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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'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 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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
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.
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?
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’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 “Animal House,” 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’d got it. I’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’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’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’t on the noble path to social change I’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’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’t seem to care that I’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’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’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’t necessary — 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’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 — 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–as–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’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, “You're on something...”
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: “Well, you fucked up like always.” 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’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 — 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 — 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 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’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’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’t on the noble path to social change I’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’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’t seem to care that I’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’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’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’t necessary — 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’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 — 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–as–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’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, “You're on something...”
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: “Well, you fucked up like always.” 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’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 — 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 — 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.
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
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...
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.
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.
Hi! Welcome to Bluelight Blogs
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The Bluelight User Agreement will be enforced at all times by the Blogs Mods. If the moderators feel something is breaching the guidelines, they will take the appropriate action to resolve the situation.
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If you feel the need to discuss another Bluelighter's actions you may not be happy with in your blog (it is your place to vent of course!) and you do not want to lock it then please do not make any reference to them specifically. Blogs does not want any Bluelighters to feel they are being misrepresented by one person's thoughts on them via the Blogs forum.
Comments are most certainly an invaluable source of advice to the blog owner. It's also a great place to get to know your fellow Bluelighters. Remember that we are a Blog Community and it's nice to give comments as well as receive them. We encourage the use of images in Blogs, however please keep them at a reasonable file size.
And although we realize from time to time it may be necessary for you to post multiple entries in your blog please try to limit them to three at a time up on the most current entry page. This isn't twitter
Thank you, we look forward to reading you.
Your Blogs Moderators,
Dave, animal_cookie and spork
(with many thanks to spork & *starfalls69* for a prior draft)
Creating and commenting on Blogs is limited to Bluelighters. Once you have reached 50 posts, you will have the ability to create your own blog or comment on blogs belonging to other members.
Please read the Blog Guidelines carefully before starting your own Bluelight Blog, or commenting in other Blogs.
The Bluelight User Agreement will be enforced at all times by the Blogs Mods. If the moderators feel something is breaching the guidelines, they will take the appropriate action to resolve the situation.
Blogs are a great place to discuss your thoughts and virtually anything goes as to what you say provided it is not offensive to other Bluelighters or isn't violating the Bluelight user agreement. For example, do not go into your blog naming other Bluelighters specifically by name or situation and calling attention to them in a demeaning way. This creates a lot of board drama and it abuses what Blogs is really about. If you feel you must express yourself in a derogatory manner about another bluelighter then please remember your blog does have a lock feature that will make it private and only you will have access to it.
If you feel the need to discuss another Bluelighter's actions you may not be happy with in your blog (it is your place to vent of course!) and you do not want to lock it then please do not make any reference to them specifically. Blogs does not want any Bluelighters to feel they are being misrepresented by one person's thoughts on them via the Blogs forum.
Comments are most certainly an invaluable source of advice to the blog owner. It's also a great place to get to know your fellow Bluelighters. Remember that we are a Blog Community and it's nice to give comments as well as receive them. We encourage the use of images in Blogs, however please keep them at a reasonable file size.
And although we realize from time to time it may be necessary for you to post multiple entries in your blog please try to limit them to three at a time up on the most current entry page. This isn't twitter
Thank you, we look forward to reading you.
Your Blogs Moderators,
Dave, animal_cookie and spork
(with many thanks to spork & *starfalls69* for a prior draft)
Well now. I journal. Yea, I journal. I have my little book. I scribble my honesty in it. I talk about my day. It's nice. But, I'm bored with it and I want to type instead. And I actually want someone to read it. Why not? I don't hide shit any more. Not from family, friends, or whoever. I've learned that whatever I hide will eventually have to come out some way or another.
How's that for an introduction? No background or history. That's perfect for me. Today is a random day, so I can just start typing whatever I feel like. My name is X. It's X because I like that letter and I hate my name. Why is totally irrelevant. So, let's get this thing going.
Let's talk about fantasy football. I'm a winner. My league hates me because I have influence and use it. Fuck them. If they want to whine, let em. I don't care. I made the best trade ever today. I got the best football player in the league for two under-performing, young players. It's all about what you have to give, not what you're willing to pay. Nobody else in the league had to firepower to grab this guy. So I do it and everybody gets super pissed off. One guy, a good friend of mine at least I thought, talked about quitting. Gotta love those sore losers, especially those that like to repeat their ineffectiveness year after year. That guy pays the same amount of money to play as I do. I really love fantasy football, so this will be a repetitious subject for this blog.
Also, today was the third Wednesday of the month. Every third Thursday of each month, I get "my" buprenorphine. How I get it is irrelevant, but I get it. Bupe has allowed me to live a much more normal life over the past year or so. I was such a dickface before that on opioid pain meds. I didn't steal, but I was the world's biggest liar. You know? I'd just lie to everybody for no reason. It became so bad I started believing my lies because I had to remember so many and all their depths. Pathological lying is pretty intense. It's like living in a world that's perfect for you, awful for those who care about you and completely false. This type of lying goes hand in hand with illicit/hidden drug use. I could get soooooo high and socialize without anyone ever knowing.
I think a lot of people believe they can do this as well. I don't know about that though. I have a few friends who have said, "yea, when I was on heroin, nobody could tell but i was fucked up." Well, I didn't crush their delusion, but you could tell. Everyone could. The only reason I know about how effectively I hid my habit was because of my intervention. It wasn't really an intervention, it was the reaction I got when I came clean about abusing pain pills. My family and my girlfriend were TOTALLY caught off guard. I had money, I slept regularly. I mean, I'm really not trying to glorify my using but I was a fucking amazing liar. And it sounds like I'm proud of it.
I am more ashamed of this than anything else in my life, including my small(ish) penis and lack of sexual ability. Now, years later, I am still treated like a criminal. I never stole anything from anyone. I didn't need to do that to maintain my lifestyle, had a good job. Now though everybody is always skeptical as to whether I am actually clean. I purchase drug test strips in bulk off of ebay just to show my family. They were so hurt by the extent to which I went to cover my ass. I really don't know if they'll ever really trust me again.
I don't want to talk about this kinda shit all night tonight. Today was a fun day. The high was seventy one degrees outside. I went to the local park and played disc-golf. I scored three under par. That's the kind of thing that I wish I could think about and want to write about all the time. I want to talk about my great job and how well it's going with my fiance. But, I don't have that right now. I paid a price to get away from abusing drugs. It cost a lot, but it was totally worth it. I think that's all I have for tonight though.
Final thought: Fantasy Football is not for the weak. It's a social game and social skills certainly come into play. The weak are meat and the strong do eat.
How's that for an introduction? No background or history. That's perfect for me. Today is a random day, so I can just start typing whatever I feel like. My name is X. It's X because I like that letter and I hate my name. Why is totally irrelevant. So, let's get this thing going.
Let's talk about fantasy football. I'm a winner. My league hates me because I have influence and use it. Fuck them. If they want to whine, let em. I don't care. I made the best trade ever today. I got the best football player in the league for two under-performing, young players. It's all about what you have to give, not what you're willing to pay. Nobody else in the league had to firepower to grab this guy. So I do it and everybody gets super pissed off. One guy, a good friend of mine at least I thought, talked about quitting. Gotta love those sore losers, especially those that like to repeat their ineffectiveness year after year. That guy pays the same amount of money to play as I do. I really love fantasy football, so this will be a repetitious subject for this blog.
Also, today was the third Wednesday of the month. Every third Thursday of each month, I get "my" buprenorphine. How I get it is irrelevant, but I get it. Bupe has allowed me to live a much more normal life over the past year or so. I was such a dickface before that on opioid pain meds. I didn't steal, but I was the world's biggest liar. You know? I'd just lie to everybody for no reason. It became so bad I started believing my lies because I had to remember so many and all their depths. Pathological lying is pretty intense. It's like living in a world that's perfect for you, awful for those who care about you and completely false. This type of lying goes hand in hand with illicit/hidden drug use. I could get soooooo high and socialize without anyone ever knowing.
I think a lot of people believe they can do this as well. I don't know about that though. I have a few friends who have said, "yea, when I was on heroin, nobody could tell but i was fucked up." Well, I didn't crush their delusion, but you could tell. Everyone could. The only reason I know about how effectively I hid my habit was because of my intervention. It wasn't really an intervention, it was the reaction I got when I came clean about abusing pain pills. My family and my girlfriend were TOTALLY caught off guard. I had money, I slept regularly. I mean, I'm really not trying to glorify my using but I was a fucking amazing liar. And it sounds like I'm proud of it.
I am more ashamed of this than anything else in my life, including my small(ish) penis and lack of sexual ability. Now, years later, I am still treated like a criminal. I never stole anything from anyone. I didn't need to do that to maintain my lifestyle, had a good job. Now though everybody is always skeptical as to whether I am actually clean. I purchase drug test strips in bulk off of ebay just to show my family. They were so hurt by the extent to which I went to cover my ass. I really don't know if they'll ever really trust me again.
I don't want to talk about this kinda shit all night tonight. Today was a fun day. The high was seventy one degrees outside. I went to the local park and played disc-golf. I scored three under par. That's the kind of thing that I wish I could think about and want to write about all the time. I want to talk about my great job and how well it's going with my fiance. But, I don't have that right now. I paid a price to get away from abusing drugs. It cost a lot, but it was totally worth it. I think that's all I have for tonight though.
Final thought: Fantasy Football is not for the weak. It's a social game and social skills certainly come into play. The weak are meat and the strong do eat.
I don't love my country. I love the ideals it was founded upon. Patriotism is overrated. To be proud of your country, to me, is akin to being proud of your hair color. How can you be proud of something you didn't choose?
Be proud of things you choose. The way you treat others, using your turn signal every time-those are things to exude pride over. I don't understand patriotism, since none of us chose our birthplace.
I don't hate this country, either. I'm indifferent to it. I do love the ideals the Founding Fathers had at the outset of its creation, ideals that overall have been abandoned.
Whatever the fuck happened to freedom of religion?! Everything is "God this" and "Bless that." FUCK THAT. Our money, our Pledge of Allegiance, are blatant endorsements of religion. Tax exemtion for religious organizations? Ludicrous. There's nothing wrong with religion, but it's a private matter to be dealt with at home. Masturbation.
I fucking hate racists. I hear people talk about immigration reform, and it's a load of crap. "Oh, other countries don't have the right to come here." I'm sorry (not sorry), unless your ancestors are 100% Native American, they came here, too. If someone is making an honest living, I don't give a fuck where they're from.
There's a disgusting sense of entitlement nowadays. It's rare to see anyone with a strong work ethic, much less anyone who doesn't have a need for instant gratification. "You want something? Put it on the credit card. Take out a loan." It's a major reason our economy went to shit. A lot of people don't want to save for something they can afford or want things handed to them.
I don't think it's this country's duty to be the police of the world. We have no right to tell other countries not to have nukes when we have a fuckton of them. We have no right to impose our way of life on others. We need to mind our business.
Our education system is shit. Schools don't have enough money for books, but the football team gets a new uniform. Paying teachers based on student performance is impractical, simply because they're not the sole deciding factor.
Parents are afraid to discipline their kids..Almost anything could be construed as abuse! That's why kids shoot up schools and misbehave.
I understand this amounts to nothing more than a severely disjointed rant. These are all opinions. Take them as you will.
Be proud of things you choose. The way you treat others, using your turn signal every time-those are things to exude pride over. I don't understand patriotism, since none of us chose our birthplace.
I don't hate this country, either. I'm indifferent to it. I do love the ideals the Founding Fathers had at the outset of its creation, ideals that overall have been abandoned.
Whatever the fuck happened to freedom of religion?! Everything is "God this" and "Bless that." FUCK THAT. Our money, our Pledge of Allegiance, are blatant endorsements of religion. Tax exemtion for religious organizations? Ludicrous. There's nothing wrong with religion, but it's a private matter to be dealt with at home. Masturbation.
I fucking hate racists. I hear people talk about immigration reform, and it's a load of crap. "Oh, other countries don't have the right to come here." I'm sorry (not sorry), unless your ancestors are 100% Native American, they came here, too. If someone is making an honest living, I don't give a fuck where they're from.
There's a disgusting sense of entitlement nowadays. It's rare to see anyone with a strong work ethic, much less anyone who doesn't have a need for instant gratification. "You want something? Put it on the credit card. Take out a loan." It's a major reason our economy went to shit. A lot of people don't want to save for something they can afford or want things handed to them.
I don't think it's this country's duty to be the police of the world. We have no right to tell other countries not to have nukes when we have a fuckton of them. We have no right to impose our way of life on others. We need to mind our business.
Our education system is shit. Schools don't have enough money for books, but the football team gets a new uniform. Paying teachers based on student performance is impractical, simply because they're not the sole deciding factor.
Parents are afraid to discipline their kids..Almost anything could be construed as abuse! That's why kids shoot up schools and misbehave.
I understand this amounts to nothing more than a severely disjointed rant. These are all opinions. Take them as you will.
im still sober.
I remember back in the day when I was attending meetings (back in 04) and rehab then, people would always say they've been sober for X amount of days.. and I thought to myself, "why do these guys keep track.. who cares". well, guess what? I've been sober/off opiates for 25 days now. this is the longest i've went in a long, long time. sure, I am on Subox.. but it's helping a TON and killing any/all urges. I have def. had it hit the mind a few times over the last 3 weeks, but was able to get it out of the mind quick!
One morning I ran out of Subox (the night before) and the pharmacy told me 3 more hours till I can pick up. Right away I thought.. maybe I should pick up some other "junk", just in case. even with me knowing I'd be complete find since I took 8MG Subox 12 hours prior. It's just how that sick, addicted mind works. I will able to drop it within 5 minutes after thinking of all the shit it would cause, the price, the whole situation.. just was a turn off. plus, I am in an outpatient program which is working great and the last thing I want to do is make my doc think twice of me.. and also, not just of for him, but myself the most.. its NOT what I NEED or WANT, anymore/ever again.
Have I used any drug in the last 25 days!? yes, I have. I've taken a Xanax early on to help sleep/anxiety. That was day 1 or 2 in the hospital since it's an OD which brought me to that hospital and put me in that detox/rehab for 5 days. I've also smoked weed multiple times, which I know a "drug is a drug is a drug" but hey.. whatever. It helps me chill the F out and again, sleep at night since the Xanax is now OUT OF MY LIFE as well. My doc./program dont love the idea I am smoking and I am open about it, but who knows.. just works and eases my mind before bed, rather than it racing and think of the mistakes of the past. I'll get over it all eventually but hell, it's only been a month.
OK.. I'm done w/ my 4th blog. and it's ANOTHER SOBER ONE! as long as they keep coming SOBER from those opiates/dope, then I am more than happy.
I remember back in the day when I was attending meetings (back in 04) and rehab then, people would always say they've been sober for X amount of days.. and I thought to myself, "why do these guys keep track.. who cares". well, guess what? I've been sober/off opiates for 25 days now. this is the longest i've went in a long, long time. sure, I am on Subox.. but it's helping a TON and killing any/all urges. I have def. had it hit the mind a few times over the last 3 weeks, but was able to get it out of the mind quick!
One morning I ran out of Subox (the night before) and the pharmacy told me 3 more hours till I can pick up. Right away I thought.. maybe I should pick up some other "junk", just in case. even with me knowing I'd be complete find since I took 8MG Subox 12 hours prior. It's just how that sick, addicted mind works. I will able to drop it within 5 minutes after thinking of all the shit it would cause, the price, the whole situation.. just was a turn off. plus, I am in an outpatient program which is working great and the last thing I want to do is make my doc think twice of me.. and also, not just of for him, but myself the most.. its NOT what I NEED or WANT, anymore/ever again.
Have I used any drug in the last 25 days!? yes, I have. I've taken a Xanax early on to help sleep/anxiety. That was day 1 or 2 in the hospital since it's an OD which brought me to that hospital and put me in that detox/rehab for 5 days. I've also smoked weed multiple times, which I know a "drug is a drug is a drug" but hey.. whatever. It helps me chill the F out and again, sleep at night since the Xanax is now OUT OF MY LIFE as well. My doc./program dont love the idea I am smoking and I am open about it, but who knows.. just works and eases my mind before bed, rather than it racing and think of the mistakes of the past. I'll get over it all eventually but hell, it's only been a month.
OK.. I'm done w/ my 4th blog. and it's ANOTHER SOBER ONE! as long as they keep coming SOBER from those opiates/dope, then I am more than happy.
Greetings, my fellow Bluelighters. I'm a 28 year-old male, and I would describe myself as a weird person. I like weird people, in fact; I love the funny little idiosyncrasies that make us the way we are: human beings. I'm a nocturnal recluse with a bunker mentality, and I am terrified of moths and spiders. With winter drawing close (my favourite time of year; it's brooding and atmospheric), the damned arachnids are making their way indoors, and the only thing that allows me to cope with this nightmare invasion from hell is the knowledge I'm armed to the teeth. I walk through my home, armed with my prized Walther air pistol (feeling badass, If I'm totally honest), ready to fight for my very survival against these arachnid monsters.If I see one, I'm convinced it's out to destroy me; they look at me, I'm quite sure of it, waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack me when my guard is down. I feel bad about ending a life-form, but still I blow these critters away with enthusiasm; it's world war 3 in this place right now.
Collateral damage is a concern; the casualties include pictures, lampshades, walls, all with neat little pellet holes in them. Still, why buy bug spray when you can pack heat?
Collateral damage is a concern; the casualties include pictures, lampshades, walls, all with neat little pellet holes in them. Still, why buy bug spray when you can pack heat?
It's a grey Sunday Morning in Brooklyn, and I'm reclining on my bed in my boxers, killing time, waiting for nothing. I feel both restless and tired as I was haunted last night by a freakish nightmare in which I was invited to a small gathering in the woods which aside from me, was comprised entirely of celebrity's. In the dream I found myself pressured into partaking in the making of a pornagraphic film involving Jim Carrey, an unknown actress, and a schnauzer with a small penis, large testicles, and a bizarre growth which hung, jiggling from his tummy. In the end I found myself unable to go through with the filming of this unethical monstrosity, so I ran to the nearest bathroom where I found matthew mcconaughey passed out dead on the floor in his boxers. His face had turned blue from oxygen deprivation and there was a pool of semen lying besides him. I paced back in forth in this tiny hell until the unknown female actress came in and accused me of ruining her chances of 'making it big!'
I awoke from the dream in a state of incredible discomfort and stress. I was covered in sweat and felt like I was carrying some large burden that just had to be lifted from my shoulders that very second! It took around ten minutes for me to relax and realize that I am for once living a rather transparent life, and have nothing to hide.
It was a disorienting way to start the day though, that is for sure. I don't know what I'll do now, cause I'm really fucking bored.
My other cat had to be euthanized recently. We had two cats, but now there's only one left.
Requiescat in pace
Requiescat in pace
Apple has improved the wheel by packing the latest iPhone's Home button with a fingerprint reader, effectively taking the first major step in replacing passwords with biometric authentication. After all, cell phones are such ubiquitous and personal devices that they have become like defacto keys to our digital lives, so it's no great leap of the imagination to see them become keys to our physical lives as well.
As a technophile, I am not disappoint. However, what really stood out to me in the article I read was the part about how this fingerprint security scheme would clear hurdles consumers have with online purchases and drive more sales in not just the iTunes store, but any other service that will come to accept an iPhone as a standard payment method.
Now, I already have a VISA card with payWave. For over 90% of the things I buy (incuding a $1 cup of coffee), I just have to hold my card up to the merchant's terminal and listen for the beep that accompanies a successful purchase. Using cash has already become somewhat alien, and although payWave is very convenient I've become more of a spendthrift because of that very convenience.
Physical money was always somewhat cumbersome and a burden if lost. It wasn't like having a credit card where, if you were to leave it somewhere, you could just call up the company and be released from any obligation to pay for fraudulent purchases. In a lot of ways, physical money is an awful thing, but the one thing it had going for it was that sense of loss when you part with coins or bills. That sense of loss is what keeps people from overspending, because it's easy to open up your wallet and see how much money you have left and start thinking about how to ration it between what you need to buy and what you want to buy.
Nowadays we are beginning to see money differently. We see money as bits and bytes moreso than the physical. Many employers won't even bother handing you a cheque anymore, it's just a direct deposit into your bank account and then you're off to spend that cash without even directly touching the physical manifestation of that money. I can imagine that seeing money as just floating point numbers on a computer screen or printout is how accountants relate to it, but most of us are not accountants, and most of us certainly don't have as much disposable income as accountants do.
Despite the inherent risk of overspending, payWave is still relatively benign. When I go to the store to make a purchase, I am receiving physical goods and still have to reach for my wallet to confirm my willingness to pay for said goods. What scares me is that Apple's next step is going to do away with that implicit physical confirmation and, instead of physical goods, you will be delivered digital goods for which you pay by tapping a button on a device you're already used to spending far too much money on just for communication.
As the boundaries between physical and virtual reality begin to blur at an accelerated rate between microtransactions that automatically siphon money from our bank accounts, it feels like we are on the whole coming to exchange classical materialism for a newfangled digital consumerism. It's a jarring juxtaposition onto the physical reality which our senses interact with and our instincts react to, and our capacity to evolve to a new way of seeing the world around us will directly determine whether we go bankrupt playing the next iteration of Angry Birds, or prosper by being the merchants that make their fortune on microtransactions. As those two categories grow, the middle class is bound to shrink, and we may find ourselves in the future envisioned by H.G. Wells well before our bodies physically devolve into the shape of Morlocks and Eloi.
-link to article
As a technophile, I am not disappoint. However, what really stood out to me in the article I read was the part about how this fingerprint security scheme would clear hurdles consumers have with online purchases and drive more sales in not just the iTunes store, but any other service that will come to accept an iPhone as a standard payment method.
Now, I already have a VISA card with payWave. For over 90% of the things I buy (incuding a $1 cup of coffee), I just have to hold my card up to the merchant's terminal and listen for the beep that accompanies a successful purchase. Using cash has already become somewhat alien, and although payWave is very convenient I've become more of a spendthrift because of that very convenience.
Physical money was always somewhat cumbersome and a burden if lost. It wasn't like having a credit card where, if you were to leave it somewhere, you could just call up the company and be released from any obligation to pay for fraudulent purchases. In a lot of ways, physical money is an awful thing, but the one thing it had going for it was that sense of loss when you part with coins or bills. That sense of loss is what keeps people from overspending, because it's easy to open up your wallet and see how much money you have left and start thinking about how to ration it between what you need to buy and what you want to buy.
Nowadays we are beginning to see money differently. We see money as bits and bytes moreso than the physical. Many employers won't even bother handing you a cheque anymore, it's just a direct deposit into your bank account and then you're off to spend that cash without even directly touching the physical manifestation of that money. I can imagine that seeing money as just floating point numbers on a computer screen or printout is how accountants relate to it, but most of us are not accountants, and most of us certainly don't have as much disposable income as accountants do.
Despite the inherent risk of overspending, payWave is still relatively benign. When I go to the store to make a purchase, I am receiving physical goods and still have to reach for my wallet to confirm my willingness to pay for said goods. What scares me is that Apple's next step is going to do away with that implicit physical confirmation and, instead of physical goods, you will be delivered digital goods for which you pay by tapping a button on a device you're already used to spending far too much money on just for communication.
As the boundaries between physical and virtual reality begin to blur at an accelerated rate between microtransactions that automatically siphon money from our bank accounts, it feels like we are on the whole coming to exchange classical materialism for a newfangled digital consumerism. It's a jarring juxtaposition onto the physical reality which our senses interact with and our instincts react to, and our capacity to evolve to a new way of seeing the world around us will directly determine whether we go bankrupt playing the next iteration of Angry Birds, or prosper by being the merchants that make their fortune on microtransactions. As those two categories grow, the middle class is bound to shrink, and we may find ourselves in the future envisioned by H.G. Wells well before our bodies physically devolve into the shape of Morlocks and Eloi.
-link to article