Because I really, really want to get high.
I smoked some pot last night and lamented that to my girlfriend, over and over. She was telling me all of our problems, how all of our bills are late and how I need to sell my iPad so we can make ends meet and I just laughed at her because she told me she paid the cable bill instead of the electric bill. Every good poor person knows to pay the electric bill first -- because, either way, you're going to lose the cable... Duh! If you have no electricity, how is cable useful to you? I could walk around with my iPad in the dark... stealing wifi from the neighbors. Charging my shit in the hallway when the stupid neighbors aren't peeking through their peepholes. Hahaha.
And then we had a discussion about how different our childhoods were. Hers, limited and controlled and mine... well, my parents basically left me to my own devices pretty much. Hell, they let me start commuting to school on the subway when I was 11. I was Daddy's little girl until his Parkinson's Disease manifested itself when I was 12 or so. And we had a really good conversation. She's quitting smoking, which is her vice. So I guess I was being irritating and she kind of unloaded on me. I wanted to cry, to hug her and tell her it would be okay, that we'd find a way -- we always find a way -- that I will make things right.
And then I just wanted to hurt myself for being so selfish. For putting her and my brother in such a predicament. We're coming up to our 5th anniversary and all I have to show for it is this stupid addiction and self loathing and hatred for life...
And I just wanted some damn pills so bad.
And it's not even because I need it as I am over the acute withdrawal phase. I'm even getting an appetite and my body is regulating its temperature on its own. My eyes aren't tearing, I'm not yawning, I slept the entire night, I didn't wake up feeling like death warmed over, I'm not constipated, I don't have to figure out where I'm going to get nonexistent money from, I don't have to make that trip to see my connect, I don't have to pretend that I give a shit about anything he says, my legs aren't twitching and aching, I don't need to do anything to make my existence more physically comfortable. These are all good, normal things.
And yet, I feel like if a bottle of oxy fell from the sky, I'd be like a fat guy at a buffet -- going until I explode, knowing the consequences, knowing the withdrawal symptoms, knowing...
I also feel a bit gung-ho about it because I feel like, wow, I made it a week without drugs. I can do it again. And again. I got through it. But it's sort of a period of forced sobriety where I have neither the funds nor connections to obtain my DOC. Nor do I feel comfortable enough to say "fuck it" and take money from my girlfriend or brother or dogs... I should just chill the fuck out at the moment and get some decent pot to enjoy before bed. That used to be my routine.
So why not start the cycle over again? After my rent is paid, the case is closed, I find another job... I want to go on another run. I almost picked up the needle when I was 17 to start shooting cocaine. But I got caught by a Dean at my school who then called the cops and got me arrested. That scared the shit out of me and even shook my parents enough to... ignore me some more. You know, except to pick me up from the police station. My dad and little brother took a cab all the way to Manhattan to see me at the police precinct by my high school and then abruptly left... I guess my dad had to see it for himself, otherwise he wouldn't have believed it. Then I got my shoelaces, ate a tuna sandwich my mother bought me and FINALLY PEED MY BLADDER OUT from sitting handcuffed to a pole for 8 hours, coming down off of cocaine and hating my life. But also re-evaluating my life. I was 17 and I thought my life was over. Drug charges don't bode well with Federal Financial Aid, but luckily I was tried as a Youthful Offender and it's as if it never happened...
I thank [my higher power] that I didn't start with the needle. I'm 25 now... finishing my love affair with prescription opioids or starting a new one with heroin?
If I really wanted to I'm sure I could find some drugs, somewhere. I do live in the fucking greatest city in the world.
Back when I was in high school, I had a shirt that said "Trouble Finds Me" ... which I feel was true. Somehow... it always did find me. But I also welcomed it with open arms (and nostrils) and lungs and however else I could get a substance into my gullet...
Fucking hell. I've just overthought myself into a funk... And I was feeling pretty good too.
I smoked some pot last night and lamented that to my girlfriend, over and over. She was telling me all of our problems, how all of our bills are late and how I need to sell my iPad so we can make ends meet and I just laughed at her because she told me she paid the cable bill instead of the electric bill. Every good poor person knows to pay the electric bill first -- because, either way, you're going to lose the cable... Duh! If you have no electricity, how is cable useful to you? I could walk around with my iPad in the dark... stealing wifi from the neighbors. Charging my shit in the hallway when the stupid neighbors aren't peeking through their peepholes. Hahaha.
And then we had a discussion about how different our childhoods were. Hers, limited and controlled and mine... well, my parents basically left me to my own devices pretty much. Hell, they let me start commuting to school on the subway when I was 11. I was Daddy's little girl until his Parkinson's Disease manifested itself when I was 12 or so. And we had a really good conversation. She's quitting smoking, which is her vice. So I guess I was being irritating and she kind of unloaded on me. I wanted to cry, to hug her and tell her it would be okay, that we'd find a way -- we always find a way -- that I will make things right.
And then I just wanted to hurt myself for being so selfish. For putting her and my brother in such a predicament. We're coming up to our 5th anniversary and all I have to show for it is this stupid addiction and self loathing and hatred for life...
And I just wanted some damn pills so bad.
And it's not even because I need it as I am over the acute withdrawal phase. I'm even getting an appetite and my body is regulating its temperature on its own. My eyes aren't tearing, I'm not yawning, I slept the entire night, I didn't wake up feeling like death warmed over, I'm not constipated, I don't have to figure out where I'm going to get nonexistent money from, I don't have to make that trip to see my connect, I don't have to pretend that I give a shit about anything he says, my legs aren't twitching and aching, I don't need to do anything to make my existence more physically comfortable. These are all good, normal things.
And yet, I feel like if a bottle of oxy fell from the sky, I'd be like a fat guy at a buffet -- going until I explode, knowing the consequences, knowing the withdrawal symptoms, knowing...
I also feel a bit gung-ho about it because I feel like, wow, I made it a week without drugs. I can do it again. And again. I got through it. But it's sort of a period of forced sobriety where I have neither the funds nor connections to obtain my DOC. Nor do I feel comfortable enough to say "fuck it" and take money from my girlfriend or brother or dogs... I should just chill the fuck out at the moment and get some decent pot to enjoy before bed. That used to be my routine.
So why not start the cycle over again? After my rent is paid, the case is closed, I find another job... I want to go on another run. I almost picked up the needle when I was 17 to start shooting cocaine. But I got caught by a Dean at my school who then called the cops and got me arrested. That scared the shit out of me and even shook my parents enough to... ignore me some more. You know, except to pick me up from the police station. My dad and little brother took a cab all the way to Manhattan to see me at the police precinct by my high school and then abruptly left... I guess my dad had to see it for himself, otherwise he wouldn't have believed it. Then I got my shoelaces, ate a tuna sandwich my mother bought me and FINALLY PEED MY BLADDER OUT from sitting handcuffed to a pole for 8 hours, coming down off of cocaine and hating my life. But also re-evaluating my life. I was 17 and I thought my life was over. Drug charges don't bode well with Federal Financial Aid, but luckily I was tried as a Youthful Offender and it's as if it never happened...
I thank [my higher power] that I didn't start with the needle. I'm 25 now... finishing my love affair with prescription opioids or starting a new one with heroin?
If I really wanted to I'm sure I could find some drugs, somewhere. I do live in the fucking greatest city in the world.
Back when I was in high school, I had a shirt that said "Trouble Finds Me" ... which I feel was true. Somehow... it always did find me. But I also welcomed it with open arms (and nostrils) and lungs and however else I could get a substance into my gullet...
Fucking hell. I've just overthought myself into a funk... And I was feeling pretty good too.