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Title says it all!

if you guys took the time out to see my blog... thanks. that means, to me, that you are interested in what i have to say.
i don't really have anything to say. but thank you for visiting .

and you are cool in my book. if you wanna send a friend request go ahead. i'll accept.

if i seem mad/angry/hostile toward you in the Lounge, don't let it bother you. Its the Lounge. I Don't know any of you personally, so don't take anything that i say to you personally. if you stick around, you'll figure this out.

So, I'm having deep existential sorrow - still - that I am not a drug user anymore.

Often I think that Bluelight is keeping me from moving on to a new self-image as a non-user. I gave up my scripts & pot a year ago because I couldn't control my use and was a failure of a parent. Nothing short of losing custody could have gotten me to this height of sobriety. I feel so accomplished, proud, and self-satisfied. This has been a year of being Awake. Laborious but rewarding and expansive.

When I come to this website it's stressful to read people glorifying so many substances from my old loves to passing acquaintences to strangers I'm sure I could love but have never met. In moments reading these things I subject myself to feel continual wist from the separation. There's a strong sentiment inside me that I am NOT whole, I am NOT One, that I am Two and my other half - substances - have been severed from me, reluctantly though willingly. Because my choices are either remain completely clean, or give up being a parent. I need and wholly plan to continue this path without substances.

Choosing between the two relationships is a no-brainer, obviously, and it's totally working for me.

Strangely however I still come to Bluelight when it actually causes me pain of craving - a grand pain that has the unmatched capacity to bring me to the original sorrow. So it seems I still have a little bit left (though not much) to explore in this realm.

So the rules changed since the last time I have posted. And a hell of a lot of things have changed. I read my past blogs and wow, I have changed a bit. I'm doing my best that I can right now by what life has thrown at me. Lost a bit more and now I am trying to crawl out of a giant hole I created. I got a job finally after being freed a year ago and it's in a different state. I relapsed after being out for a month and I am now in MMT. I am going to start the detox Monday but take it slow so I have a better chance of not fucking up. My job takes about 12 hour days 6 days a week so I won't be bored, don't know a source on the South and I regularly go to meetings everyday. I talk to my little wifey again and she is a big help for me but I understand that it will be a battle to get things back before heroin.

...

...

On occasion your view on something is a yes and a no. This is where the debate begins.

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My dad was pretty impressed when he arrived at my house a couple of weekends ago for fathers day. I cleaned up my house so it looked like a hotel. He loved it as he hadn't seen me like this since I was doing chores around his house in my teens. What he didn't like is the music coming from the speakers when he walked in. I had forgot how unattractive metal-core music sounds with the volume even slightly past normal volume. With this whole scene in mind, he walked in and greeted, heard the music, and immediately told me I need to stop cutting myself!

This last part made me chuckle since he said it with a tone that meant he was poking fun at me. He doesn't care about my taste in music as long as I live and no matter how horrible it will sound to him. He never says anything when I blast it in his ears but I can tell he doesn't enjoy it as much as some of us do.

But this makes me come to my point. Why is it so stereotypical for someone to be called goth, emo, or dark just because they listen to music thats not so mainstream (I'm not asking for anyone to reply)? No one has ever bullied me for my taste in the subject, but then again, not many know because I don't advertise that kind of music in public. Only with my friends who enjoy the same stuff and when I'm alone. Only 8 of my extremely numerous and diverse friends listen to it with the same loving/obsessive feeling I do. It doesn't make me mad though, which is good I suppose since other topics that kids around me disagree with turns me into.... let's just say I get mad. I can't think a way to describe it at this moment.

I don't mean to post about something almost no one likes.

So yeah, that was my essay. Not too advanced by any means, but a nice introduction to the topic.

Overall I've been doing well. I'm on pharmaceuticals but am not taking anything illegal. I picked up the tobacco habit (oh well), and plan to quit with nicotine gum/patches in maybe a year or so; but I'm using way too much. I dip, and find myself using almost a can of the strongest dip a day (yikes!). Maybe I just have a honeymoon thing going on. Anyways, I'm going to try to stick to two cans a week (haha I said "a day" at first).

Still drinking a lot of coffee, but not nearly so much as I've been put on a stimulant.

So life is going alright...

(hope you like my essay)

...

When I was 6, I went down to my cousins house for the 4th of July in the town of (undisclosed). We met up and while we where there (me, my brother, my female cousin, and my younger male cousin who's names I will not reveal), snuck out of the main party that my aunts and uncles and parents were having and went to the nearby high school to see some fireworks. I'm not sure why my parents didn't want me to go. After all, it was the fourth, nuff' said.

Anyways, we hopped the fence so we didn't have to pay the entrance fee and found some seats on the grass. It was by far the best fireworks show I have ever seen, besides that one in San Diego about a year ago (JK).

When we were walking back, my cousins friend, whom I shall call Dave just for the hell of it,told me to grab the breasts of my female cousin's hot friend. I was obviously not in 6th grade at the time and knew nothing about love.

So I did it.

And I barely remember the feeling. She screamed and put on the usual show of "OMG, GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY JUNK YOU LITTLE BASTARD".

I think she was a C cup.


So that was me getting to 2nd base accidentally. I still somewhat brag about it today that I got there when I was six. Plus, whenever my cousins are around, I get proof on my side.

If I could only be honest with someone who cared about my well being and stick with it. Sometimes I feel like I don't even know what honesty with myself is. I swing wildly and rapidy from one extreme of emotion to the next and am embarrased by this. People ask all the time how I'm doing and often I'll lie to them because I can't bare to let them really in on what's running a muck in my head. I don't want sympathy I just want understanding. I want to understand why I feel this chaotic. Why can't I make a decision and stick with it? One day I'm okay. One day I wake up and I feel like I can manage this day. I'd like to say that I can find joy in a day but really that's not it. Really I can just get through it without letting all my demons drag me through emotional hell. At times I feel like I"ve made the worst decision in my life being with the partner I'm with. But others I feel like it's not his fault but my own. Maybe if I was better adjusted within myself I wouldn't blame him for everything that is going wrong in my life. But again, I flip constantly. I can't handle it any more. Feelings of guilt, sorrow, anger, helplessness, and rage flow through me. I feel like a horrible mom. I feel like a horrible friend, I feel like a horrible person. I am in constant need of validation from outside myself and I don't understand why. I have no family, not because they are dead but because they want nothing to do with me. My father bowed out of my life at a very early age and when I try to confront him about it he tells me it's my fault he wasn't in my life and still isn't. My mother...well she's a peice of work and I am in constant fear that my own daughter and unborn child are going to grown up hating me as much as I loathe my mother. I look at her and so much anger arises in me. I can remember at the ripe old age of 12 toying with suicide. My sister use to verbally and physically abuse me, along with most of the kids at the small school I grew up in (40ish kids in the graduating class). I feel like a total failure at everything. Although I ought not to. I went from homeless on the streets at 18 to graduating with honors from the best public university in the US at 24. But I constantly think there is something wrong with me. I just can't be happy. I feel guilty for bringing my first daughter into the world as I struggle everyday and now I am bringing another life into this cruel fucked up world. I've been told by professors and mentors alike that I am smart, talented and gifted but yet I waste away in my house afraid to tell anyone just how low I really am. No one really wants to hear about depression and suicidal thoughts. There's only so much someone can really do for a person before they just give up and walk away. Asking for help is hard, especially when those around me know I"m smart enough to fix my situation myself. But am I really? I live in fear, not in love and I don't know how to change that. I need help. But have no one to ask for it. I've told my partner just how empty I feel and sometimes I feel like I have died and gone to hell. That this life is just my punishment. For what? I don't know. But some days I can hide all this. Some days I can trick myself in to thinking that everything is going to be alright. I'm just so tired of being unhappy. I'm so tired of crying silently to myself. So I let it out here, in a community of people who have no idea who I am in real life because I"m too afraid to tell anyone in my real life. Most people would tell me what people here tell me, leave the man, and get on with your life. But is that really the answer? Where would I get my strength from? He feels like home. And I have two kids with him. And maybe he's not my problem but I am my problem. I keep thinking if he'd get a job and help with the basics of life maybe I'd be able to start focusing on my deeper issues but for now they are all tied up together. See a therpaist, most would say...but I don't trust people. I don't want to be judged. I'm mental, I know I am. So for now I sit and cry. I wish I had someone that understood me. I wish I had someone I could turn to talk with. But I don't. I don't trust that anyone really cares. Maybe it's because I've never lived somewhere long enough to make a real friend. At 29 years old the longest I've ever lived in one place was five years. Or maybe it's because when I did reach out to a friend when in need they didn't understand and they distanced themselves from me...............................

I finally let it out somewhere. As unorganized, random chaotic as it may be. It's out for now. Not that it's going to help or matter. I feel so embarrased that I feel this way. I just want to hide under a rock because I feel like a total loser. Then I want that rock to crush my head to I don't have to feel this any more.

i somehow pissed a friend off with an off hand comment i made a few weeks ago. it wasn't directed at him, and i think he is reading too much into two sentences. he proceeded to bitch about the burden that i am putting on unglued while i run around doing what i want. i am quite sorry, but this was a joint decision between unglued and i. part of that decision meant unglued would assume all bills that i used to pay if i didn't ask for any other alimony. unglued can afford to do so, it is just that he doesn't have a lot of spare extra cash. i think that is fair, i contributed to plenty of the stuff i left behind in cali and i am not asking for half the cost of that shit. and i am the one that moved, leaving behind a job and (sorta) starting over (at least as far as work is concerned).

i realize my facebook updates and other posts make light of things. i purposefully contain most of my melodramatic shit to here or chatting with actual friends. i don't really give a flying fuck if it looks to everyone else like i am greatly enjoying myself. well, i guess that isn't true, i do care. but it pisses me off more than anything. especially cause this is a person i talk(ed) to rather frequently, he should know damned well that i say online is a bit of a front. tho vgoraz read our (friend and me) text convo and said i was overreacting. other people who saw the initial comment said he (friend) is overreacting.

gah, i don't like pissing people off when i don't understand why they were pissed off in the first place. this is a reason why i distance myself from my family. they are always looking for double meanings and reading into things when that have no hidden meaning. i am not really in the mood to have friends start doing it too. i have no patience to play games.

i still don't really know what is going on between between unglued and i. he is lonely, i get that living alone is weird. and i don't have that since i am living with vgoraz. but i don't think he really misses me as much as just having someone around. at least in the sense of living together. i do miss hanging out with him, but we tend to chat for 30-45 minutes a day. and text a lot through out the day. but i have no idea where we stand in terms of getting back together. and he doesn't either. and i really am sick of everyone asking about it all the time. i don't want to think about me and unglued 24/7.

blah, i think i just needed to rant. why can't people be as concerned with their lives as they are with mine?

2-fma is a lovely chemical I've been indulging in quite frequently these past few weeks. Frequently as in, 4 times a week. Which I know is a little ridiculous and I've never done a drug this often for this long.

It started the week of Memorial Day. I was put in charge of the back room at work in the mornings, which meant going in at 7am rather than 7:30, opening the truck, starting to unload it, then going down to where the processors are and basically running shit. Getting all the boxes on the conveyer belt to the correct section, opening the mixed boxes and sorting it out, very fast paced, not that processing isn't already. I was nervous because my supervisor who's usually in charge is very fast and always yelling, making it seem more intense than it really has to be. I didn't think I could compare to her and handle everything, so I took 60mg of 2-fma in a capsule the first day. I did just as well as she did, in fact one person told me I did it faster than usual. I was only planning on doing it that one day for the week, like how I dose adderall. I've found that I can't do adderall 2 consecutive days because of how much it drains me and feel best if I do it once a week maximum, which I assumed would be the same for 2-fma. But I was wrong.

That night, sleep came easily and I slept 7 solid hours before getting up at 5:30 the next day. I felt fine, and decided to take another 60mg capsule since it went so well. Again, I found it easy to sleep that night. This progressed over the 3 weeks and I never saw a reason to stop taking it, so I didn't.

The main thing that makes this chemical unique IMO is its lack of negative side effects. Mainly, the ability to eat and sleep. With adderall, even if I take it at 6am, I cannot fall asleep until at least 2am, which means the next day will be hell if I have to get up at 6 again. It also makes it impossible to eat, so when I'm crashing 12 hours later, a lot of that shitty feeling is actually due to low blood sugar from not eating. With 2-fma, I can fall asleep at 10pm if I take it at 6am. And while I don't get hungry, as long as I remember to eat on my lunch breaks, it's not difficult to get some food down, which means that I don't feel shitty later. Actually I don't even notice the come down. All I know is that at the end of my shift (4pm, almost 10 hours after ingesting) I still feel a bit of stimulation, but it's not that noticeable when I get home. Then I actually get an appetite for dinner time and am tired by bed time. Get a solid night's sleep, then when I get up again, I'm fully refreshed and my body doesn't feel like it was on drugs the day before. Pretty incredible. Oh, another thing, I never developed a tolerance. Even doing it 4 mornings in a row, 60mg gave me the same boost each time.

As for the effects while on it - It feels pretty similar to adderall to me. Perhaps a bit less intense and euphoric. I have this problem with adderall that happens every time I try to write a paper on it: I get distracted. It makes me feel so great that I wanna go do something fun. Because it makes hanging with mates, driving around, having sex, listening to tunes, biking, playing video games, and pretty much everything under the sun so much more enjoyable, I wanna go do one of those rather than write a paper. Now I haven't tried to write a paper on 2-fma yet as I'm off for the summer, but I have a feeling it will be easier to do. I don't get such an intense body buzz on it. I get a buzz about 30 minutes after taking it, but this fades rather quickly, although I don't really notice it leaving. Then I'm just in a better mood, with more energy and focus, but I don't feel that rush like adderall. I'm not sweating excessively or over-stimulated; basically I don't feel like I'm tweaking. In my opinion, adderall has more recreational value but 2-fma is perfect for what it is, which is a functional stimulant for when you wanna get some shit done and be in a good mood during it.

Right now it's the fourth week of use and I feel great. Although I'm not doing it every day this week as my supervisor came back and I don't have to be up as early. I'll report back in a month or two about my well-being, as this may not be sustainable over a long period of time. But so far, so good.

I'm just copying+pasting from another post where it was in a board where I couldn't just post my personal experience that I just went throught.

"Hey, So i'm just coming back from a very lucky trip from Brazil. I was able to get valium easier than candy. And because I know a friend who knows a friend who works in a pharmacy, I Was able to get my Methadone without prescription. It's called Mytedom there.
Anyways, I have a question about the Diazepam. I would take like 8 at once sometimes and it wouldn't be the same as if i taken 8 here in the U.S. Has anyone ever experienced this with overseas medication? Like it's not as potent as it is here. I was so amazed at how easy it was to bring back Diazepam, I might go back in 2 months and bring back like 10 boxes, And each box is MUCH cheaper then it is here. I'm not sure if i'm allowed to say the price, So i won't.
And i got the Methadone because i'm on methadone maintnance, and my clinic wasn't letting me go on this trip. So they thought I was going to come back on the plane withdrawing begging for help. I came back with 3 boxes of methadone, They were a bit shocked. I told them, If you know people, You can pretty much get anything easily in South American countries.
I'm glad that i left in time because i started itching to get some liquid morphine. Since it was so easy to get methadone, I think it would be just the same to get liquid morphine, But then with the diazepam, That might've cause an OD. So maybe it's good that i left when i left. Anyways, Thanks for reading, and i'm happy to hear other stories about trips and getting chemicals in other countries. And if in fact they are stronger in the U.S. or not. "

Thanks for taking the time to read my story

Beefy

It's been a long time since I've had any kind of recreational experience from substances. This is depressing considering how much shit I get through. It's all about maintenance now. When did I become so high maintenance?

Scripted medications and other self-prescribed 'meds' have become non-optional crutches without which I can't get through a single day. And it's not like I'm doing amazing things with my days, either. Just getting by.

When I get to know people a bit and mention that I'm taking this or that, they look at me with an expression of wondrous curiosity as if I'm a party lovin' free spirit who does what he wants and says 'fuck tha man!'. But it's not like that at all.

I started drinking, smoking weed, and generally taking whatever pills (downers and painkillers) that I could get my hands on way too young, not because I was a wild rebel or anything. Rather, it's because I always felt out of place.

When I was a little kid, I sometimes flipped out over stupid shit. I busted up my favourite bike with a baseball bat, or scratched my skin bloody with my hands. Why? I still don't know.

Maybe I'm possessed or something.. hehehe

Now, in my mid-thirties, I still feel out of place. But I don't scratch myself (or anyone else!) or break things anymore... so that's a start!

To quote the Grateful Dead: "What a long, strange trip it's been"

<end communication>

6/10/10 was the day I got locked up which basically forced me to finally get off of suboxone for good. so it's been about 4 years since I've shot dope. feeling kinda proud of myself right now and since this is my blog I can fuckin gloat a little. :D

Can't find any headies.... commercial sucks.... come on! 1 more week and I'll be all good, but that week seems so far away.

edit

I as I obsessively do, like a ritual, look at her facebook page. I tried to stop doing it for some time, calling it "obsessive" as if this is necessarily bad (yet, it would be?). I tried to stop, but things drew me back.

The experience could be seen as like insanity, but that is just the face of a bird in a butterflies wings, perhaps, just as well. I'm still really far off.

I'm trying to justify feelings. To be driven crazy over the opposite sex. To have desire, at one time or another. To be driven to feel, and "love". Desperation, like for water. And light.

We struggle to be independent. This is impossible. You were never independent. There are parts of you, and strings attached, that aren't you- that are dependent on others. Unless you live completely isolated... But even still, you depended on many to get to where you are, now. Without their chatting around campfires, you might not have the head you have, or anything. No, you wouldn't.

It's all meta.

I think. Maybe. Of course variation exists. But even that can find itself in others, and in it's experience. This doesn't mean anything crazy. It's just how things are. Like how water carves through a river, we are the bed. And the water. Inherently, not much variation would exist, even though a lot would. But relation would always be. The same fundamentals.

Uhh.

But I trailed off.

She got me. I don't feel it the same now, but it's almost robotic. I saw that, then.

I wanted to see if she had changed her image, which she sometimes does in perfect timing, as things with her fell in perfect timing. Today's my birthday. She changed it right at her birthday, to an angel. Then she changed it on mine. Now her face. Then my mom texts me at 1:59, wishing me happy birthday. Donna's name, although the 1:59 didn't jump totally this way, the feeling is not there quite, I just noted that Donna's name has this sum, of 159. This her full name if N=15 P=16, Etc. I had already related her to my mom by way of numbering certain things, such as times, and through their names. Donna relates. And to others, and time in my life to things/events/people.

I heard 23 today. On the radio. 23 was a number I heard in doubles, at least three times. It was of a phone number on the radio, for a window installation place. 1-800-802(?)-2323, 1-800-802(?)-2323, 1-800-802(?)-2323. I never (I don't remember the last time) hear it like this.

I saw the number 159 on a van, on my way to get rolling papers- my first destination of the day. I wrote it off (and don't remember the name of the van but I remembered it and the numbers could tie in with meaning), even though alignment had already occurred in that direction, with the numbers, my mom, my birthday, her picture. It was rather obvious.

It was the first number I'd really pay attention to, in big black letters, eye level, just after leaving apartment. It was ahead of another car, which had numbers 223, and something else- letters I can't remember. But I wrote it all off, more or less... Not wrote off, I guess, just accepted it. Accepted. Didn't make a big deal. It happens. But I feel like writing about it now, and want to remember everything.

Later

I just watched Archer, on Netflix. I haven't watched this in awhile. It was his birthday in this episode.

Ever since my son died I have fantasized leaving. At first it was an escape fantasy, pure and simple: just point the car out of town in any direction and start driving. Of course where I live this included pointing it west where that meant driving off a cliff, and at my worst I considered that on a daily basis, too. I didn't want to see anything that had anything to do with the past. I didn't want to drive past the hospital where he was born, I didn't want to see our own house or the apartment where I found him dead. I didn't want to see my friends because the pain in their faces and in their voices was unbearable. Even my husband and other son made me want to flee because seeing their devastation was almost worse than experiencing my own.

Now it has been two years. Everything changes. The rawness of grief becomes less constant. Moments of joy once again fuse together and whole afternoons or mornings or nights taste delicious again. There are always the moments of stabbing pain--the missing, pure and simple, that will never be gone. But, though none of the old triggers set me off in the life-stopping way they used to, I still feel the need to leave. I keep coming back to this desire. I've been trying to explore it more and more as time goes by and I think it has to do with needing to be alone to stitch myself back together.

Long before Caleb died our family was in chaos around his life. My husband and I had for years neglected our own relationship, focusing everything on Caleb and his vulnerabilities and enormous needs. Everything we did as a family centered around what was best for Caleb in our eyes. It was as if all three of us,( my husband, other son and I), were focused exclusively on one thing--keeping Caleb alive and keeping his hope alive. When he died, each of our individual lives shattered. At first we were each other's refuge. We cried openly, screamed openly, sat rocking and uncommunicative openly and we each held space for the others to do this. But over time, we have begun to develop scar tissue. We hide our pain from each other because we know what it takes to go on and acknowledging how tightly we are holding ourselves threatens that hard-won control.

Last year, I began fantasizing about going to South America and finding a community where I would not be around English speakers where I could simply be by myself--a self-exile from familiarity and comfort. I want to feel what I need to feel without censure and I want privacy. I want to fold what I need to fold away and I want to learn to carry what I need to carry on my own, without the distraction of anyone else. Not forever. Just for now.

So I traded every credit card mile I have been saving for a ticket to Ecuador. I will leave in August and land in Quito. I booked a cheap room through AirBnB with a couple that rents out a small room in the historic section of the city. Though I have only corresponded with them through email in Spanish, one of the guys is named Byron and looks very British so I suspect that he will speak English. Other than that plan, there is no plan for the next 3-4 months. I don't have any money saved and my husband is only going along with this plan if I can manage to pay for myself when I am there so I will have to find something. I am actually feeling a lot of fear about that though I am practicing self-talking myself down from that useless state.

I just heard that one of my former students (now 19) is working for room and board in an Inn in the Amazonian region in exchange for handling the English Facebook page, baking desserts, and gardening. If I could find something like that I would be in heaven. Whatever happens, I know that it will be an adventure and I am looking forward to being surprised by life. I will take some of Caleb's ashes with me and scatter them where it feels appropriate. He always wanted to spend his life traveling. Getting a felony for possession of acid was one of the circumstances in his life that defeated him. I used to try to tell him that it would not impact him as much as he thought but I know that it would have meant more than a few countries that would not have let him in. I wanted to take his backpack but it is just too big for me.

I took a leave from my job and yesterday was my last day of classes. I got so many hugs and cards from my students and my fellow teachers and the staff at my school. I feel very privileged to have a job that I feel so appreciated for and yet even that is something I am feeling distance from. It is as if every connection I ever had was severed and I am sitting in front of one of those electrical boxes on the street, staring at a thousand wires, wondering what is essential and what can just stay severed. Everything has changed, is changing still. I think what I am doing is trying to create space for myself. I need to feel my way back into my own body.

If I manage to support myself for the whole 4 months of my work-leave, I will turn 60 in South America. If that comes true I will write a birthday blog in Spanish.

I *despise* baby showers. The games, the crappy hors d'oeuvres, the ridiculously stupid games, the oohing and ahhing over all the gifts. The worst part of it is being forced to socialize with people that I don't really care for. I understand why alcohol isn't a regular thing at baby showers with pregnancy and all, but it sure would be a lot more pleasant for us guests if the punch was spiked a bit.

When it comes to these things, I'm glad I have few friends so I don't have to deal with it. This girl is lucky that I pretty much consider her to be like a sister. There are only a couple other people that I would travel 2 and a half hours to endure 4 hours of hell.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day...

Okay.....8 yr's ago I smoked so much meth that I went the a psychosis. I've seen people do more but they never wound up like me. I never ate nor drank fluids......I went thru a psychosis in the city and I walked around the whole sitting delusional that cops where after me and they where just trying to see me make a bad move to arrest me....I was so convinced that they where that I called them and in my delusional state said I had gave three girls HIV. Which I didn't have nor have I ever used needles. This brought the cops down on me hard. First I asked if I could go to the hospital to check if I was infected. They said yes but they also knew I had been using meth. So after freaking out in the hospital...I had a bench warrent and they took me to the worst jail in the midwest......Prison is better then this jail, thats how bad it is. So I get out after five days and by this point I was completely delusional. I thought cannibals and zombies where after me. I think it was caused by the detox in jail. I get out and I go to the club I worked at and I get five mollies and ate them all and I wanted to end it. Not to hurt anyone but out of fear that I was going to die a painful death. I then get picked up by the cops for public intox and they shoot me up in both forarms with a gun like needle and they take me to the hospital....After the two shots it knocked me smooth out.....After that I was in and out of jail four times. The last time I stayed in for two months even tho it was a different jail in my county....I was scared. No advocate no help while in jail.....Went thru this psychosis about 7 months then I started to get my marbles back. But, I lost friends, my gf at the time.....and I was humbled beyond humbled.

Not sure what I want to say here. I'm not looking for sympathy or acceptance or help or anything. I think I just want to say out loud-or write down anyway what I'm thinking. Probably nobody will care anyway.

I am a junkie. Why doesn't that bother me? I guess it does sometimes but deep down inside I don't want to quit. I love it so much. Everything I read on here, everything people tell me or told me just isn't true. At least it hasn't been true for me. They said "it's never as good as the first time" Well, that's a crock because it's always amazing!!!!