Sprout
Bluelight Crew
6:00am: my alarm began to ring, as it does every morning. With the same, sharp, piercing, repetitive and inordinately offensive tone, just like every other time.
An alarm was not needed, I was already awake, I had not yet slept. The shrill of my waking call left me to acknowledge that sleep was not to arrive, much to my displeasure. Groggy, I pulled the quilt off my body and took a glance out of the window; nothing much to see, a few slivers of movement between the closed curtains of the visible houses. Looking to my right, the forest was in clear view, adorning all the colours of Spring. The sound of the birds chirping and zooming from tree to tree made for a brief glimpse of the beauty in life.
Pulling myself away from the window and wrapping my dressing gown around my steadily weakening body, I had but one thing on my mind: satiating the cravings that assumed control long ago.
6:30am: I sat downstairs in the kitchen, shivering. The kettle was boiling away and the noise bore through my cranium. Once my coffee was made (three sugars, two scoops of whatever brand of instant coffee was on offer, and a liberal amount of milk), I set about rolling a cigarette and preparing the aluminium foil for my Junkie Breakfast. 120mg of 3-FPM, and 375ug of my loving Lady Fentanyl. I opened the back door to allow some fresh air in – every particle felt ice-cold as it traversed my skin, goosebumps began to rise as my body demanded its exogenous opioid gift.
Alternating drags of the cigarette with “toots” from the narcotic-imbued foil, a sense of relief washed over me. The cravings were gone. My body transformed from a state of withdrawal to a state I much prefer: that of a man with the confidence and euphoria only a powerful stimulant can give, mixed with the absolute bliss resulting from endogenous Morphine flooding my circulatory system.
That was, what is often termed, “the rush” – the rapid, overwhelming flood of neurotransmitter-induced changes in perception. It is the rush that keeps many in the grasps of addiction. Like a drag race car: starting from a static position and rapidly accelerating to maximum speed. For a Junkie; starting in withdrawal and rapidly accelerating toward the absolute peak of euphoria.
During the rush, I am invincible. I could climb mountains and conquer armies. But at the same time, I simply have no desire to. The world is meaningless, I simply cannot care, I am apathetic and comfortable. I am in Nirvana.
Such is the pull of “speedballing” – two polar opposite states combined into one, ultimately fleeting, flood of euphoria.
An alarm was not needed, I was already awake, I had not yet slept. The shrill of my waking call left me to acknowledge that sleep was not to arrive, much to my displeasure. Groggy, I pulled the quilt off my body and took a glance out of the window; nothing much to see, a few slivers of movement between the closed curtains of the visible houses. Looking to my right, the forest was in clear view, adorning all the colours of Spring. The sound of the birds chirping and zooming from tree to tree made for a brief glimpse of the beauty in life.
Pulling myself away from the window and wrapping my dressing gown around my steadily weakening body, I had but one thing on my mind: satiating the cravings that assumed control long ago.
6:30am: I sat downstairs in the kitchen, shivering. The kettle was boiling away and the noise bore through my cranium. Once my coffee was made (three sugars, two scoops of whatever brand of instant coffee was on offer, and a liberal amount of milk), I set about rolling a cigarette and preparing the aluminium foil for my Junkie Breakfast. 120mg of 3-FPM, and 375ug of my loving Lady Fentanyl. I opened the back door to allow some fresh air in – every particle felt ice-cold as it traversed my skin, goosebumps began to rise as my body demanded its exogenous opioid gift.
Alternating drags of the cigarette with “toots” from the narcotic-imbued foil, a sense of relief washed over me. The cravings were gone. My body transformed from a state of withdrawal to a state I much prefer: that of a man with the confidence and euphoria only a powerful stimulant can give, mixed with the absolute bliss resulting from endogenous Morphine flooding my circulatory system.
That was, what is often termed, “the rush” – the rapid, overwhelming flood of neurotransmitter-induced changes in perception. It is the rush that keeps many in the grasps of addiction. Like a drag race car: starting from a static position and rapidly accelerating to maximum speed. For a Junkie; starting in withdrawal and rapidly accelerating toward the absolute peak of euphoria.
During the rush, I am invincible. I could climb mountains and conquer armies. But at the same time, I simply have no desire to. The world is meaningless, I simply cannot care, I am apathetic and comfortable. I am in Nirvana.
Such is the pull of “speedballing” – two polar opposite states combined into one, ultimately fleeting, flood of euphoria.
