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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.

Last night I had anal sex with a girl for the first time. It wasn't all it seemed cracked up to be. I prefer vagina, at least so far in my experience.

Friday night my work friend Theresa and I were talking after we were done. She had her dog- one of them with her. She was throwing a ball for the dog. At one point she looked at the ball and said it looks like a butt, as she pressed it together a certain way. And that it even had a hole she joked, as the ball had a hole. I said it doesn't have enough cheeks to it and that even I have more butt. She jokingly said "show me".

Through the weekend, I looked at escorts on a website. I haven't had sex for two weeks so I wanted to. I've thought about contacting Theresa. She's about 10 years older than me. But we work at the same place and I'd rather not. She has hinted in ways/flirted. Its always with a laugh, but I imagine it wouldn't take a lot of effort. Unless it did. I thought about that night over the weekend, and that I should have said "show me yours" (her ass) in response to her telling me to show her mine. I had simply said nothing. But I thought about sending it randomly over the weekend in text. Seeing what she was up to.

Sunday night I went for the escort. I chose her specifically because she hinted that she does anal. Red haired girl. Named "Red". She called me when I was on the road to see her and I saw the number 184 on a plate on a vehicle that came onto the interstate just then in front of me. 184 is my mother's name's sum, as well as Donna's. Its a number that I associate with them, and there is some things about it.

She was better than expected. I was worried I wouldn't enjoy myself. That my money would be wasted like the last time I used an escort. I had been curious about this one. I saw her many times advertising. I justified myself this night in that I was finally getting it out of my system. I was satisfying curiosity. And if I tried anal sex- something my ex and others never were that adamant about, here was that.

Red had a turtle that she showed me, after.

I noticed in the driveway was a box that said Eggs. I try to pay attention and note things, but that's all I remember there.

Songs have been aligning to the end of my journies more lately. At parking for instance a song ends. Something like that.

Theresa's dog was attacked and injured today (yesterday now). She had surgery and needed 40 cm of bowel removed.

Some strange rock sound rock song that reminds me of the voice of the guy in devo or gary numan...

there was leaking in my house. a mattress had taken on lots of water. i had neglected this for a long time but i didn't think it was that bad. on one side of the room the water was up to my ankles. the mattress was a color of red where the water had stained it. i found a crack in the wall. the other side of the room was dry. the room seemed like an entrance way to an arena where a really hard semi-VR game was played. it was VR, but it felt like it was real. hmm. i guess that's VR. i had been climbing up many ladders. many people climbed up them. they were in parts rusted. i remember my dad came up to get me, and i went home for awhile. i had two cats and a dog, or something. a white cat, and a black cat (with a white spot), and the dog i forget, but i just felt the presence of a dog.

it seemed as if the game at times was a mix of grand theft auto and something. my dreams were- have been vivid and strange lately. i've been supplementing iodine. lugols 5% iodine solution. about a half a drop a day. i'm not suffering any ill effects of iodine, but i get powerful dreams every night, just about. this is the first i've attempted to describe in awhile.

i don't remember being home, but i remember going there, in a car, and i felt God was on my side as the stop light should have been turning green, so I didn't slow down, and then there wasn't enough room to stop so i moved into the space between the lanes and just went through it right before the lights turned green. and cars honked. i didn't care. then i pulled over at a wal mart. or near. this is where i seem to remember putting my cat in a vehicle with my dad.

lots missing.

but i went back up into the videogame. i realized it was a videogame more than before. i was able to fight better. there seemed to be a large audience watching it. i saw a friend of mine having sex with her boyfriend- her tan body laying on the ground- on her stomach and him taking her. she had short hair. and her friend, paler than her, had short hair. but then it turned out not to be her. other friends were there, in an audience. the entrance seemed to go through my house. my house was in this game. the only room i saw was flooded. a hole was in the wall i found. i had stashed money in the wall. some guy wanted all the money. i had two friend there with me. maybe three. this other guy that wanted the money seemed to have more than pecks- they almost resembled breasts. i told him so. he took one of our guys down. the other two seemed to do well against him. i had respect for the guy's strength and doubted i could take him alone. i stayed back. the other two guys fought him. one also seemed to stay back, and i was confident he could take him.

who was an enemy in the game, i found was human controlled. a man in a suit. a very armored heavy suit. i turned the environment on him this time. it reminded me a little of dark souls, and i knew that i could double wield.

but the last i remember if fighting in that flooded room.

the ladders to the place went on forever.

i was from vega. that was my home world. in the game. Earth had a different name. There seemed to be many other planets after. I had played that area many times, where I was at. And this time after 'beating' what i thought i did- that level, i progressed on, and played what seemed to be GTA in first person-full on VR or something.

my telling isn't linear.

the ladders to the top took a long time, and were rusty. i didn't know how my dad made it up, or anyone out of shape/fat. but i found out the second or third time up them that i could have spawned at the top after making it there once.

tom hanks was seemingly the guy inside the robot. there was a log inside of him, that i remember a girl saying something about. and i think i also had a protector 'robot'. i was surprised tom hanks was in there, and also surprised it was all acting.

Yeah... Great.
Under the false pretense of a family member's suggestion, we (a close friend and I) decided 'fuck it, well go have a city trip'.

The both of us had grown up on Long Island, a short ride on the LIE to 'The Big Apple'. We had grown bored of it over the years... Myself personally more-so due to the fact that when I was young, my mother would take me to the city to wander on the weekends while she worked at her nail salon. It seemed a better alternative to leaving me at home, alone, with whatever flammable materials and heat sources where left at my disposal. By the age of 17 I had no desire to see any part of it, I had seen it all.

I am 28 now, long ago had I forsaken the city that barred me from the rest of the world with mass traffic and outragious tolls, but now I had sacraficed a saturday of leasurely nothingness to run out there, pretend to go to some sceminar, or worse even.. actualy go! and then run rampant through the streets on a nausia inducing budget and something like 10 hours to kill..

Needless to say, I have prepped well..
My doctor friend was useless in supplying anything but moral support and backup money, which was more then enough to earn his share, considering he had quit all and everything after making it past the first phase of medical school and our recent vacation to Colorado, the weed capitol of America.
Regardless, weather for just I or two, I packed the left overs of tonights ear of vodka, maybe 800ml left, enough water and seltzer bottles (full) to use for hydration and spare mix-drink containers, Manhattan can be very expensive, even for the casual drunk. For myself, alone, being that the good doctor quit pot a few days prior in efforts to sharpen up for the coming academic apocalypse, there was close to a gram of high ranked NY bud.

What else would I need? I packed it all in an army camo backpack and threw some yellow scrap paper pads with pens in there too, for ideas... Assuming im not brain dead, as soon as I exit the 930 train to penn...

I get bored very quickly and when intoxicated get desperate to amuse myself. My only honest hope, is that I will be able to remember the experience.. If not it be all for nothing.

Cheers!
-Hop.

Well, readers… It’s been a good run. But I’m afraid the gig is up. My true intentions have been exposed, by a fellow blogger none the less, and after deliberation and council with my higher-ups, I’ve decided to come clean to you. I thought I had a pretty good cover going, luring people over to the dark side, until I had them just where I wanted, stumbling through life blindly, deluded by a false sense of security in their sinful opiate haze. And just when they’d least expect it, like the Hammer of Thor, I’d unleash the full force of the American legal system and have those junky sinner locked up so fast they wouldn’t even have time to pack their Methadone before withdraws hit in the slammer. Ha! Serves them right anyway. That’s right. I had you all fooled, didn’t I. I’m a proud informant performing my patriotic duty, a secret agent for the War on Drugs, a voluntary informant for the American government. I am the enemy! I will not rest until all of you weak-spirited drugged-up, hippie junky people are all locked away for good!

Had you fooled didn’t I? You thought I just sat around all day sticking needles up my arm and nodding off in sinful bliss. But I suppose I too must have an imperfection, although I’ve yet to determine where I went wrong. I had been working diligently for the American government to take down a menace to the War on Drugs, the fellow blogger I mentioned. Things were all going according to plan. After many months of carefully working my magic, I felt confident that my strike would be eminent and merciless. But my confidence was my downfall. Just like the menaces I justly put away, I let my guard down. After all my hard work, just when I thought I had him, he inexplicably severed communication without an explanation.

I spent many hours pondering the implications of this silence. Could he have figured me out? If so, how? Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get to the bottom of this. Putting on my best junky interpretation, I once again reached out in the hopes of salvaging the countless hours I spent laying my web of treachery. As I waited his reply, I hoped that it was all a misunderstanding and there was another explanation for his radio silence.

Then quicker than I expected, an email response popped in my in-box! My heart skipped a beat as I hoped beyond hope for another explanation, quickly skimming the contents, I read the words I had prayed I’d never read. “…. Blah, blah, blah… something you said…. Blah, blah, blah… increased probability...blah, blah, blah… informant...!”

My heart sank as my worst fears were confirmed. My gig was up. My cover blown. What are my higher ups going to say? How am I going to salvage my career? Will I ever be able to fulfill my dream of creating an American utopia where our streets are free of drug using scum?

…..

And if anyone believes that, I have some land in Florida that I’ve love to sell you. Do not be offended, dear reader. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you. I am confident that my readers are an above average group of people, with superior IQ’s and beautiful free-thinking minds. But unfortunately, the part about one of my readers believing I am an informant is 100% true. In case anyone else here has any doubt, let me put your mind at ease, and inform you that I am not. The idea is beyond preposterous.

While admittedly the knowledge that one of my associates thinks I’m a snitch, is repulsive and makes my stomach turn, if someone wants to believe something about you and has decided not to trust you, there is absolutely nothing you can do to change their minds. It sucks, but you just have to let it go.

I could get angry and try to defend myself and get myself all worked up into a tizzy. But that wouldn’t do anything to improve the situation. If anything, it might make matters worse.

That thing that really gets me about this, putting aside any personal feelings around that relationship, is that is just another manifestation of how heroin addicts are constantly being misjudged, distrusted and discriminated against. Especially when we’re vocal about it. The implication was that I was so vocal and spoke so freely and openly about my use, without free of law enforcement knocking on my door, that I was either foolish, or I was working with the law to, I don’t know, I guess bait people into telling me things so I could inform on them. And from someone who had previously supported my efforts to encourage people to out themselves because it is the only way to draw attention to the sheer magnitude of the situation. But when I walk the walk and actually do live my life openly, I’m either daft or in bed with the enemy.

It’s bad enough when it comes from the outside world. But you get used to it. That’s an everyday occurrence. But when it comes from someone who’s supposedly on your side, who’s supported you in your effort, who you’ve collaborated with, who’s been on this side and knows what it’s like and supposedly agrees with you, it’s cuts to the core. But, I guess I’m an idealist. I want to see the good in people. I want to believe that people can make a difference and I blindly trust everybody and I always assume people are being sincere with me. But I guess the reality is much bleaker than I’d like to believe.

That being said, the overwhelming majority of people that I’ve met through my blog have been unbelievably supportive and warm and encouraging. I know it’s a relatively small, but loyal following and cannot express enough how appreciative I am for that support. I do put a lot of effort into this blog, I want it to be fun and entertaining, as well as informative and educational. And I do put myself out there, to a degree that shocks many people. But I feel that it is important for somebody to at least try to set the record straight. I don’t get involved with many activist activities, or go to rallies or write my congressman. I’m a writer, so my contribution, the way I believe I can make the biggest difference is through my writing. I can reach individuals that way, and they can put a face to name. So that’s what I choose to do.

All that being said, I hold no ill-will for being called an informant. Not everybody is going to agree with how I conduct my life, or understand why I do what I do - junky or not. But if there is anyone else out there who hold similar sentiments, I just want to go on record and assure you, that is the farthest things from the truth. I see no reason to ever discuss the subject again, so I’m putting it to bed.

And that sounds like a pretty good idea, so I think I’ll put myself to bed now too.

Peace and Love Readers

D_D