The past 5 days have been interminable. I miss spending my days in blissful oblivion. I don't even remember much during the times I was using heroin. My memory is shit. This fucking Klonopin is a curse, but I can't function without it and I am not ready for benzo withdrawal.
I've done nothing to get outside of my head. I had my first dream in God knows how long. It was more of a nightmare, really. I was a red headed man, for some reason. (I think I've been listening to too much Queens of the Stone Age.) I worked at my old job, with my old manager. All of a sudden, we were in the hospital. I think my red headed male counterpart self was injured. Shot maybe, possibly an animal bite, some kind of garish flesh wound. They worked on me and worked on me and I think they shot me with Dilaudid. The cravings are so hard to overcome. They come in my sleep. They never leave my waking mind. I can't even think about anything besides the 19th, when I get my Percocet script refilled... 600mg of oxycodone and thousands and thousands of milligrams of Tylenol. Last month, I took at least 15 a day without even cold water extracting. I didn't give a shit. I just wanted to be fucking high. Possibly overdose on Tylenol and be dead in 10 days time, with liver failure. I'm still having some stomach pains and whatever. The NA Meeting I was supposed to go to started 10 minutes ago, but I don't really want to be around other addicts right now.
Right now, addicts disgust me. Because I am an addict. I disgust myself. I don't want to be a part of any club that would have me as a member, as the saying goes. The funny thing is anyone can be a member of this shitty addict club. I guess I've been a poly-drug abusing addict for nearly 10 years now. I'm 25. You do the math. I haven't learned how to self-soothe. Without chemicals.
I have therapy on Friday and a psychiatrist appointment on Saturday. I'm going to ask for Ambien and Xanax. I don't give a shit. This new guy sucks about as bad as my old guy. Psychiatrists and Therapists are so different. I think I like therapists more, even though most can't write those yummy prescriptions everyone loves. They just fucking listen and bounce back what you tell them...
I stare at the scars on my arm from old self-harm episodes and want to open them up with the razors I use to chop my dope and pills. I want to jump out of my window. I want to walk in front of a speeding train. I know exactly where and when. Just sit at the train station and wait for that deafening BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP of the horn of an express train.
My mood changes -- sometimes hourly or more -- from relief that I am not longer opioid dependent, depression that I have no money or job right now nor any school prospects until I can start working again, wanting to move out of this godforsaken apartment, out of the Bronx, out of New York. Also, the cravings. I've been using NyQuil and Ambien and my Klonopin to try and sleep. 2 and a half more weeks until we get some money, or until my old job fucking replaces my check with a new one because I'd never cashed it & it expired. It's like, literally, $XX.XX dollars. From one night's work. It's chump change, but right now it's sounding like some roxies to me. What the fuck good is a few roxies going to do for me? It's also sounding like a nice number of bags of dope. That might be better. I'm obsessing over drugs constantly as well as money. Texting all my drug buddies to see "what's up", and even if anything WAS UP, I don't have any fucking money. Plus, I'm no good for a front right now. Hell, I owe a good friend $XX bucks for some stuff I was supposed to pick up for her. I've never scammed anyone out of anything, but shit happens when you're in the middle of opioid addiction and money gets crossed and then you fuck up, majorly. I owe another friend a great deal more money, because he was kind enough to give me money for my rent that I so selfishly spent on drugs.
All he wanted me to do was go to church with him on Sunday, but I couldn't, because I was dope sick. He's a really good guy and one of the last people I would have thought would come through, not because he's a bad guy, but because I'm not anything to him. I've known him peripherally through my girlfriend, when he was best friends with her ex, but I had the feeling he didn't think much of me because I used drugs and drank so much. Then he got involved with some guy, everything was pretty fucked up for him, drank quite a bit. Then he joined the Navy, found God and became one of those born again Christians. He even bought me a bible in purple paisley leather... my favorite fucking color and pattern. He even drove me and my girlfriend to the cemetery where my mom and aunt are buried and I finally got to see her after 5 and a half years for me mom and 12 years for my aunt.
It was a crazy experience. The day was rainy and gloomy, but when we found my mom's headstone, the clouds above us seemed to have parted. I put some stones I'd found on top of her headstone, as Jews do, because flowers aren't what we do. Flowers are pretty for a while, but in the end, they are dead, when not growing in the ground of course. But stones and rocks are more permanent. One grave nearby was covered in seashells and a lot of them had bushes growing in front of the headstones. I kind of know what it all means, but I kind of don't.
Then I saw this weeping willow tree, so I thought we'd go over to it. Not 25 feet away was my aunt Ida's gravestone. I figured I'd go back and find her next time, but we practically tripped over her. I cried a little more and then once again the clouds parted right above us for some sun to shine through.
It's so weird though, because I was born and raised Jewish. I don't want to convert to Christianity. I am content with being "Jew-ish", if you dig.
I think I'd rather not go to church (unless it's in the basement, for an NA meeting) while high or dope sick. It seems so disrespectful.
What is keeping me here, really? I guess my dad. He's had Parkinson's for over 13 years now. It started with a weird twitch in his left hand and now it leaves him almost completely paralyzed, with dementia and anxiety to go along with it. My father has been suffering for so long. I want him to rest. I don't want him to die, but it's so selfish of me to want him to live as the shell of his former self. The last time I visited him, he thought my brother was his nephew and thought there were microchips implanted in his wrist that he would talk to. I'd bought him a television a few years ago, but the Nursing Home since moved his room and lo and behold, no more television. What the fuck? I just want my dad to have some peace. Keeping him alive is like torture. A few times, he asked me to kill him. I couldn't kill him, but I would want my child to kill me if I asked them. That's fucked up though. I don't want my kid to go to hell for killing me. Maybe they could just get me enough drugs for me to do the job.
I'm so pissed off my girlfriend bought cigarettes. It's the same price as a bag of dope. FUCK! I shouldn't be feeling like this but I do.
I've done nothing to get outside of my head. I had my first dream in God knows how long. It was more of a nightmare, really. I was a red headed man, for some reason. (I think I've been listening to too much Queens of the Stone Age.) I worked at my old job, with my old manager. All of a sudden, we were in the hospital. I think my red headed male counterpart self was injured. Shot maybe, possibly an animal bite, some kind of garish flesh wound. They worked on me and worked on me and I think they shot me with Dilaudid. The cravings are so hard to overcome. They come in my sleep. They never leave my waking mind. I can't even think about anything besides the 19th, when I get my Percocet script refilled... 600mg of oxycodone and thousands and thousands of milligrams of Tylenol. Last month, I took at least 15 a day without even cold water extracting. I didn't give a shit. I just wanted to be fucking high. Possibly overdose on Tylenol and be dead in 10 days time, with liver failure. I'm still having some stomach pains and whatever. The NA Meeting I was supposed to go to started 10 minutes ago, but I don't really want to be around other addicts right now.
Right now, addicts disgust me. Because I am an addict. I disgust myself. I don't want to be a part of any club that would have me as a member, as the saying goes. The funny thing is anyone can be a member of this shitty addict club. I guess I've been a poly-drug abusing addict for nearly 10 years now. I'm 25. You do the math. I haven't learned how to self-soothe. Without chemicals.
I have therapy on Friday and a psychiatrist appointment on Saturday. I'm going to ask for Ambien and Xanax. I don't give a shit. This new guy sucks about as bad as my old guy. Psychiatrists and Therapists are so different. I think I like therapists more, even though most can't write those yummy prescriptions everyone loves. They just fucking listen and bounce back what you tell them...
I stare at the scars on my arm from old self-harm episodes and want to open them up with the razors I use to chop my dope and pills. I want to jump out of my window. I want to walk in front of a speeding train. I know exactly where and when. Just sit at the train station and wait for that deafening BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP of the horn of an express train.
My mood changes -- sometimes hourly or more -- from relief that I am not longer opioid dependent, depression that I have no money or job right now nor any school prospects until I can start working again, wanting to move out of this godforsaken apartment, out of the Bronx, out of New York. Also, the cravings. I've been using NyQuil and Ambien and my Klonopin to try and sleep. 2 and a half more weeks until we get some money, or until my old job fucking replaces my check with a new one because I'd never cashed it & it expired. It's like, literally, $XX.XX dollars. From one night's work. It's chump change, but right now it's sounding like some roxies to me. What the fuck good is a few roxies going to do for me? It's also sounding like a nice number of bags of dope. That might be better. I'm obsessing over drugs constantly as well as money. Texting all my drug buddies to see "what's up", and even if anything WAS UP, I don't have any fucking money. Plus, I'm no good for a front right now. Hell, I owe a good friend $XX bucks for some stuff I was supposed to pick up for her. I've never scammed anyone out of anything, but shit happens when you're in the middle of opioid addiction and money gets crossed and then you fuck up, majorly. I owe another friend a great deal more money, because he was kind enough to give me money for my rent that I so selfishly spent on drugs.
All he wanted me to do was go to church with him on Sunday, but I couldn't, because I was dope sick. He's a really good guy and one of the last people I would have thought would come through, not because he's a bad guy, but because I'm not anything to him. I've known him peripherally through my girlfriend, when he was best friends with her ex, but I had the feeling he didn't think much of me because I used drugs and drank so much. Then he got involved with some guy, everything was pretty fucked up for him, drank quite a bit. Then he joined the Navy, found God and became one of those born again Christians. He even bought me a bible in purple paisley leather... my favorite fucking color and pattern. He even drove me and my girlfriend to the cemetery where my mom and aunt are buried and I finally got to see her after 5 and a half years for me mom and 12 years for my aunt.
It was a crazy experience. The day was rainy and gloomy, but when we found my mom's headstone, the clouds above us seemed to have parted. I put some stones I'd found on top of her headstone, as Jews do, because flowers aren't what we do. Flowers are pretty for a while, but in the end, they are dead, when not growing in the ground of course. But stones and rocks are more permanent. One grave nearby was covered in seashells and a lot of them had bushes growing in front of the headstones. I kind of know what it all means, but I kind of don't.
Then I saw this weeping willow tree, so I thought we'd go over to it. Not 25 feet away was my aunt Ida's gravestone. I figured I'd go back and find her next time, but we practically tripped over her. I cried a little more and then once again the clouds parted right above us for some sun to shine through.
It's so weird though, because I was born and raised Jewish. I don't want to convert to Christianity. I am content with being "Jew-ish", if you dig.
I think I'd rather not go to church (unless it's in the basement, for an NA meeting) while high or dope sick. It seems so disrespectful.
What is keeping me here, really? I guess my dad. He's had Parkinson's for over 13 years now. It started with a weird twitch in his left hand and now it leaves him almost completely paralyzed, with dementia and anxiety to go along with it. My father has been suffering for so long. I want him to rest. I don't want him to die, but it's so selfish of me to want him to live as the shell of his former self. The last time I visited him, he thought my brother was his nephew and thought there were microchips implanted in his wrist that he would talk to. I'd bought him a television a few years ago, but the Nursing Home since moved his room and lo and behold, no more television. What the fuck? I just want my dad to have some peace. Keeping him alive is like torture. A few times, he asked me to kill him. I couldn't kill him, but I would want my child to kill me if I asked them. That's fucked up though. I don't want my kid to go to hell for killing me. Maybe they could just get me enough drugs for me to do the job.
I'm so pissed off my girlfriend bought cigarettes. It's the same price as a bag of dope. FUCK! I shouldn't be feeling like this but I do.
