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Craya came home at 6 instead of 4 because she was buying clothes for her son. She would be so much better off to spend the time with the toddler instead of spending the time shopping for him. She always says she doesn't have any money, but she buys things anyway. When she came in late, her attention was diverted by a phone call from Zed, her husband, who happened to call just as she entered the house.

Craya spends every waking moment thinking about that husband of hers. I mean, ok, he is nice looking. I will give her that. But he's an alcoholic. He comes from a family of really dumb people. Genuine stupidity. And they all think they are amazingly smart. Not one of them even has the humility to allow for the notion that perhaps they might be wrong about something. I can't stand them.

Craya is a loving and sweet mother. But she is totally blind to the world at large. Her mind is on Zed. They have been married 8 years and she fucking spies on him. WOW. wow. I listen to the denizens of the Al-Anon rooms. In many cases, people who marry alcoholics have special needs. Sometimes, they have other issues that are just as serious and often twice as deadly because they don't understand the concept of getting help for themselves. My mother is the alcoholic in my parents' marriage. My grandfather was the alcoholic in my grandparents' marriage. My sister is the alcoholic in her marriage. In my family, the sober partners all have heavy mental health issues. (For my purposes here, I am ignoring the argument that being married to an alcoholic makes the other spouse crazy.)

Craya sees that Zed is an alcoholic. She understands where he came from. Craya does not see her own issues. I don't think she regards spying on her husband as strange. Maybe I'm just old. I don't know any other 30 year young mothers. Perhaps the entire generation of people coming behind me will not have any secrets by the time they are my age. All of their days, each of their moments, all captured in 3D and in multimedia. Perhaps Craya is normal, and not completely obsessed to distraction and quasi insane about that fucking Zed. (Christ, it's a man. Like there's not about a zillion other piece of shit men, right?)

I guess I wrote all that to write this: If, in a few years, everyone spies on everyone, and it's acceptable? Then thank you God for shadows and fog and the privacy I have enjoyed these 54 years. Thank you for the mystery. Help us to stay focused on our own individual paths; help us to allow for and respect that which we do not know.

I have come up with a whole new plan to fix myself.

So far, I'm overjoyed with the results.

What I do isn't going to seem very palatable to some...

I may appear crazy to others.

In moving I found a large cache of VHS tapes on which exist many of my favorite tv shows, including commercials and news updates.

Watching just half of one full tape, I felt better than I have in at least five years. I have been watching more and with every passing day I feel more relaxed and calm. In fact, I feel just wonderful.

I have checked out of 2013. I will be roaming around in the 1980s. I won't be online for a while. Bye.

Hiya Everyone... Evey here again... I guess I can say day 2 for blogging in BL, eh! Every day I'm realising more n more that this community so very lovely n so friendly. I've not really had any bad experience, a little judgement because I'm currently on suboxone after codeine addiction but that has stopped now as I asked a moderator, who was very nice, to please close the... I'd like to ask please no judgement comments - I am an honest person I do not lying so yes I did have a 800mg daily codeine addiction, yes I am on 8mg Suboxone.

. I find it extremely OFFENSIVE when people say that codeine isn't as serious as OxyContin/Heroin addiction. It's one of the reasons that i refused to get help for so long n I could have died, leaving my child without a mam. People have died with codeine addiction or progressed on to oxy/H. Also I had similar issues to people with H/Oxy in terms of I nearly lost my family, have lost a LOT of friends n drained all my life saving n currently in debt plus ODd quite a few times. Not serious eh? Funny that because the local group I go to has H users n they never judge me or suggest that codeine isn't serious or that I shouldn't go on suboxone. They are very respectful of me n I am of them.

I ask if you are one of those going to judge me n you are unable to keep that to yourself then please refrain from commenting on my blogs. Please respect that this was my choice of recovery whether you feel that it is right or not is non of my concern or interest. I am on this site for recovery and recovery matters only. Yes I am currently experiencing issues with suboxone but so have others including people who have had addictions to H/OXY. I do not regret the choice I made.

Right...where was I? Visited a friend today for a few hours it was lovely to take my mind off things. There is a place I used to go along the paths of cyberspace that I am now restricted. I had this person contact me out of the blue saying I'm going to get reinstated n that agood friend of mine was talking about me. I've been extremely hurt by this but would love to be reinstated. Someone has been messing with me big time E-mailing me pretending to be men who like me n want to know me better, saying things like I've seen your photo n now I have deep feelings for you. WTF???? I may be thick but I'm not that thick. A month back someone E-mailed me pestering to see my boobs - I kept saying that sex is not a good subject for me n that I do not like doing those things or care to do those things (no disrespect to anyone that doed it's just NOT me....). I do not understand why these people are doing these things to me. They won't leave me alone.

Anyway i text my friend because the person who claims to be getting me reinstated said she was bitching to people n I got extremely concerned because although this person n I have fallen out a bit lately, she has some personal issues going on n with this person saying she was being mean to everyone (out of charactor for her) I was worried about her mental wellbeing over things. Well she texts me back saying that she's not been to this pace since I had. I forwarded her the E-mails I was receiving n she said she went to the place and stuck up for me.

I don't know what to think or believe anymore. I care for this friend deeply n am concerned for her as like i said, she's personal stuff going on which may be affecting her mentally. If i got this wrong then i have hurt her non necessarily n feel guilty but if i haven't n she is doing these things that they are saying because she did turn on me once n side with these people when they were bullying me n encouraging her to 'end the friendship n walk away as I'm no good for her recovery,' and that she should 'cut all contact with me'.

I don't know what to think or believe. What do I do here. How do i find out who is telling me the truth n who is messing with me?

I best be off to meeting.

Please take care you all,

All my love,

Evey xxx

Hiya Everyone,

This is nothing informative, just my journal kind of thing where I jot my thoughts n feelings down.

Well today has been am ok today. I am looking fwd to seeing doctor 11 December to reduce on my suboxone. It will be lovely Christmas being on 6 mg as opposed to 8 mg.
lately I've started not feeling well n i think, having read so much on an anti-sub forum, that the suboxone is doing this to me.

I'm so angry at myself. I could have just tapered off my DOC but found that impossible n so decided on the suboxone route. If I had not gone onto suboxone my life could have been so different. I've been on 6 months n I feel like an old woman.
I wake up feeling stiff all over, especially back n hips.

I should never have listened to a certain person who kept trying to push me to get on sub. Said she'd been on it for 4 years n that she never had withdrawals. Mind you this person said so many things n I'm learning that I never really knew her at all. I have blocked her E-mail n already the anxiety is lifting just not having any correspondence with her anymore. She has turned into someone i dont know. I mean she calls her best friend of 30 years a psychotic bitch n alwsys claimed to be that she didn't like anyone saying those types of things. She's actually at a support place where I should be as I need supporting tapering off suboxone n she tapered off it years ago. I honestly thought she was a true until i overheard her really slagging me off when she thiught I had no access - apparent I guilt trip her into being friends with me, apparently I beg. Then she contacts me the other day saying how those people were horrible n she only pretended not to be a friend to get me away from that place n none of us will go there again. Then I find out that she has been going there n b*****g about me yet she lies. Anyway enough on that, I am so relieved that she's out of my life n now I can find friends who loyal to be n don't go talking about me with people who slagged off my disability n are genially just mean.

I'm going to leave this here. I'm here not well also feel sleepy, distance n cold also back, hips n tummy hurt

Please take care,
Evey xxx

“Interview with the Vampire” (1994) is a movie that I think most Bluelighters ought to be able to appreciate, even though it has nothing to do with drugs. There is one scene in particular that illustrates my point. After Kirsten Dunst’s character (Claudia) was turned, she proceeded to take her first swig of blood. After she finished, she sat up with a wry grin on her face and said, “I want some more”.

I can relate. Once you taste ice cream you want half a gallon.

I identify with and feel most at home in the drug culture. I am not, however, an addict. Drugs are a part of my life, but only one part. I try to fill my time with other pleasures – reading, writing, stroking the cat, chocolate, beer. I try to make the world just a tiny bit better than it was yesterday. For me, finding the simple pleasures is challenging since, generally speaking, I don’t get a lot of enjoyment out of life. Some days it’s hard to resist the urge to use. But I must. I will not take a great thing and ruin it by abusing it.

I have a tendency towards melancholy but I can pretty much guarantee that using my DOC will snap me out of it. But that’s exactly the problem. If I decide to use because I’ve had a bad day at work, or my anxiety level is getting too high, or life is just more than I can bear, then using the next time I find myself in that situation becomes so much easier. It becomes the new normal. This is the path from casual use to addiction – the one-way street of the dose-increase cycle. Tolerance ensures that going back to the previous routine becomes pointless.

The day may come when my willpower is broken, I lose my self-control and I will cross the Rubicon into full-blown addiction. But that day is not today. Today I will be thankful for this gift the gods have given us, I will respect it, I will not give into the urge for instant gratification. Today, at least. But whether you are a user or not, life is best lived one day at a time.

hypocrisy - /hy•poc•ri•sy/ - the practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behavior does not conform; pretense.
At the risk of coming across as a lazy-thinking reductionist, or maybe an apologist for deviant behavior (I’m OK with the second one) I’ll go ahead and share what’s on my mind.
I just got done browsing a forum called “Daily Strength” which is basically an online support group for a variety of things. The particular topics that caught my eye (although I was originally there for something else) pertained to eating disorders and self-injury. After reading a few people’s testimonials (regarding their struggles), I noticed a lot of parallels to substance abuse. The question I was asking myself is probably the same that those outside of the drug culture ask about recreational drug users: What on earth is wrong with those people? What drives them to such self-destructive behavior?
Is drug use an exceptional cause for concern (relative to the other perils of daily life) or does our society simply single it out and stigmatize it out of revulsion?
I am convinced that everybody needs a “drug” in their life to stay sane. I have a co-worker who loves to run. She describes the “runner’s high” she gets. She has a pastime that is socially respected and good for her health. Most people have such a hobby or passion from which they derive pleasure such as sports, music, art, etc. I think that the fulfillment they receive from such activities is often taken for granted.
Not everyone is so fortunate. Recreational drug users face the double whammy of social ostracism and criminalization. If the potential for bodily/psychological harm is the standard by which behaviors are deemed appropriate or inappropriate, shouldn’t skiers, skydivers, motorcyclists and race car drivers be hospitalized immediately? Why are some thrill-seekers considered heroes and others to be degenerate low-lifes who are a burden on society?
I think the answers to those are complicated, but a healthy dose of laissez-faire would probably do us all some good. Regarding my original question (motive for risk-taking behavior), I think a common denominator to the bad habits which we as people grapple with might go something like, “If you have to ask a question like that then you wouldn’t understand anyway.”

For the first time, I have had clear-minded thoughts about the events surrounding the nationally-publicized tragedy that happened at the Boston Marathon. My pattern in the past has been to react with anger and hostility towards the culprits responsible for mass public killings, terrorist attacks, or any other local or nationwide tragedy.

However, I remained calm when the news first started coming out about the possible suspects. I read through the articles and user comments on websites and did not invest emotional worth or my own opinion into them. I did not think, nor did I ponder; I simply saw and left.

My enlightenment is to know that six billion of us each hold the most powerful thing known to man in the universe: the brain. With the brain comes the mind, which I believe still cannot be thoroughly defined. Within the mind, thoughts, ideas, beliefs, conceptions –all relative to the person’s experience— blossom into delusions, or beliefs we regard as the truth. Unguarded and unchecked, delusions can lead into action, causing the ultimate sin as we have seen: to kill our own flesh and blood, our brothers and sisters in humanity.

I find it a delusion in itself to try to put these people in other brackets of existence, to somehow make them different and more violent then your standard soccer mom or me. I am sure there have been soccer moms who have become so enraged by jealously and delusional thinking that their once-cheating husband was found gunned down in his own home. With the mind that all of us have, we are capable of deluding ourselves to grandeur in the darkest of ways. The mind will always remain clinging, wanting, needing, thinking, attaching. It is our job as sentient beings to realize when a passing thought manifests into a delusion and to stop it right there. The truth will always be shown to us outside of our selves, for the mind knows no truth. What is beautiful about truth is that it exists on its own. Needing no justification, rationalization, processing, or backing up, truth is a boulder in a desert of granulated-lies. We, as sentient beings, create drama when we attempt to tell the truth.

I exist in a world of non-truths from Wall Street to countries to religions to politics, etc. I choose these because they are volatile and explosive at any left or right turns. Why? Because they are delusions, thoughts that once occurred and then manifested into delusional action by people no smarter than you or I. The volatility of it exists because six billion minds do not think alike and can be just as delusional. These are concepts and ideas that, if you do not agree with, do not exist because they are not the truth.
This is enlightenment. I cannot change how people think or what they think and that in itself is a comforting thought. It is up to me only to change what I think and how I think or if I even think. My world changing internally will affect my experiences in the external world.

The real world that I want is one that knows no borders. I should be free to drive south and hang out in Mexico, learn Spanish, eat great food, enjoy great people, enjoy great culture, and taste what this world has to offer. North to Canada, across the seas to Europe or Asia, this is what I want.

Unfortunately, the mind continues to divide us --all brothers and sisters in humanity-- up into “countries” with imaginary borders and in many other ways. Our mind deludes us into thinking that we know the way. I believe we are just as lost as we were thousands of years ago; we just have more gadgets to distract us from the source of all of this delusion.

I encourage all of us to find the delusions we are living in and say aloud to our selves, “mind, you are a liar. Until I learn to see only what is, I will not listen to you.” Whether it’s what you think about your mom or the ways we destroy ourselves with drugs and alcohol, delusions set ablaze can adversely affect our short time on this wonderful earth.

It starts now, in this moment. If we all change the way we look at things, the things we look at will change. Eventually, there will be compassion and understanding even amongst a few friends that can change anyone’s world. Exist as a vessel of truth rather than a vessel of opinions and deluded thinking. Master your mind, or be mastered by your mind. The choice is yours.

funny.. cuz I would say I am 100% sober, living great now, moving on to the next.. but it's funny to think what I actually do and see how others who never entered "our world" would look at it. just think of all the others we have met, been friends with, etc, who have used.. does the "normal" person have that? i say im sober but yet still smoke weed here and there and also take suboxone... would the "normal" find that sober? makes me wonder. but you know what? do i care what the "normal" person think? no. just don't. i know what i think, tho.. i was a REAL BAD ADDICT for years, and opiates controlled my life. and to be sober, even if it's only coming up on 3 months, feels fucking great! its still early.. i am fully aware, but i just feel GREAT. NO URGE, NO NOTHING.. the thought of it all makes me sick. thinking about what I once did/done, makes me sick.

just something I was thinking about as I sat tonight at a bar.. NOT DRINKING.. watching all the other younger people, thinking what they are going thorough, what they have/havent been through yet, and just all the whacky road ahead that someone may go down w/o EVER even thinking about it. who the hell think they'd be a DOPE FIEND growing up!?!? not me, man. NEVER thought that.

I've fallen behind in posting to my blog. Considering my current living conditions, maybe that can be understood. Out here, there is only enough electricity to power my laptop for an hour or so each day. And I have other priorities so blogging gets moved to the back burner.

But when I can, I'll update my blog. I have been writing my blog entries into a notebook, and when I can, say on a sunny day when the solar power generation system is fully powered, I turn on my laptop and copy the entries into "gedit," a very basic opensource text editor that is installed on my laptop. But I don't have an internet connection, so how to post? Every few days, I will make the 30 mile bike ride down the mountain to the public library in town. Once there, I'll use the library's wifi connection and copy-and-paste blog entries from the .txt files on my laptop and paste them into bluelight's blog submission form.

What have I been writing about? Well, here's the first entry. I'm interested in some of the ideals that became popular in the 1960s. Some of the original but now mostly extinct hippies pursued things such as: living simply, sustainable living, organic farming, self-sufficiency (in food, energy, water, waste, income, barter), a DIY (Do it Yourself) work ethic which practically has its own sub-culture, eliminating class barriers, not running in the Rat Race, not participating in American style Consumer Culture, pacifism, freedom from religion, and artistic pursuits.

But currently, I can't enjoy many of those things. I live in an urban area. It's a hostile environment. There is too much noise, too many people, and not enough elbow room. And there's never enough time when living in a city because your day gets eaten up by dealing with basic daily functions including empty things like commuting. Then, there are obnoxious neighbors. And then there's light pollution. Astronomy is my hobby. The house next door hates a starry sky; they keep their outdoor flood lights turned on all night turning the area around them (and my house) from night into a permanent island of day. Thus, I can't see the stars here. I can't even make out the Big Dipper, the easiest constellation to spot in the Northern hemisphere. I have no idea why they do this. There is no crime in this neighborhood, but strangely the use of flood lights is a common practice here. They are not the only house to do it.

Add to that the observation that too many people, whether they are old or young makes no difference, are inconsiderate, pushy, rude, grabby, nasty, ignorant, stubborn, and have this nauseating sense of entitlement. Many, complete strangers, will go up to you and say mean, hurtful things. It's as though all of the vile things anonymous people say to one another on internet forums are just below the surface in their real lives and it kind of seeps out of many of them when you interact with them, no matter how briefly. I thought I could avoid nearly all of that by working at a research university (rather than the higher-paying but soulless corporate jobs that have been available to me at various times). I pictured a university full of students and faculty with their optimism and high ideals. Sadly, that wasn't what I found. The one good thing I got out of it was that I could study everything I wanted and perform research in whatever area I wanted.

Not only is urban life stifling, but the laws in this country are as well. They are numerous, obscure, strict, and disconnected from Justice and basic human needs. All of these rules and restrictions on basic freedoms are suffocating to the point where they have caused me to experience soul-crushing stress and paranoia.

The motivation behind the creation of some seems obvious. 1000s of them have been created for the purpose of "safety." I feel so safe that life here is no longer worth living. I mean, you need to follow some 300 laws and fill out stacks of paper work just to breath.

The motivation behind many others seems sinister. The legal system has gone so far, I've read, that you can't go a day without committing 3 acts which, no matter how seemingly innocuous, federal prosecutors can pin on you as arguable felonies (according to Harvey Silvergate, an expert on criminal law and a civil libertarian, in his book "Three Felonies A Day: How the Feds Target the Innocent"). Skeptical? Have you ever downloaded anything? Have you ever shared a joint with a friend? And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

As for getting away from society, I might try in later entries to describe experiencing life in the wilderness (off the grid of course) and communing with nature. But for now, I'll say that I enjoy reading naturalists such as Muir, Leopold, Pinchot, and others. I can relate to some of what they describe, whether its Muir's Jainist devotion to all things living to the extent where he refuses to swat mosquitoes feeding on his body to Leopold's impassioned descriptions of archery hunting of deer in the wilderness.

So, I'm leaving it all behind. I am paring my life down to the bare necessities (for the most part). I'm going back to what I started two years ago. Just as I did then, I'm selling, donating, and putting into storage most of my belongings, although they don't amount to much. Without the distractions of a city and my superfluous possessions, I'm going to try to focus on those things in life that have meaning, from art and writing projects to physical fitness, backpacking, astronomy, building and programming electronic gadgets (maybe), and Buddhism. [As an atheist, I don't believe in Bible God, so Buddhism's non-denominational spirituality and lack of mandatory dogmatic beliefs, its system of ethics, mental discipline, introspection, and meditation practices all appeal to me. In one sentence, Buddhism attempts to democratize spirituality.]

The library is about close. Today has been in the 90s, and I rode here wearing only a T-shirt, bike shorts, and Teva sandals. Soon after dark, the temperature will drop down to the 40s, and I haven't dressed for that. I need enough time to ride my bicycle (a Surly touring bike) the 30 miles back up the mountain before it gets dark and cold. I'll continue this another day.

It snowed a little last night just west of here and was quite cold when I got up. I rode my bicycle to the library today. It's around 30 miles one way. The ride getting here is easy. Except for one large climb across a mountain ridge, it's almost all down hill and fairly fast.

During my bike rides, I've been listening to old recordings of Alan Watts lectures on my mp3 player. Alan Watts was a writer and public speaker known for popularizing Eastern philosophy in the United States during the 1960s. He began his career as an Episcopal priest but left the Christian church when he became interested in Zen among other things. Some of the lectures are definitely interesting and worth listening to. But like anything, some aren't so good. Some s are repetitive and watered-down.

So I've made arrangements to live on an old homestead just off the former Oregon Trail. Rent is free, but instead I'll be responsible for doing a few chores: 1) I've got to feed a pair of horses. The chore is easy. All I have to do is make sure they have 1 scoop of grain and 1 bale of hay every day. I don't even have to buy the food. Sacks of grain and 180 70# bales of hay are already on the site covered by a tarp. I'm going to move them to the barn tomorrow where they'll be protected from the rain. Rainy season has started very early this year, in mid September in fact, and the hay will mold and rot if left out, even under a tarp.

A veterinarian was out here to look at them, and he declared that they are too old and decrepit for anyone to ride. I was surprised to learn that the horses are unridable and wonder why anybody would want to maintain them. Most people here, unless the horses have sentimental value to the owner, for example if he rode them every day for 20 years or something and had become fond of them, would have sent them to a glue factory or some similar fate after they'd outlived their usefulness. But that is not the case. Not even their current owner has ridden them; he only wants to feed them. That's fine with me. It's a very easy chore. They were "rescue horses" rescued from some degenerate who let them starve one winter.

If anyone is familiar with the daily newspaper "The Oregonian," articles about horse abuse are published throughout the winter. Briefly, grazing animals eat grass in pastures during the spring and summer when grass is plentiful, but grass goes dormant and doesn't grow by late Summer or Fall. When the grass runs out, livestock need to be fed hay or grain or something. Throughout the state, especially east of the Cascades where the winters can be harsh, some horse owners will invariably choose to keep but not feed their horses. They leave them in their pasture to subsist on grass that's been chewed down to the roots. By mid-winter, these animals are skin and bones. Their ribs and spine show through their hides. If the animals are lucky, some state animal welfare agency will find out about it. It's not too hard to spot a starving horse if it's visible from a road. A neighbor or passersby can call the agency and report the problem. Hopefully, then, the state comes in and investigates. If they're in really horrible condition, the owner might be arrested and fined and the animals confiscated. So that's the story behind these horses.


2) I will also be responsible for some maintenance of the property. That includes mending fences and repairing the barns and cabin as needed. I don't have to buy any tools or supplies for that either. That's about all.

There's a mentally disabled teenage boy here at the library. He's walking around in circles making loud airplane noises. Now he's making that goofy sound where he sort of blows a raspberry through his loosely closed lips and runs his finger across them as he blows out. He's been at it for 20 minutes now. Every now and then he makes a farting sound through his lips, and then he giggles. The librarian won't do anything about him. Whenever she says anything to him, Jerome apparently is his name, he starts bawling. She just threatened to call his mother. And he's crying. What happened to the rule about being quiet in the library? I can't hear myself think. Time to go.

Some mornings I awake with strange words and phrases echoing in my brain. They are left over from dreams half remembered. I have no idea the meaning of "Panjori," but toward the end of the dream, I felt compelled to retain it. It sounds like a place name and in the dream, I was travelling in a non-relativistic way making quantum leaps through an infinite maze of alternate realities and universes. I was trying to find my way home wherever that is. I seemed to have landed in a town called Panjori. I thought I'd write it down before I forget it so I can Google it later.

I'm spending the day and tonight at my girlfriend, Aelys', house. She drove up from town and got me. I didn't really want to go, but she promised to return me tomorrow. This is the first time in about a month that I will have had a hot shower, changed clothes, slept in a soft bed, had more than one hour of access to electricity, or had a properly cooked meal. I don't care so much for the first things in that list, but I appreciate good cooking. Despite the fact that I've been preparing most of my own food, I do a terrible job at it. I can't cook. It usually ends up burnt or half raw. Aelys, on the other hand, is a talented cook.

I have been living simply, but I haven't been doing badly; I've kept myself clean and fed. I've been bathing and washing my clothing in icy spring water. I appreciate the fact that icy baths help make you tough and better able to withstand harsh weather. I'm not scurvy or in any way malnourished. I've been eating well enough foraging or edible wild plants and mushrooms and eating pine needles for vitamin C. I've also been hunting (legally and with archery and a sling shot) and fishing for a portion of my food. If I don't harvest enough, I have cans of food and bags of beans and rice.

Aelys wants me to fix her computer, her bicycle, move some furniture (are all females obsessed with rearranging the furniture?). Also, I will deal with my own mail, email and other correspondence, a stack of unread newspapers, check phone messages, etc.

Finally, I'll take advantage of the electricity and internet connectivity here to work on my blog.

When I was a child, I liked Laura Ingalls Wilder's famous "Little House" novels. They were based on her childhood in a pioneer family during the mid to late 1800s on the Great Plains. Another novelist I liked, Willa Cather, wrote about pioneer life as well, and the life described by both of those authors stuck with me. In that era, a pioneer or homesteading family would stake out some land. They had to be almost completely self sufficient. They built a some kind of rudimentary dwelling, often a log cabin or sod house. They tried with varying levels of success to earn a living by farming. They were responsible for providing food for themselves. The risk of malnutrition and starvation was real. But I always saw the risk as worth it. It seemed better to take a chance and live how you chose, enjoying self-sufficiency and living peacefully among beautiful surroundings than to be crowded and stifled by masses of humanity.

Something else struck me more than anything else, even when I was a child reading those books. Alone in the vastness of the open prairie or under the "big sky" of the mountainous American West, settlers had the freedom that comes from independence and privacy, things which I didn't have as a child and mostly still haven't been able to find in my own life. I wanted to live like that. Even at around 8 years old, I wanted to escape the horror story that was my childhood. At that young age, it was the most enticing version of the American Dream I'd read. Cheezy as it might sound, it still is.

I don't have a strong background in history or US government, but my understanding is that several government policies made that way of life possible. One was the Homestead Act which was signed into law by President Abraham Lincoln on May 20, 1862. Almost anybody could now claim 160 acres of Federal Land. The recent war with Mexico had opened up the American West; it allowed access to a lot of land including California, Utah, Oregon, Nevada, Texas, Colorado, and New Mexico. Not only that, but the federal government, seeing threats from Mexico, Russia, as well as from the Aboriginal peoples who were being forced off that land, wanted Americans to occupy the land to help retain possession of the newly acquired territory.

Thus the government encouraged American settlers to move west. All they had to do was stake a claim, improve it in some manner, by building a dwelling; it could be anything, no matter how crude. They had to farm or otherwise make the land productive for 5 years. Then, if they lasted 5 years, they filed a claim for a deed of possession, and then they owned the land for free.

Until recently, one could still very easily live like that in one way or another. Homesteading was still an option, but it didn't have to be homesteading. For example, as late as the 1960s, land was still very cheap in the United States.

Wilder's American Dream faded into history as the country grew more populous, land expensive, and there was no longer a Frontier. Finally, the Federal Land Policy and Management Act of 1976 ended homesteading for good; by that time, federal government policy had shifted from encouraging private ownership to government control of western public lands. The only exception to this new policy was in Alaska, for which the law allowed homesteading until 1986 when it was repealed and homesteading ended for good.

I was too young to move to Alaska and do that, but I would have. I wish I could go back 150 years and live as a pioneering settler. But here I go romanticizing about stealing land from Indians.

With the economic collapse and the fizzled Occupy Movement, I've wondered whether living "the American Dream" in this way is even possible now for my generation and younger "Millennials," especially for those of us who were born into poverty. It certainly was possible and fairly easy for the older Baby Boomers who came of age in this country during a very prosperous era, but times have changed for the worse. Upward mobility is no longer so easy.

Recently, I started wondering if there was another way to "homestead." I could just buy a tract of land, but I'm relatively poor. So lack of money is a problem or rather the expensiveness of living in this country in the present era is the problem. Nowadays, it costs $12000 just to breath. Never mind "owning" property. I put "owning" in quotes because Imminent Domain, property taxes and countless fees, property forfeiture laws, IRS seizures, and mind-boggling land use regulations that requires a legal expert to make any sense of cause me to wonder whether or not American land "owners" are not merely leasing their land from the government.

Anyway, I've learned about an abandoned parcel of land in eastern Oregon. It's exactly 160 acres, and as far as anyone knows, it was obtained under the Homestead Act. It hasn't been lived on or farmed since the 1950s or so. Since then, it hasn't been subdivided, split up, or chipped away. Back east, that is almost never the case with homesteads. On the east coast driving along the I-95 corridor between Boston and Miami, for example, one endures mind-numbing days of the almost uninterrupted and seemingly infinite sprawl of strip malls, Walmarts, parking lots, and suburbs that have paved over what was once primordial forest and idyllic countryside.

The old farm is on edge of the high desert. Part of it is in the valley at the base of a range of mountains where arid scrub-land gives way to upland forest. Even better, the north fence line which is part way up the mountainside directly borders National Forest and a "Wilderness Area" which together extend for 100000s of acres and go some 50 miles across an entire mountain range and into the next valley. That means woodland uninterrupted by human development. And across the south fence line is Open Range land. It sounds close to my ideal, and I've made arrangements to live there.

I feel lonely. I want someone to hold, just be with. Feel their warmth. Feel peace.

I don't want to be afraid of being betrayed or rejected anymore. Im tired of withdrawing because of that fear. I'm hungry for intimacy in my heart but starve myself with my mind.

I'm going to make this quick as possible so that no one will be deterred by my overly verbose entries. Brevity is the sole of wit after all. I decided to make up my own taper plan drawing on previous failed attempts. I planned to cut back very gradually on the smoking. Then switch to the gum when I felt ready.

But I had a secret weapon. Bali Kratom (its the only strain that really "works" for me). So I chewed a shit ton of gum and took a lot of kratom. I also switched to regular weed so that I would have more quantity to smoke. The transition wasn't so terrible.

I weaned off the nicotine gum next over the course of 20 days or so. The kratom I took for about 45 days after that if I could guess. Just stopped the kratom CT basically and went a few days with no withdrawal symptoms except a bit of boredom. So I'm in the clear as far as kratom addiction (still a fair trade if I did get addicted though).

And there you go. I'm nicotine free. I switched back to my dank weed and will be enjoying kratom again as soon as my massive tolerance drops a lot. It costs me a lot of money and effort. But over the course of 3 months I went from a daily smoker and chewer to having the occasional VERY mild craving.

No longer will I stumble to a gas station at three in the morning for a can of chaw. Free at last thank god almighty I'm free at last.

The Third Intifadeh is on the way, perhaps it may have started already with 6 Israelis wounded. In Gaza, since 2009, HAMAS has seen its grip on power erode to the point that they are terrified. Now, every one of the major Palestinian groups oppose them. In June the first shots were fired in a low intencity war between them and PIJ (Palestinian Islamic Jihad), when HAMAS put a round in the back of the head of PIJ's commander of rocket launch teams.

HAMAS too pro-active action against Leftists, throwing the Gazan leadership of both the PFLP and DFLP into gaol. The Salafists actually rebelled in 2009, and HAMAS blew up a mosque in Khan Younis, killing nearly 300 men, women and children- which of course, the world ignored since there are no Jews to shit on.

Then there is "Tamrod," named after the Egyptian grass roots oeganisation who took to the streets against Morsi, and we know how that ended. They are threatening HAMAS with a mass uprising on the anniversary of Arafat's death, 2 weeks from now.

Like any Arab leadership, HAMAS is attempting to divert dissent towards Israel, with the number two wanker in the HAMAS Poltiburo, Abu Moussa, calling for the Third Intifadeh.

Meanwhile, in the so called "West Bank," the PA once again is playing games in the peace process. Just as Arafat did in 2000 with the Second Intifadeh, the PA is hoping to pressure Israel and is also calling for the Third Intifadeh. After I posted my last entry, actually hours later, a sergeant from Givati Brigade, manning a checkpoint next to the Tomb of the Patriarchs, in Macphela Cave, was killed with a single round to the neck by an al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade sniper.

Of course al Aqsa was supposed to have been dissolved in 2008 the PA swore. Then again in 2010, after al Aqsa struck in Shechem (Nablus), they swore it had been dissolved. Lo and behold, here they are, still with weapons, still well organised but we always knew this. When we would state this the West would call us propagandists, against peace and so on. This time? If it truly does kick off? I will re-apply for my old commission, and will be happy laying it down.

As if all that wasn't too much gloom and doom, back on Mindanao the Muslims once again committed mass atrocities, over running a Catholic village, killing 140, including 58 cops and soldiers, and burned 700 homes. That is another festering sore that needs to be hammered into oblivion.

Other than that? I'm in New York, in Brooklyn, in the enclave, as they call the Syruan Jewish neighbourhood where most of my family in America lives. Bought a new iPhone, a 5C, but nothing else. I need to do a tonne of clothes shopping because in a couple of weeks I need to go home to Mindanao. Now that I'm done with Rizza, I need to get her parents to buy me out, so I have no need to ever return there. If I must die fighting, I don't want that it should be in some fucked up jungle protecting rice mills. If I die? I must die serving me and mine. Of course, I hope that I live to be 110 but I live in dangerous places and I'm a realist.

Still have Hep C of course, but my biopsy in the spring has me doing relatively well on the scarring so who knows, I may just live a long life.

who would have ever thought I'd make it this far? I HAVE! I always knew I could get it done but others doubted. sure, my last use was an OD, or so they say, and it was an ugly scene, but it truly woke me up and was a slap in the face. call me a moron for not realizing what I was doing prior, I dont blame ya! I am just happy to be wrapping up an out-patient program at MGH and moving into a Subox program next. I am keeping up w/ staying clean and am VERY confident all will go well based on the changed I've made in life, and the way I see my future.

Crazy to think just 3 months back I was junked out w/ no idea about the future.. and here I am today talking as if I am on top of the world. SURE, it's all part of early recovery, but I plan on staying like this (and yes, we've all said it before), but let's keep the fingers crossed here!

I wrap my program up tomorrow morning.. ill let you guys know how it goes!

Well this is my first blog post in a while. This one is the story of how a seemingly good relationship ended up with me behind bars and having to "pick up the pieces" once again.

So, it all started with me meeting a classmate in my Master of Social Work Program. She and I met while having a smoke break. She seemed like a nice girl and we shared many of the same opinions. Over time, we got closer, eventually becoming very close friends. However, at this time, it was starting to become a bit evident that she liked to indulge in the spirits on a nightly basis. Ignoring this red flag, I started a romantic relationship with her and stayed at her apartment on weekends. Eventually, I moved in with her. Things were wonderful at first, except they slowly started to go downhill. Her drinking was absolutely out of control. She would drink a 26 ounce bottle of rum plus 1/2-1 bottle of wine a night every night. When she drank heavily, she would become extremely emotionally unstable and I would have to go into crisis intervention mode for hours on end. Her instability when drunk was to the point that if she were to be brought to an ER for a psych assessment, she would likely be admitted to the inpatient psych department.

Because I work in addictions, I did what I could to try and get her help. She didn't want help. She didn't see herself as having a problem. After a week long alcohol fueled crisis, she agreed to stop drinking hard liquor. Instead, she'd drink two magnums or three bottles of wine a night every night. She would actually go through withdraws if she didn't drink. She never had money to go 50-50 on groceries with me, but always had money to go to the liquor store on a daily basis. At this point, the relationship turned into my personal hell. There were many incidents that occurred, such as her stealing my temazepam and drinking heavily (resulting in a very messy blackout- I'll spare the details for those with weak stomachs) and me having to call EMS because she was choking on her own vomit. There was constant drama. It was nonstop.

Now as a sidebar, I've always been a firearms enthusiast. I've served in the military, and I had a Restricted permit, meaning I could own handguns. Now because we lived in a really rough area, I figured that it would be sensible to have some self-defense weapons handy. I had an ASP Lever-Loc Baton, OC Spray and at first, a Taurus PT100 in .40 S&W loaded with 180 grain Ranger SXT (aka. the infamous "Black Talons"). Eventually, I made the really stupid mistake of bringing more of my guns to the apartment, so in total there were 6 pistols in the apartment. Mind you, I only had ammo for the Taurus and my Smith and Wesson 686 .357 Magnum, but still, it was a dumb move.

After a benign day of me going out to appointments and my ex sulking about the apartment drinking, I took note of the fact that she was speaking to her mother on the phone. This struck me as odd, as they would often go months at end without speaking. Her mother is an evil, bitter woman with an extreme case of alcoholism (i.e. a 60 ounce bottle of rum a day). I also noticed that if I stepped in the room, my ex would go to the balcony, and if I went out to the balcony for a smoke when my ex was there, she would scurry inside. This was another red flag. Anyways, I was sitting at my computer when she comes up to me and accuses me of hiding her cigarettes as a "practical joke". This struck me as odd, as she always kept her cigarettes in the exact same place and would go nuts if she didn't have smokes. So, she left. I figured that she was going to the store for cigarettes and decided to turn in for the night. I was out on the balcony having a smoke when I heard my full name being called. I looked down off the balcony to see if it was a buddy hollering up to me. Then I heard the words "This is the Windsor Police, turn around slowly". I turn around to see Emergency Services Unit (SWAT) officers holding me at gunpoint. My body was covered with laser dots and I complied with their orders. I knew that if I flinched, they'd light me up. At the same time, I had no idea what was going on. After the situation had defused, the police told me that my ex's mother had called down from another city to our local 911 and my ex had been talking to the police and saying that I pointed a gun at her, which isn't the case.

So I take a trip downtown, where I'm booked on several serious charges, specifically: Point Firearm, Assault with Weapon (when you're charged with Point Firearm in Canada, you're also automatically charged with Assault with Weapon), Careless Use of Firearm, Possession of Firearm Dangerous to Public Peace and the biggie of them all, Forcible Confinement. This happened on a long weekend and the WASH (Weekends and Statutory Holidays) court decided to remand me. So I spent the next week in Windsor Jail (aka County, "the bucket"). Windsor Jail is notorious for its overcrowding and especially for its violence. It's a filthy, decrepit place where violence is the norm. I arrived on my range (cell block) and the "heavies" (shotcallers) for that range almost immediately ask me what my charges are. I tell them. Then all of a sudden, guys from all over the range are giving me their juices and milks. My celly said to me "The heavies like you". I later found out that they liked me because I was in for firearms offenses. So for the next while I lived the jail life. Aside from the boredom and the fact that I didn't get my bupe or any of my other meds for about a week, it wasn't too bad. In fact, the guys on my range would give me their juices because they knew that I was dopesick and needed sweets to curb it. I had great guys on my range, all in there for different crimes, since Windsor Jail in an integrated facility. I got to see a few new guys get beaten down and bounced from the range and got to watch more than a few good fights. I saw firsthand what happens to "goofs" and "hounds" when they're stupid enough to try and go GP instead of going into PC (to anyone that's been in the Canadian penal system, you know what a goof is and what a hound is and you know what happens to them if they try and go into GP). Needless to say, the goofs and hounds quickly "checked in" and all ended up going to PC after receiving a savage beating. I laid low and stayed out of any drama. One of the few good things about jail was that it relies on a barter and trade economy, which worked to my advantage, since I love bartering and trading. So eventually, my first bail hearing came up. I was denied bail and remanded again because the Crown (the prosecutor) was considering adding more charges. I figured that it is what it is, and the damage to my future is potentially already done. I have a really good lawyer that's extremely well known in this area and is a partner in a nationally renowned law firm and I didn't say a word to the police. The detective tried his hardest to get me to talk, but like a broken record I said "This matter will only be discussed in the presence of my legal counsel, can we finish this interview already?". A day after my bail hearing, I was released. I didn't have to pay any bail, and my surety didn't have to pay either. If I breached my conditions ("stips"), I'd have to pay $1500 and my surety $2000.

So fast forward to now. School is on hold for at least a year, but I'm thinking about going to law school instead. My lawyer, and many other lawyers and judges and justices that I know all insist that I should be a lawyer. I've spent thousands on my defense, but at this point, the most that I'm looking at is a Conditional Discharge, which is where there's no conviction, but I still have to meet conditions (as if I was on probation). Considering that I'm innocent, it's still a more than a little unfair. At this point, we're going to get a Diversion and have everything stricken from the record and all charges dropped. The only evidence in this case of my alleged crimes is an extremely biased statement written by a drunken lunatic.

Regardless, I'm doing really well, and I've learned a lot from this experience. I just hope that this girl gets help, because she's well on the road to drinking herself to death.

I'm trapped in my thoughts, stupid consuming thoughts. They are so simple, so few. But they are ever there. Crushing my skull inward, until my brain, crippling under the devastating pressure, cries for relief. I scan my body for physical pain, somewhere, anywhere(!) that would justify the agonizing crush of my mind. I find nothing. No physical justification. Yet there they are. Unrelenting.

I survey again, taking inventory of my surroundings. Some physical discomfort is present, yet not intense. A dull throb in my back. Bones tired. Muscles tense. Hands tremble slightly. The tremble intensifies to a shake as I lift my hand off my knee to examine my hands. They shake as though they belong to an old grandmother. Her hands - frail, veins blue and thin - gently reach with love and excitement, caressing the cheek of her newborn great-granddaughter. But those aren't my hands. That's not my story. I'm a 35 year old woman, supposedly in the prime of my life. Yet those are my hands, shaking almost ruthlessly, veins blue and bruised. I shove them under my legs, trying to regain some control. Or rather, to hide my lack of control. My sweat feels ice cold as the breeze comes through the window, though it's hotter than sin outside.

My thoughts are back. I suppose they never left. I was only momentarily able to distract myself by focusing on the physical pain. The TV is on, l guess I've been watching, but I can't recall what's happened. How long have I been watching?

"We should bring a cooler and a blanket. It should be fun, right?" I'm in a conversation! Can I remember what I just agreed to? Can he tell that I only have these unrelated thoughts to any question he, or anyone else, may ask me? Have I responded properly or is it plainly written on my face? I feel the words form on my tongue and my voice says "Yeah, that should be fun. I love Jurassic Park."

<No!> My brain yells <If I agree to come, I can at least go high, right?!? I won't have fun without heroin!>

Shut up, shut up, shut up! I'm terrified he can read it in my face. He smiles at me, maybe oblivious. Or perhaps just unwilling to address my constant companion, my hidden inner thoughts. Those opinions of the ever present monkey on my back. My best friend. Always predictable. Always with the same response. The infernal repetition. Always. Every sentence of the day.

"Cool. We'll pick up some food and make a picnic of it!"

<As long as I can get high. Otherwise it won't be fun>

The shows back on. His attention turns back to the television. I relax. Focus is off me. He couldn't tell I was thinking about heroin. I made it through another conversation. I try to watch some TV. Doesn't he know that this is the way all our conversations go? Every single one of the day, from the moment I wake till the time I try to sleep again. Although since I stopped using, three hellish, unending weeks ago, I've barely slept a wink. I just pray for time to past, waiting till I can feel the needle pierce my skin, see the blood enter the chamber and taste the heroin enter my bloodstream. Waiting...

<You know you can't stay away from me for long. You won't be happy without me.>

…i know…

<You've made it three weeks clean! You deserve to get high.>

There's the pressure again. My brain pounding against my skull. My eyes close trying to keep my brain from spilling out.

I hear a far away voice pulling me back from the dark.... "What do you want for dinner tonight?"

Ahhhh…! Why won't he just leave me alone! I don't want to eat. I don't care about food. I just want heroin, you idiot! How can you be so blind and inconsiderate!

"I don't know, maybe Subway or something."

I feel sick but I know I have to eat, or else betray the little voice in my head. The voice of my little monkey friend. And I'm hoping he leaves the house, if just to give me moment of peace.

"That sounds good. I'll grab it 15 or 20 minutes. That cool?"

"Yeah, sounds good." I hear myself say. Although the words are detached.


My mind drifts again, though I pretend to watch the TV. I can't focus my attention. I don't want to be this unhappy. I don't want to be a slave. He once said to me that I didn't love anyone as much as heroin. Actuall, he's said it a few times. I hated him for saying that. That can't possibly be true. I love people. Heroin is a chemical. But I thought. I thought about my past. Is that true? Could that possibility be true? I thought about my friends, my family, my boyfriends. I've hurt all of them. Every single one of them I've lied to. I've deceived, stolen from, betrayed. And who was always there for me? To comfort me when I was afraid, humiliated, insecure?

Heroin was always with me when I was alone. It made me feel wanted, accepted, needed. Heroin made me feel as though I had a place in this world. It wasn't that I merely loved heroin, I knew that heroin loved me as well. But even beyond that, heroin made me lovable. The rest of the world might not see that or understand, but I knew why. I knew what gave me strength in the eyes of the world. I knew what gave me strength in myself.

I suppose he was right. I do love heroin more than any other person in my life. Well, why not? Who else was with me in my darkest, most vulnerable times? When I was all alone and needed a friend? Heroin was always with me.

But here I am, desperately abstaining. For what? The approval of people who don't understand? Who will never understand? What is wrong with me?

I won't be without you for long. I desperately pleaded for heroin to be there when I was done with this pointless separation.

<I will always be here for you. You will always need me. In fact, you can't live without me.>

I knew it was right. I can't, so why even bother trying. This is stupid. I shouldn't have to go through all this pain, when I know the second this month is over I'm going to have a needle in my vein faster than you could count to the next minute.

Yet here I was. Trying. Giving it one more try. Maybe this time will stick. Maybe this time I'll learn something new. Maybe this time I'll clue into this secret that every other person in the NA rooms seems to understand. Maybe....

"I'm going to go pick up the sandwiches. Want me to just make a snap decision while I'm there?"

"Sounds good." I mumble.

He kisses me on the cheek, since I avoid turning my lips to meet his. He is unaffected or unaware of my unexplained bitterness when the door closes behind him. I'm alone again. Thank God.

I try to empty my mind while I watch the TV. I'm not really interested, so I play with my nails, filing and cleaning.

"… I can feel it running through my veins…" I hear the TV say. I don't know what the context is, but the statement sets the monkey's voice off again.

My veins. I put the nail file down and turn my hands over to examine the top of my hands again, skin, nails and veins. My nails are dark and filthy underneath. No matter how often I try to clean them, the blackness sticks. Soiled with visual reminders from the black tar, carbon from the chemical reaction between flame and metal and from a general avoidance of a purifying shower. I've put of the unpleasant task since I started this futile fast. The reminder of the hot water cooling and mingling with the cold sweats on my body during withdraws gave me the chills. How unpleasant, I shuttered. Although I knew, if only for the sake of the public, it was soon unavoidable.

My veins, now they were the true traitors. They gave my secret away, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. The blood red scabs, the bruising. They told my past. Not only the heroin, but the meth, the coke and all the other drugs I maintained directly into my bloodstream and straight to my brain. Over and over again. But mostly they told about the heroin. The telltale signs of a junky. The lowest cast of American society. A cast I was not only proud of but one I clung to, like an obsessed lover.

Although I sometimes tried to hide them, in less critical situations I wore them like a badge of honor. What would I be without them? How could I make it through a day without stabbing a syringe in them 5, 8, 1 0 times a day and still be happy?

<You would not be happy. Only I can bring you happiness.>

My head hung in shame. No, of course not. I could never be happy without heroin. How could I even think otherwise? I'm the traitor.

I heard keys jingle and moments later the door opened. I stuffed my hands back under my legs, lest I betray the voice in my head.

"I got a turkey club" he said cheerfully.

"Awesome" I spit the word with poison, though I was unsure if the tone gave away my true unhappiness.

<You don't need a sandwich. All you need is heroin. Soon.>

I know....

The internal struggle was killing me. I know that people were happy living without heroin. Billions of them the world over. I saw them on the streets, going about their business, raising their families, going to the movies. All without sticking a spike in their veins. But how? How do they achieve this? That couldn't be my life, could it? Had I been happy before heroin? Had there been a time before heroin? I could barely remember anymore. I didn't even want to remember.

Yet there was a softer, weaker voice. I felt it struggling to be heard over the louder, more oppressive voice of the monkey.

<it is possible. you know it is. don't give up. you are lovable.>

I looked over at my boyfriend and took the sandwich he was handing me. "I love you" he said.

"I love you, too." I wanted to cry.

it has been a bit of a strange six months. but i am still here and rather happy

sometimes i look at my life and think it is absurd. it doesn't really fit into a traditional mold. there are no labels to describe it. but i don't really care. tho it has been a bit hard to not care what other people think or try to justify things to them.

i've done a shit job of working out. i don't really care that i've gained some weight, as i am enjoying eating what i want and not counting calories. i am still active and go to the gym a couple times a week. i try to go hiking or other outside stuff once in awhile too. tho now the weather has turned to shit, so i don't think outside stuff will be happening as much

i'm still traveling a lot on weekends. i am not sure that i've spent more than a half dozen weekends in my apartment since moving back to seattle. friday i am going on a trip paid for entirely by groupon. and all the money i spent on groupon came from bing rewards. who knew that web searches could lead to free hotel rooms and free things to do? it prolly helped that vgoraz and i cashed in about 20,000 bing points for groupon credits.

It's 1:42 am and I'm still reading threads and posts. I can't stop my new addiction, and that is reading every post on bluelight. Stories of people whether it's a lie or the truth.

Everyone of us has our own story of pain, triumph, suffering, relapse, anger and isolation.

So now tell me, what's your story?

That long late night I discovered Adderall I didn&#8217;t think about it twice. It was summer 2012. I was an athletic avid gym goer painstakingly poor barely skating by. I bought it from a gangly kid with yellow skin & bags under his eyes. His hair was stringy. There were papers on the floor and piles of clothes on all the furniture in the room. Above his desk was a poster of John Belushi from &#8220;Animal House,&#8221; chugging a bottle of Jack and wearing a sweatshirt that read COLLEGE. I had gone to his room with a friend. He told us they were $5 each. We asked how he&#8217;d got it. I&#8217;ve been taking this stuff since I was 5, he replied, and took out an orange bottle, gave us each two pills. He smelled sour.

I started taking it & things changed fast. I focused on virtually everything for hours I cranked out 3 vigorous workout sessions in one night I could shut out the world. Any immediate distractions were rendered powerless. It was just me and whatever task before me. No more broken heart, no more drama or money woes were big enough to penetrate the tunnel vision Adderall provided. Sure, the desire to smoke cigarettes was uncontrollable. It suppressed my appetite, so I wouldn't eat as well, I lost a few pounds in that first week, I felt it was a small price for such a exponential gain. Condoned by the idea that the conglomeration of young men and women everywhere were taking it and now so was I.

A week after, I was burglarized. I then packed up my life and headed to Montgomery, AL I had been offered a new job. I thought I&#8217;d find mature, motivated, sophisticated peers, consistent pace, a degree of structure absent in my poverty stricken place prior to accepting the job. I couldn&#8217;t get there fast enough & start adulthood as the new me. My shit-hole city a mere speck in my rearview. I fancied myself a serious person, someone on the verge of making a real difference. I was 22 a vet in the arduous game of life. So wrongfully I assumed...

A few months into my new job, it was clear I was expected to work a bare minimum of 60 hours a week, with an immaculate eye for detail. After plowing through the one month probationary contingency contract I was now sorting through thousands of half manufactured Hyundai Engine components in a windowless Automobile Plant. I began to realize the job wasn&#8217;t on the noble path to social change I&#8217;d hoped to make. Nor was it the outlet for progressive employment opportunity I thought it might be. It did, though, yield a large and consistent paycheck, so I cashed in and succumbed into the settlement of gainful employment.

Soon billing extra hours became my primary focus, and I decided it was time to get my own prescription for this shit but never could I find the time. Instead of realizing that the job was not for me, I was blinded by the professionalism I felt working in a $1.1 Billion dollar plant and I wasn&#8217;t about to fail at what I considered to be the cornerstone of the New and Improved Me, a successful, independent young man I'd never seemed to be.

My time so restricted, held back from solidifying my own supply. Not until about a year later did I finally make this happen. My East Side doctor didn&#8217;t seem to care that I&#8217;d self-diagnosed. I was given a prescription for 30, 30 milligram pills at my behest for $50. After our first meeting, as I did with every meeting thereafter, I bee-lined to the closest Apothecary , avoiding eye contact with the pharmacist who saw me for what I was- Just another brick in the wall that built the halfway house.

It didnt take long for my daily late nights as a now newly licensed R.E. Agent to segue into a voracious need for letting loose off the clock. I quickly became unable to socialize without popping the medication that now provided just enough extra energy required to maintain my outgoing side. Even on nights when I planned to take it easy, the meds had no off switch, so I&#8217;d find myself leaving my shabby sheik West Clinton Avenue office/ loft and head conveniently around the corner to the cities fly by night entertainment district to appease my energy that I didn&#8217;t know how to quell. The cocktail of Vodka on the rocks and a pocket of pills was a potent one. I was now getting high seven nights a week, every night a delicate balancing act.

I could have easily hidden my fiendish behavior, but it wasn&#8217;t necessary &#8212; it was a kind gesture to give someone a pill when they were tired. In the place where the party wont stop, what is better than being immune to falling behind? The only faux pas would be to lose control and capsize the boat to sink into the depths of the abyss.

I came close. When I finally admitted I was not cut out for a failing R.E. market, I stopped working and rationalized was a neat segue into the unemployment game with a little liquidity for disposal without the financial pressure that would usually come from pursing nothing outright. Unemployed, I chose to pay hundreds for a refill instead of buying essentials. I&#8217;d consume far more than my allocated dose, then spend sleepless nights tossing and turning, my mind racing and heart pounding, only to wake up and take another pill with a Monster Energy Drink to compensate. In my professional life, I met deadlines. In my personal life I was whimsical and up for anything, the person to call for a last minute show or night of debauchery. I never had to choose, I had energy for everything that was offered to me. I had fooled myself into thinking it was a sustainable balance, that the perks outweighed the pitfalls.

Romantically I became insatiable, smashing hearts on purpose. One after another women falling head over heels after every one-night stand, most of which exhibiting neediness that down right disgusted me &#8212; yet I rationalized that becoming a self-loathing depressive could be filed neatly into my persona as a tortured sad soul, material for stories I would surely tell someday. The problem was, it stopped being a persona, and became who I was as a person: uninspired, unproductive and miserable.

As my tolerance increased, I began to escalate my use. I would take pills if I yawned after I turned off my alarm. I took the bottle with me everywhere I took my credit-card. The take&#8211;as&#8211;needed-to-manage-boatloads-of-Bull shit basis soon morphed into need-to-get-through-the-day mood stabilizer. I smothered uncertainty with more mixed drinks, different women and a new 2 thousand dollar custom made suit. I was an emotional wreck, angry, disconnected and unglued. I could focus on licentious women equally as lascivious and into the fast living, but in my personal life I was blocking out the fear of facing my unfulfilled aspirations head on. I ignored red flags that before this promiscuous person- had kept a stern eye on, having had a history of alcoholism and drug abuse in my family. But because my drugs came from a doctor&#8217;s notepad in an office two blocks from the Metropolitan Museum amongst Million dollar mansions, I felt safe.

Eventually, I cared less about balancing alcohol and medication, and more about escaping my dim routine of dependency. My quest for a more polished self became so superficial that I lost track of my goals. It took my daughters mother's threat to expunge me completely before any course of action would come to fruition. After a night together where I far outpaced the Southern Oaks Pinot Grigio, smoke after smoke, love songs and Spectacular Sex. She turned to me and said with concern, &#8220;You're on something...&#8221;

When I finally saw outside myself for the first time. I broke down in tears over a hardly edible target hotdog, and knowingly I had been misusing my prescription. She looked at me with no sympathy: &#8220;Well, you fucked up like always.&#8221; It was clear as day everything was fucked up infinitely and it was in fact my fault. Unprovoked by anything other than my urge to irreversibly end this chapter of my life, I rode shotgun in her Escalade 60 miles north where it was there my mother and father sat to attend the surprise intervention put together for yours truly.

I wish it had ended that easily. In the first 48 that followed, I was exhausted all the time. I slept off and on and was unable to stay up to meet the criteria to solve this problem. The drug had curbed my appetite, and helped me operate. Without it now I was ravenous and neurotic about what I was doing and how I would ever fucking find my way. I was sensitive and emotional from the new chemical imbalance, now crippled and so alone, everything seemed forever exacerbated. It was hard to understand that I was experiencing withdrawal, because I was never aware of possible side effects.

Without the drug I felt stupid, unable to focus or follow a thought through to completion. I was shy, and unwilling to initiate conversation. The witty, articulate bad ass I once was seemed to no longer exist. I felt dumb, out of it. I spoke slowly because it took immense effort to gather and express coherent thoughts.

I didn&#8217;t understand what I was going through, and that made it more difficult to stay healthy. It felt like another phase of the depression I had become so used to. But once I made it through the hardest part, weeks where my body was literally recalibrating itself to function without the stimulant, I felt like my old self again &#8212; relaxed, yet motivated to take care of my mind and body; interested in engaging with the world around me. The person I was so eager to shed in lieu of a new, accomplished, adult me, actually ended up being the one most capable of handling the tumult of living in the hectic life of a 20-something in this big bad world full of twist and turns.

On my quest to become a mature, independent man, I made a major miscalculation &#8212; that there is a shortcut to maturity and success, and that the rate which we achieve these things is completely within our control. It felt good to finally understand that the very self I was trying to shed had became my salvation all along.

I've always been the strongest person in my group of friends. Whenever a friend has a problem, I was always the go to person for advices and for comfort. I never turned people away when they needed help and for me helping made me feel great and it is my attitude to not expect anything in return but a strong bond of friendship.

I was never really hooked into drugs but I was a recreational user up until December of last year where I took way too much of what supposedly was mdma (untested so it could've been mixed with something else) which resulted to a long term come down. I'd say I am a lot better now but I just can't get rid of this one very annoying symptom which is this weird movement in my head like blood is flowing everywhere and sometimes, it will make me feel anxious even though I am not. It's really weird and it could be anxiety but I refuse to take any SSRI. I will suck it up until I recover.

How am I going to survive? I have pretty much struggled since I was a child getting sick with diseases (H-fever, stomach problems, measles) or being kicked out with my family because of my aunt being jealous with my mom, or being bullied in high school by cheerleaders. Looking back at all of these during this comedown I thought "Well if I survived those diseases then I should be able to survive this too right?" After all, this is not a disease, it is just a temporary chemical imbalance in my brain. This is why I will survive. I will survive because I am a survivor. I am a strong woman and always will be.

Oi,

So yeah my screen name is Dopemaster.

Right so I heard about Bluelight from an acquaintance. I think he used to post a lot on here. I don't know what he is up to. He has been in halfway houses and prison and whatnot. But fuck him this is my blog.

So yeah I had a really nasty habit when I first started posting. I have really laid of the drugs and I want to get my life sorted out. I am just fixing things one problem at a time and its working out pretty well for me.

I have been going to college for a long time and have about 5 years worth of credits. I just need to get my degree in something and I am closest to getting a business degree. I was all set to go to art school and I fucked up a joint in my dominant arm, so I had to change majors. I was an Art major and that dream is long dead now.

So I have spent a lot of time pursuing different paths in terms of degrees. I will just go ahead and get my business degree so I have a four year. I do not know what I plan on getting my masters in. Maybe I will get a Law degree or an MBA.

So anyways I eat really healthy and I spend a lot of money on clothes. Comfort is really important to me. So is my health and appearance. That sounds pretty hypocritical from a drug user, but whatever.

Anyways I made a serious effort to make sure I had nothing but fresh, fly clothes. I have got suits, ties, dress shoes, baskeball shoes, trainers, sweat suits, jeans, t shirts, jerseys, hats, snapbacks, cabby hats, fitted hats, fedoras, watches, gold jewelry and underwear in all sorts of colors to match my outfit. I may have overdone over it as far as buying stuff. I am kinda over it now when it comes to spending too much money and I am really glad I have paid my visa bill off.

I own a house and its pretty nice. Its 3 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms. I got a pool. Its not bad, but there isn't much privacy and I don't like having neighbors. I live in a upper class neighborhood. My house is the cheapest on the block. Its not really a good idea to tell people in the area where I live. Some people get really jealous that I got a nice house and a nice car. They can go fuck themselves if the think I owe them a handout cuz I am doing well.

I will probably buy some land and build several houses on the land. I will build a couple really small studio type flats on the land and rent them and use some of them for hunting. I will have a ladder up to the roof and wildlife cameras so I know where the deer and rabbits are. I will also build some small studio size houses and rent them. All this stuff will be hooked up to a well and I will use solar panels for most if not all my electricity. I already do the solar thing a bit now.

I've got a pretty nice vehicle but I am not going to right out say what it is. Its pretty nice though with 4 wheel drive. I have got really good speakers and a system with two ten inch dual voice coil subwoofers. Needless to say my system is off the chain.

I absolutely love tattoos. I have got basically two full sleeves and some other stuff as far as tattoos. I have quite a few tattoos that need to be colored in and I have been planning what I am getting for years and I have been stashing a couple hundred a month for quite some time to save up the money. I am continually getting work done and will keep doing so. Tattoos are an ongoing process for me. Its not so much a destination, but a journey.

I like guns. I am not going to get into it that much. I own all my guns legal. I can compete in and win competitions. I want to spend more time at the gun range or build my own if I get some land soon. My marksmanship is phenomenal and better than most people in the service tbph. I am definitely not going to list my guns but I have got just about everything covered in terms of calibers, gauges, barrel sizes, type of gun, and size of gun. My fathers collection is ridiculous and I will inherit that hopefully. He has all sorts of guns and some that he hasn't even shown me.

My dream in life is to one day own a gun shop. I plan on getting my gunsmithing certificate after I finish my business management degree so I will know the business inside and out. Also I think working as a gunsmith will be a great way to break into the business, as well as pay off my student loans. It is also very important to know everything about a business you want to work in. Even though I have massive gunsmithing knowledge, its time to get the piece of paper that confirms it.

I tend to lean towards casual sex instead of serious relationships. Im not opposed to relationships and actually like them. I however do not know any women that are fit to be in a relationship with. I end up having sex with ex gfs which is something that really needs to change. We kinda have open relationships so I just keep fucking some of the same women for the most part. Every once in a while I will date someone new and then she will get added to the list of women I can call to fuck. Hopefully I will find someone special and stop fucking around on some bullshit. Its time to grow up a bit when it comes to relationships.

Ive got a beard and its here to stay in one shape of form. Sometimes I rock a really long beard and sometimes I have a short trimmed up beard. Its both comfy and a good look for me.

I am somewhat materialistic. I like to have some nice things and I do. I am pretty content with what I have. I do live within my means. I prioritize what I want a live on a budget and that allows me to get the things I want.

I am not really shallow, but looks do matter. I usually date skinny white girls but that's what I end up with by default. I prefer women to be tall but height is not a deal-breaker. I would say a woman's face is very important towards how beautiful she is. I don't care about tits that much. I am definitely over big tits. I don't dislike them or anything but I have dated women with big tits and well I am more concerned about whats going on downstairs. Nothing beats a quality vagina.

I would date a woman of most any ethnicity tbph and have done so in the past. Still I usually end up with white, Asian, or Hispanic women. In that order. Not necessarily my preference order as I do not really have one. I look at the big picture as well as what type of relationship the woman wants. In the long run it would be nice to get married and have children. That being said I am totally down for casual relationships. I just like to know what I am getting myself into.

Personality is the most important thing to consider when it comes to relationships. Some people don't think about personality at all, but its important. Also I do not like women with a habit that they cannot finance themselves (they are basically borderline prossies) and I find it easier to just clean up my behavior than to get involved with someone who misbehaves more than I do. I would rather date a girl who is relatively clean or just straight up clean and sober. I can even quit smoking. Its not hard for me to quit smoking cigs tbph.

So yeah I have just come off a serious habit and it was way out of hand, so I gave it a rest. I feel a lot better. I do not ever want to let myself get that way again, so I won't.

If you don't like my posts or think Im an idiot you can go fuck yourself. I really could give a fuck. I don't think about things much before I post in the lounge and just kinda go with the flow or at least what way I feel like going. Alot of people who post in the lounge fail to grasp the concept of light hearted social discussion. Its not an IQ test and I personally do not see BL posts as a competition. So like me or not I don't care.

If you send me a friend request, you wont be denied. I don't get snobby with friend requests and plan on sending more out. If you think I am being rude in the lounge please do not take it seriously. I like to joke around. If you think that's stupid, maybe you should take a long look in the mirror.

Also if you want to talk to me on tinychat, or on AIM, or to get to know me better than just send me a message or something.

Cheers,

Dopemaster







P.S. You're a wanker

I dont know man,sometimes its good just to chill.
I spent so much time chasing heroin and afterwards crack.
I'm actually really happy about a life where nothing too intense happens.
I'm grateful i have a nice place to live and money to eat and smoke.
some people smoke and watch TV/movies,I listen to music.
lately i"ve been loving DANCE music.
even my cats are dancing to underworld and aphex twin.

I guess this is happiness when you're a bit older.
for now...

Wow, it is finally coming down to it. It's finally time to just accept the out come of what my actions have cost me. I have finally lost the one girl I thought of my soul mate. The past couple of days have been really rough but I think I am coming to terms. She try to use it's not you it's me but I didn't accept that. She believes that she doesn't love me like she used to and she believes that she needs to go experience the world on her own (meaning fuck as many guys and she can?) Now, I have to see it like this, I want her to be happy. If she believes she cannot be happy with me then I will give her what she thinks will make her happy and I will have to grow a pair of balls and just accept what Fate has given me. I know where I fucked up too. Here's the story on that:

We were sentenced to rehab for various crimes, but since I have a record before hand I had to do some time before I was released. When I was in my rehab I felt like she was being very distant in her letters to me, they were only coming once a month. So instead of being patient and waiting to finish the rehab I left and went to find out why she is being that way. She just said she was working on her self or some bullshit doesn't really matter now anyway. So I remember the day she finally got a day pass and we spent it together. She was insistent on getting a substance to get high on, so I got one that was not really a doc for us. But when it was time for her to go home she asked me if she can go to my home instead of her rehab. I said it wasn't a good idea but you have to decide. That was the biggest mistake in my life. That led us down a path that we never recovered from. We stayed "clean" for a couple of weeks if that, she got a warrant eventually and we got arrested and she went to a rehab (actually the one I went to for 40 days) and I went to jail.

While in that rehab I know they told her what a piece of shit I am, her parents told her what a piece of shit I am, shit most likely even strangers told her what a piece of shit I am. She stopped sending letters, her family lied to my dad and said they sent her out of state and she straight pulled a Kaiser Sosa and disappeared. She finally came in to contact with me, of course by than I am using again and she basically tells me she only called to see if she can get high and I tried to say no but..... That was a little over a year ago. She said than that we needed to be apart, but we started using again and she needed me to keep her high so she strung me a long. She finally got busted for dirties and they instead of violating her they resenteced her, she had to do 4-5 months and than another rehab. She kept stringing me a long this whole time until a few weeks ago, something changed. She refuses to tell me what, but I now believe it don;t matter. She will make some very happy because she is special and I guess I need to learn to let go of the past. But I gave her a lot. I gave us a lot. I tried to protect her, but heroin made it very hard to do that.

It has been a few days since she told me there is no hope after giving me hope for reconciliation for over a year. I am at wits end about everything. I am methadone now, in a different state, I have a job and an apartment. Shit, I have a car. I make pretty good money (sells, but I work my ass off) but I would rather be back where I was before January 8, 2011. I rather be a junky and have her, with a shitty job, selling H and meth to keep are habit going, because even though I was putting a lot of junk in my veins, I was happy. I was with her, my one, my soul-mate. Now, now I have only me. I don't have any real friends anymore from being a junky so long, if you ever do junk long enough, you don't have friends, you have acquaintances and all your friends leave you. I know my pain will eventually go away, but I really think it will never be totally gone. We were together for so damn long, she wasn't just my spouse, she was my lover, my best friend. We did everything together. We were attached at the hip and I actually enjoyed it. She isn't like other girls who are needy and bitchy. She was, is what every guy looks for in a girl. Feminine, but also, a person that you could chill with and say anything to. She will eventually find someone who will treat her right. I tried and got locked up because of addiction beyond control.

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