywood ritual with putting it in a spoon with water and heating it and end up with a blackened spoon . Except Hollywood always gets it wrong, or so it seems. They always end up heating white powder heroin which in reality never needs to be cooked. Just add water and it dissolves without heat. Maybe they're trying to sterilize it.
The buzz from black tar is mellower, closer to that of opium, poppy pod tea, or even a heroic dose of kratom. East coast china white feels stronger, more synthetic, and more likely to make me sick.

This may seem like it cant help, but it can, imo.

looong time user of benzos, opiate pills, weed, heroin, coke.

this little combo felt great.......BUT, is very dangerous to mix at all. Any drugs real

Fucking fantastic. 2 valium, 2 beers an hour later, to ambien 2 hours later, 6 beers and two more ambien.


Point is what I just did and am not done by any means . putting anyone down. This could kill a less experienced user.

There was a marathon. And there was a big gay butt-centric festival. There was a Palestinian protest. There was something for everyone.

I picked up a gram of black tar in the mission and cooked it up in the bathroom at starbux. It goes nicely with coffee.

I rode my bike to the Ewok grove to see a concert performance by Rufus Wainright. Stern grove was nice and foggy. Its a grove pf big costal redwoods and ubiquitous eukalyptus. an amphitheater. the acoustics were fantastic - the concert was enjoyable, even more so with a heroin buzz. Forty miles on my bicycle today which is typical now.

My tweaked out blog has been deleted.

My Needle and Me

I slept inside a hollow tree in a grove of ancient coastal redwoods. Even though the inside of the base had burned/rotted out, this tree was still standing at 200 feet or so. The bottom had a hollowed-out room inside. It was about 15 feet across. The floor was very soft.

I slept solid around 4 hours until WDs started hitting bad. From then on, my sleep was broken by dreams and much tossing and turning. In one, Forest creatures came to see me. Half their bodies were healthy and half were gangrenous zombie bodies. They brought with them the mummified bodies of their ancestors that humans had mindlessly destroyed. The spirits of the ancestors still lived inside the mummy bodies.

One forest animal, half his face human and the other half rotting but with a snakelike eye with a vertical pupil brought me to a spit of land that projected into the ocean. The forest king saw me and blamed me for the destruction of the forest. (Half of it was logged and 20 foot diameter stumps were still visible. The other hafl was still old growth ancient redwoods, spruce, and others). I thougth it was stragne that the forest king was riding on a barge. Court musicians played strange music on forest instruments as he floated by. He was angry and sent rats to bite me. At that moment, an immortal rat began chasing me. He jumped on my head and bit me.

I awoke and there was a rat on my head sniffing my ear. I shooed it away and went back to sleep. The Forest King came back and put me on trial for the destruction of the forest. I explained that it wasn't me. He agreed and let me sleep in peace for the rest of the night.

Needle Junky

This post is dedicated to SB1981 - Much luv!

Didn't put an entry in yesterday; didn't feel the need. Yesterday was an emotional day for me. I was privy to more than a few episodes of wild mood swings. The weather was crap, which didn't help my mood or desire to go for a walk, but I managed to go around the block. Mum was admitted to hospital with blood in her urine as well the night before (Night 3.) The ED said it was unrelated to the partial mastectomy she’d had only three days previous. She was one night home and then right back to the hospital until two-thirty in the morning – and I was there with her and my dad the entire time. Whilst I managed to mask my discomfort for most of the time there and be supportive and sensitive to her vulnerable and painful state, let me still give you a piece of advice about emergency rooms and withdrawal. They go together about as well as (insert two things which you really hate here.) You sit, and wait, and wait, and wait, and the blood pressure machine beeps, and beeps, and beeps, as an endless procession of elderly, drunken and drug effected patients roll through. I saw an elderly woman brought in with an oxygen mask on; twenty minutes later she was dead. They simply brought the blanket up over her head and turned off the light, waiting for the pickup.

I woke up today (day 5) feeling depressed. Physical symptoms are almost completely gone. The odd episode of temperature sensitivity and ache, but otherwise I’m good. Mood wise – I had a bad patch earlier. I was just very angry. Very sensitive. I didn't feel any euphoria today – mostly depression. I feel a little better now actually, knowing I’m going to get out soon and go for a decent walk - which reminds me about my walk last night. It was great to stretch my legs – although they weren't working well. I decided to take a detour along a boardwalk which runs across a cliff face (it’s not precarious by any means) and I had to hold onto the rail going down stairs in fear of falling. In fact I did slip and fall. My legs were like jelly. Besides that I was extremely anxious. I was paranoid as well. I never got paranoid while on opiates because they’re so great at producing apathy - I couldn't be bothered being afraid. This time, I was.
I live in a relatively (very) safe area – I am almost never afraid walking alone at night. As I was nearing my block, there were three drunken kids no older than fourteen or fifteen walking on the opposite side of the road to me. I could feel panic welling inside my chest. I wanted them to leave me alone. As I walked, I started thinking perhaps they were following me, looking for a target, because I must look weak and frail. I turned off the main road and they kept going, and I felt some relief, and realized just how paranoid I was being.

I’m going for another walk tonight. I’ll see how that goes, if I’m anxious or paranoid or what. At the moment I really just want to stay the fuck away from people. I promised my family I’d attend an NA meeting, but I can already feel my avoidance-inclined inner-voice tell me to dodge it. My rationalization is that I've read it’s a place where people tend to share sob stories and by god right now the last thing I need is to be surrounded by grief – or even worse people still using. Actually, wouldn't talking about using be a really bad idea right now? I’m fighting with my mind multiple times in the day to not convince me to give-in to cravings. So fuck it. I’m going to avoid it for now. I’m going for a long walk instead. That’ll be better for me.

That’s my entry for today. I may update when I get home from my walk. Or perhaps I’ll get a second wind and decide to bite the bullet and try the meeting, but I honestly doubt it. All the same, peace to everyone, especially those trying to get clean – it’s time for me to start researching the next part of my recovery – PAWS – because I can tell until I start exercising properly and picking up the pieces of my life again this depression simply won’t lift. Bye for now.

So he agreed to meet me at a spot on Corbett St. in Portland. I pulled off the superhighway (I-5), tried to figure out the city's parking for that street, and went to Ross Island Grocery (not the spot where I was to meet him but near it) to wait for him. I ordered a coffee - they have good coffee (Stumptown, IIRC) -- and checked my email and worked on my blog. I saw Rafi pull up in front of the store. I got in and we drove me around the neighborhood for a few minutes.

Rode another 6 hours until I was too exhausted to drive the motorcycle another mile. That made it 12 hours on a motorcycle total today, and I checked into a beach motel in Weldport. The hot shower felt fantastic. This was the first real shower I've had in months. Then I smoked all the Mexican brown that I had bought and tried to drink a beer. The first sip of beer made me sick so I put that away to work on my blog.

I woke up before dawn, but I couldn't find my boots so I put my shoes on instead. I loaded my backpack onto the motorcycle, strapping it on with a cable and padlock, and headed for the Columbia Gorge. The temperature was in the 40s, and I wore several layers to stay warm. The roar of the wind was hypnotic. About 3 hours into the ride, I started falling asleep. I was going around 80 mph on this motorcycle in traffic, and I would drift off to sleep for a split second and find myself crossing the line next to the ditch. This happened a few times. I parked at a meadow on the river, and took a nap under a tree. After my nap, I smoked my last chunk of opium. Felt much better and awake. Finally. I had elevenses. It was a granola bar, a few hand-fulls of blackberries which I picked at the meadow, and a bottle of "muscle milk" drink.

Used the outdoor toilet. The plop of my foot long turd disturbed a swarm of flies which had been resting on bits of soggy toilet paper and poo floating in the sludge sludge pit a few feet under the toilet. Many of them flew out of the toilet hole and began brushing my butt and then moved on and buzzed against my face. I almost ran out of there, my pants half down. I scrubbed my face in the river, put some loud music on my mp3 player, and got back on the bike.

When I used to drive a car 10 years ago, the falling asleep while driving thing had never happened to me. Seems like a new condition. Maybe I have narcolepsy or maybe it's WDs.

...Edit...

Waiting the dope man

I was getting very anxious about not having any opium for the next several days of my motorcycle trip. Finally overcome by the sense of dread, I decided to phone my friend "Rafi Shimer" (not his real name). He was a heroin connection I had a few years ago while I lived in Portland. I hate Mexican Brown heroin, but that's all I usually ever see on the West Coast and that's what he had.

So Rafi agreed to meet me at a spot on Corbett St. in Portland. I pulled off the superhighway (I-5), tried to figure out the city's parking for that street, and went to Ross Island Grocery (not the spot where I was to meet him but near it) to wait for him. I ordered a coffee - they have good coffee (Stumptown, IIRC) -- and checked my email and worked on my blog. I sat at the front window so I could watch for his car. He was taking a while so I began studying my French vocabulary and useful phrases note cards. I have 2 months to learn enough French to function in Paris. A few weeks ago, I got a job offer from a prestigious French academic institute. The project is interesting, and the group uses English for work because English is the common (international) language of science.

Finally Rafi pulled up in front of the store. I got in and we drove me around the neighborhood for a few minutes.
Rode another 6 hours until I was too exhausted to drive the motorcycle another mile. That made it 12 hours on a motorcycle total today, and I checked into a beach motel in Weldport. The hot shower felt fantastic. This was the first real shower I've had in months. Then I smoked all the Mexican brown that I had bought and tried to drink a beer. The first sip of beer made me sick so I put that away to work on my blog.

As my readers will know I went to rehab in may to quit suboxone and heroin. I got out in June and promptly relapsed on heroin two hours after getting out of treatment. I then put together 3 weeks off heroin by moving to a rural area with no car. But I moved back here after 3 weeks and went on a 2 week long heroin all day everyday run. It was fucking awesome! Anyway once the money ran out I came clean to my mom and convinced her to pay for me to get back on suboxone. So as of last week I'm back on maintenance.

I have mixed feelings on one hand I'm bummed that I put myself through the torture of a near cold turkey rehab withdrawal for nothing. That really was the closest to hell that I ever want to get. I was miserable and I made everyone around me there miserable. My first time in rehab was kind of fun I to my dick wet met some cool people ect. But not this time I was kicking way too hard for way too long to even give a shit what people thought. Everyone there hated me as I was super negative the whole time. Not that I didn't have good reason to be cause I was in hell and they refused to help me.

After I got out I knew I was going to relapse as I still felt like death. There is no way I can deal with the crazy withdrawal I felt even after a full month. It was very intense back pain,insomnia,coldness,agitation,depression. It was like the mental part of the acute withdrawal never went away and the physical part only lessened in intensity. I guess 5 years on sub is close to a life sentence for maintenance. Now that I'm back on sub I feel better physically. And I'm not craving heroin as badly as I was before. Now I'm mainly just bored.

Anyway rehab sucks I will never be talked into going back ever....again.....

I spent half the day yesterday test driving the old BMW motorcycle I rebuilt. I took it through Hell's Canyon, an 8 hour ride through a massive canyon (a baby Grand Canyon) in the desert in Eastern Oregon/Idaho. Except for noisy valves (which I already adjusted), a tendency to occasionally drip hot oil onto my boot through a tiny leak somewhere and the need for another oil change, every thing is working. I'll take care of the oil problem later today. Also, I was surprised how easy it was to figure out how to rebuild and repair it. I've never worked on any kind of engine, car, motorcycle before. That's the kind of thing anybody with a little patience can learn to do. The only time it requires a little bit of thinking is when diagnosing a mechanical or electrical problem. When I used to have a car, that's the sort of thing I paid somebody else to do. For a motorcycle, it's different -- if I break down on the road, I need to know how to fix it myself.

I'm still trying to pare down all of my belongings to that which I can comfortably pack onto the bike. I'm not sure how I'm going to strap down my massive backpack, and I can't decide which books and notebooks to take. It's kind of stressful. I'm at the point where I can't decide what to do with some things, so I took a break and smoked some opium. Now all I want to do is take a nap. I don't know what I'm going to do about WDs on the road. Hopefully they will only be minimal.

Scientists are on the brink of a radical break through with the discovery that those who dwell in desert area's are more than one hundred-times more likely than those outside desert areas to develop Mad-Sands Disease (or MDS for short.) They believe that this may finally explain the constant conflict observed in the Middle East.

MDS occurs when excess sand builds up in places it shouldn't belong, causing uncontrollable anger and delusions. Sufferers often believe that a being called "hashem" or "allah" has promised them all of the sand around them, for their exclusive use only. In the chronic stages of MDS, hallucinations become so intense that sufferers are completely unable to rationally assess their situation and understand that it is the sand itself which is causing their symptoms in the first place.

Scientists have evidence that the only way to cure MDS is to spend longer than five days outside the desert. Options are being discussed for the vast movement of populations in affected zones by 2050 to tropical islands in the Caribbean, South Pacific, and Hawaii. Once the disease begins to alleviate itself, evidence of flip-flops, coconuts, and super hard chilling can be observed. Tragically however, some are so deeply damaged by the disease, they simply cannot be removed from their desert environment, and will continue to fight and die in an endless cycle of misery.

The Road to Eleusis: Unveiling the Secret of the Mysteries, R. G. Wasson, Albert Hofmann, and Carl A. P. Ruck, 1978

Mixing the Kykeon. Peter Webster & Daniel M. Perrine, Ph.D., 2000

Mixing the Kykeon Anew, Carl A.P. Ruck & Peter Webster, Sacred Mushrooms of the Goddess and The Secrets of Eleusis, Carl A.P. Ruck (ed.), 2006

I'm overwhelmed bythe feeling that I'm wasting my time and talents here. I have enjeyed my break from civilization and from work. I've done all of the skiing backpacking cycling that I care to do for now. It was interesting to see the rustic culture. But it is way too backwards, to the point of beinbg suffocating when immersed in it for more than a few months. (Too many rednecks.)

With the intention of finding an interesting way to leave, I bought a motorcycle that had been sitting in barn for forty years. It's a bmw boxer style motorcyclr. I spent a few weeks fixing it up and plsn to ride it down to san francisco. I'll tke the scenic coastal highway through oregon and california. Then when I get to san fran i'l sell it. From there I'll fly to europe where I plan to live for a few years, working and backpacking.

https://jerseyjunkie201.wordpress.com/

My journey from a hardcore heroin addict to getting on methadone: stories from my past, experiences, strengths, hopes, wishes, dreams, stories (war stories and good stories), old journal entries, harm reduction information, about me and my life. Please feel free to read it, share it, comment on it, e-mail me: [email protected]

"I've been through hell and back."

I've been away from BL for quite a while. I started a Suboxone program just about one year ago this month because I got a job. I worked for about 6 months, did way too many drugs and got myself fired.

I just had a job interview yesterday for something that I feel like is a dream job, at least for me. I have yet to hear back. Honestly, I'm not sure how confident I am about hearing back, but I can hope. I will be making way more than I ever made before.

I don't want to fall back into old habits though. I am still with my girlfriend. We're doing a lot better than we were before. I just relapsed with some birthday money, which I hate myself for. I don't want to let myself slip any further. I guess we'll see what happens. I don't know how much I will be on Bluelight because I do get a lot of cravings from certain forums and threads.

All I can do is my best, right?

sigh

I guess we'll see what happens from here!

Deleted

I remember being in a house. Many houses. Violent happenings. Fear. Protection/protecting. A man and another. Plants. Feeling like I was invisible, or out of phase at times. Entering houses. Pools. Rich houses.

The main thing I remember is my ex. My first real girlfriend... Well, my first girlfriend after I had hair on my balls and that I kissed and was with for a time- a year or so. Katie. I don't remember what capacity she was there in, but I had a feeling that persisted through today, of her. I still love this one, even as I accept us as separate, and far from each other. Seeing pictures of her with her children make me happy, to see. Or I smile. Honestly, looking back, I've had four serious relationships, and she was the best. Maybe that's just the way I look at it, but she was the sweetest, and seemingly, least damaged. She was always cheerful, even if fragile in ways, and sensitive. She always tried to be cheerful. To make me smile. She was wonderful.

Katie was pre-drug use. I was against drug use when I was with her. I acted very adult. It was basically a choice I made. This is part of why older girls were interested in me, I think. I made adult choices at that time, in part because of her, I think. I don't know. I'm just talking. It was only after her that I got into drug use. Starting with alcohol. But alcohol was because of sex. I wanted to explore sexually. She didn't allow that. She was here and there with it. Sometimes she'd be open to letting me closer. She'd seem like she wanted to go further. Then she'd cry when we'd almost have sex.

Quite honestly, I wish I had just known what I had with her, sometimes. Even though I tell myself that I can't regret and we weren't for each other, it wasn't her that was the problem... It was me, not seeing what a wonderful girl she was. Not that I was capable. We spoke seriously about getting married. Had plans to marry after college. After she became a nurse and I did whatever in psychology. That went away her first year at nursing school, when just prior to going she brought up separating because if the paths we were on, and my desire for things like sexual things, and the kind of music I was enjoying... But we stayed together. I cried that time. I didn't cry when we finally did break up not a couple months later. I just let go. It was nothing to me. I don't know. I think I put up a wall after the first time she mentioned breaking up with me, and rejecting music of the first concert we went to, like it was unholy and she wanted to be pure.

It sounds like she was a prude or too strict, but really, none of this (certain decadence?) has gotten me anywhere. Not the music. Not the sex (and drugs? well... if I knew the answer back then, I might not have needed drugs... I don't know. I can't really shut all this experience out, but...). None of it has benefited me at all. Rock music is mostly listening to other people balance themselves. It is worthless crap. Most music is. Yea, I enjoy it. "You can be addicted to a certain kind of sadness", that's how it goes. You can be in love with a certain kind of feeling bad, and so goes your life you fucked up person.

I don't know. I don't really believe some of my words but I have had these thoughts before. What I gave up, for what?

I admit I at times wasn't so attracted to her. But at times, my God, I was. She was awesome. She was sweet. And I felt that today.

In my dream, it was like I was with her, again, and I was protecting her, or trying to.