SpunkySkunk347
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jan 15, 2006
- Messages
- 1,717
TDS Intro:
http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/showthread.php?p=5506510#post5506510
This document is the recollection of what has happened to me in the past week. For certain reasons (legal and anonymity), do not take everything in this document as absolute fact, take it as a story. Actually, just say it is a story, it didn't actually happen. This is fiction.
I woke up this morning with one mother fucker of a headache. The room I was in reaked like hard liquor and vomit. Was this my room? Of course it must have been my room. But why did it appear so strange? So different? I could hardly recognize it.
This room which had been occupied by an obsessive compulsive person, which normally is kept somewhat clean and organized, has been degraded.... no excuse me, obliterated into this unspeakable mess. Trash is everywhere. Dozens of empty water bottles and booze bottles, dirty clothes, broken electronics, and other randomly assorted objects. Pills and powder are laying on some of my countertops which I have hardly any recollection as to what they are or how they got there. There was holes and stab marks in my walls and furniture. But most interestingly of all, are the notes. Random notes had been written on pieces of notebook paper and scattered across my room. Most of which seem like journal entries, as if in some hopeless attempt I was trying to settle my thoughts down by expressing myself on paper. The notes are hard to read, some of which are even complete gibberish.
I tried to recall what the hell had happened, and only strange nightmares came to mind. Could I have really have done all those horrible things? Were they just dreams of mine or did they actually happen? Could all that mania, despair, and insanity all have really taken place? I am still clueless.
And what about these needle marks on my arm? Or even worse, what about these large infected cut marks on my arm?
When trying to sort through my thoughts, I started back at when I had first gotten out of the mental ward last saturday night. My mother had picked me up, and we headed home. For a while we didn't say anything to each other. She had obviously found out about the history of all my drug abuse, and I pray to god she didn't find all the drugs stashed in my room. Finally we broke out into conversation about my drug use mainly, I tried to explain to her explicitly that my drug use was strictly spiritual and medicinal. I told her I was telling the truth. I hope I was telling the truth. There has to be atleast some truth to it.
When we got back to my home, she went to sleep and I immediately went to my stash of liquor. I began sobbing my eyes out. I was surging with manic energy, so I also took some of my klonopin they prescribed me at the mental ward.
After about an hour or so of laying on my bed sweating, I took another 2mg. Then a few minutes later, another 2mg. Then another. Another.
Then I got an idea. The idea that threw my life off course this past week.
"What if I just binged out?"
I already had plenty of pills to go on a binge. Of course there was the 60 or so klonopin the hospital had given me (but I really wanted to save these for panic attacks), a couple of vicodin left from when I had broken my leg, a few codeine and ativan I had stolen from my mom, several bottles of DXM, my prescription to ambien, and a few shitty Es left over from the summer of partying.
It wasn't enough. And at the state of mind I was in I thought it definitely wasn't enough.
I rounded up all the money I could, and called all of my connections. At this point it all started getting a tad bit hazy. I didn't have much money, so I just bought the cheap stuff.
I was never a big fan of pot, but I thought "what the fuck" and got a little bit of it. I got a few more vicodin. Now I had all the downers I would need, now it was time to get my ass psychadelic. None of my connections had any psychadelics (they never do), so that left me with going for the legal stuff.
I went out into town. Got several dozen packages of morning glory seeds, more DXM, salvia divinorum, and a small tank of nitrous along with a package of balloons.
Finally after all was said and done, I remember laying it all out in front of me and staring at it for a while. This was the biggest collection I had ever had. Think Fear & Loathing... I lighted up a joint, and began my binge.
After this point, I don't remember nearly anything. I think it was the ambien that took away my memory of all this. Or perhaps it was just too much for my body, mind, and spirit to handle so it blacked it all out. I honestly don't know.
I am surprised I am still alive. There was all those downers I had, and no uppers to counteract them. I wasn't thinking clearly. I had no judgement whatsoever, no concious to tell me to stop, and to pile onto it I was incredibely fucking manic.
Only several memories are still clear in my mind. The rest is just a haze, I can't tell if it was dream or reality.
One memory I have is going into a supermarket, I think I must have been on DXM at the time. I was shouting gibberish and then staff came up to me and asked me to leave the store. I calmly walked over to some sort of bottled liquid, picked it up, and smashed it on the floor. Then I got the fuck out of there because a fear came into my mind about police.
Another memory was driving around with my friend. We were downtown at night. I was drinking beers halfway, then rolling down the window, and throwing the half full (half empty?) beers at pedestrians. This could have been a dream or some sort of hallucination, because I don't believe there is any way this could have happened without us getting arrested.
One of the most horrid memories I have involves the only victim being myself. I know that this memory was real, because the scars are still here.
I went into my closet, and stared at my collection of fine knives, daggers, and razor sharp swords. I grabbed a katana and a hunting knive and began slicing myself. Mainly my legs (which are so sore right now I can barely fucking walk),
and my arms and chest.
Finally, the most vivid memory I have is last night. Last night I bought a jar of habanero peppers. I began eating them at an alarming rate. Keep in mind that I hadn't eaten anything for days. At the point that my mouth was unbareably hot, I got the great idea (sort of a fetish) of rubbing a habanero pepper on my penis. The worst idea I ever had.
I burned for hours. I think I must have gone into shock. Then I got a stomache ache so bad I began puking uncontrollably all over my room and bathroom, which didnt help because then all the hot peppers in my stomache came back up into my mouth and burned me for a second round.
Eventually I was reduced to just laying on my bed. I was crying. I was in so much pain. Not just because of the burning, or the cuts, but I think my organs simply hurt after all the stress from the drugs. Then for the first time in days I made a good decision. I decided to take a normal dose of my sleeping medication, and sleep it off. Ending the binge.
Today I woke up, called the doctor, told him about the mania I had been in, (not mentioning the drugs of course), then my mom talked to him and the doctor gave me a prescription to seroquel.
I had taken seroquel in the past, and hated it. It made me a zombie.
But maybe thats just what I needed at this point, was to be made into a zombie and settle my mind the fuck down.
Now my mind is coherent, and I am writing this report. Not just to teach others, but to help myself organize my thoughts.
I am never doing drugs again, and flushed my stash down the toilet.
I have said that I would quit before, and I hope this time I mean it.
This was to be my final hit. But let's be clear about this: there's final hits and final hits. What kind was this to be? Some final hits are actually terminal one way or another, while others are merely transit points as you travel from station to station on the junky journey through junky life.
- Trainspotting
Peace
methodcode_oral
methodcode_smoked
http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/showthread.php?p=5506510#post5506510
This document is the recollection of what has happened to me in the past week. For certain reasons (legal and anonymity), do not take everything in this document as absolute fact, take it as a story. Actually, just say it is a story, it didn't actually happen. This is fiction.
I woke up this morning with one mother fucker of a headache. The room I was in reaked like hard liquor and vomit. Was this my room? Of course it must have been my room. But why did it appear so strange? So different? I could hardly recognize it.
This room which had been occupied by an obsessive compulsive person, which normally is kept somewhat clean and organized, has been degraded.... no excuse me, obliterated into this unspeakable mess. Trash is everywhere. Dozens of empty water bottles and booze bottles, dirty clothes, broken electronics, and other randomly assorted objects. Pills and powder are laying on some of my countertops which I have hardly any recollection as to what they are or how they got there. There was holes and stab marks in my walls and furniture. But most interestingly of all, are the notes. Random notes had been written on pieces of notebook paper and scattered across my room. Most of which seem like journal entries, as if in some hopeless attempt I was trying to settle my thoughts down by expressing myself on paper. The notes are hard to read, some of which are even complete gibberish.
I tried to recall what the hell had happened, and only strange nightmares came to mind. Could I have really have done all those horrible things? Were they just dreams of mine or did they actually happen? Could all that mania, despair, and insanity all have really taken place? I am still clueless.
And what about these needle marks on my arm? Or even worse, what about these large infected cut marks on my arm?
When trying to sort through my thoughts, I started back at when I had first gotten out of the mental ward last saturday night. My mother had picked me up, and we headed home. For a while we didn't say anything to each other. She had obviously found out about the history of all my drug abuse, and I pray to god she didn't find all the drugs stashed in my room. Finally we broke out into conversation about my drug use mainly, I tried to explain to her explicitly that my drug use was strictly spiritual and medicinal. I told her I was telling the truth. I hope I was telling the truth. There has to be atleast some truth to it.
When we got back to my home, she went to sleep and I immediately went to my stash of liquor. I began sobbing my eyes out. I was surging with manic energy, so I also took some of my klonopin they prescribed me at the mental ward.
After about an hour or so of laying on my bed sweating, I took another 2mg. Then a few minutes later, another 2mg. Then another. Another.
Then I got an idea. The idea that threw my life off course this past week.
"What if I just binged out?"
I already had plenty of pills to go on a binge. Of course there was the 60 or so klonopin the hospital had given me (but I really wanted to save these for panic attacks), a couple of vicodin left from when I had broken my leg, a few codeine and ativan I had stolen from my mom, several bottles of DXM, my prescription to ambien, and a few shitty Es left over from the summer of partying.
It wasn't enough. And at the state of mind I was in I thought it definitely wasn't enough.
I rounded up all the money I could, and called all of my connections. At this point it all started getting a tad bit hazy. I didn't have much money, so I just bought the cheap stuff.
I was never a big fan of pot, but I thought "what the fuck" and got a little bit of it. I got a few more vicodin. Now I had all the downers I would need, now it was time to get my ass psychadelic. None of my connections had any psychadelics (they never do), so that left me with going for the legal stuff.
I went out into town. Got several dozen packages of morning glory seeds, more DXM, salvia divinorum, and a small tank of nitrous along with a package of balloons.
Finally after all was said and done, I remember laying it all out in front of me and staring at it for a while. This was the biggest collection I had ever had. Think Fear & Loathing... I lighted up a joint, and began my binge.
After this point, I don't remember nearly anything. I think it was the ambien that took away my memory of all this. Or perhaps it was just too much for my body, mind, and spirit to handle so it blacked it all out. I honestly don't know.
I am surprised I am still alive. There was all those downers I had, and no uppers to counteract them. I wasn't thinking clearly. I had no judgement whatsoever, no concious to tell me to stop, and to pile onto it I was incredibely fucking manic.
Only several memories are still clear in my mind. The rest is just a haze, I can't tell if it was dream or reality.
One memory I have is going into a supermarket, I think I must have been on DXM at the time. I was shouting gibberish and then staff came up to me and asked me to leave the store. I calmly walked over to some sort of bottled liquid, picked it up, and smashed it on the floor. Then I got the fuck out of there because a fear came into my mind about police.
Another memory was driving around with my friend. We were downtown at night. I was drinking beers halfway, then rolling down the window, and throwing the half full (half empty?) beers at pedestrians. This could have been a dream or some sort of hallucination, because I don't believe there is any way this could have happened without us getting arrested.
One of the most horrid memories I have involves the only victim being myself. I know that this memory was real, because the scars are still here.
I went into my closet, and stared at my collection of fine knives, daggers, and razor sharp swords. I grabbed a katana and a hunting knive and began slicing myself. Mainly my legs (which are so sore right now I can barely fucking walk),
and my arms and chest.
Finally, the most vivid memory I have is last night. Last night I bought a jar of habanero peppers. I began eating them at an alarming rate. Keep in mind that I hadn't eaten anything for days. At the point that my mouth was unbareably hot, I got the great idea (sort of a fetish) of rubbing a habanero pepper on my penis. The worst idea I ever had.
I burned for hours. I think I must have gone into shock. Then I got a stomache ache so bad I began puking uncontrollably all over my room and bathroom, which didnt help because then all the hot peppers in my stomache came back up into my mouth and burned me for a second round.
Eventually I was reduced to just laying on my bed. I was crying. I was in so much pain. Not just because of the burning, or the cuts, but I think my organs simply hurt after all the stress from the drugs. Then for the first time in days I made a good decision. I decided to take a normal dose of my sleeping medication, and sleep it off. Ending the binge.
Today I woke up, called the doctor, told him about the mania I had been in, (not mentioning the drugs of course), then my mom talked to him and the doctor gave me a prescription to seroquel.
I had taken seroquel in the past, and hated it. It made me a zombie.
But maybe thats just what I needed at this point, was to be made into a zombie and settle my mind the fuck down.
Now my mind is coherent, and I am writing this report. Not just to teach others, but to help myself organize my thoughts.
I am never doing drugs again, and flushed my stash down the toilet.
I have said that I would quit before, and I hope this time I mean it.
This was to be my final hit. But let's be clear about this: there's final hits and final hits. What kind was this to be? Some final hits are actually terminal one way or another, while others are merely transit points as you travel from station to station on the junky journey through junky life.
- Trainspotting
Peace
methodcode_oral
methodcode_smoked
Last edited by a moderator:
) sounds rough my man. You do realsie combing effexor and DXM is pretty dangerous? I understand you weren't thinking clearly (I have panic disorder too, albeit a tad less severe by the sounds of it) so I can empathise but please try to remember that.
