I havn't written in here for a while, so I figured I might as well update this thing...
It's been a rather intense past month, and after my relapse, things got a little messy for a while as I eased my way back into a storm of flickering lights and bleeding arms.
I stopped going to school almost entirely and instead sat under bridges and waited for stoned spaniards to bring me heroin. I'd sit at the bus stop with my sketchbook out, trying to draw the homeless man to my left, looking down when the squad cars passed, and pretending to get calls on my cellphone whenever the bus arrived.
When I'd cop I'd run to the nearbye bathroom at McDonalds and lock myself in, throwing my bag down on the ground and quickly fixing up a shot. With the grace of a pro, Id kneel down on the floor, steadying my hand, inserting the needle into my arm, registering, shooting, flushing the toilet, running the sink. I'd walk out right as the dope exploded in my brain, and though I'd be surrounded by the stench of hydrogenated oils and pink slime, I'd smell flowers and exit through the door, passing the garages, warehouses and schools, until I'd reach the train.
I'd sit outside my school for hours, not going to class, just nodding out in front of the cafeteria, ciggarettes burning my fingertips and littering my pants with ash and soot. I'd walk down to Tompkins Square park; not to cop but to see if my friend Mark was still alive. I never saw him and it didn't really hurt that bad.
I met a girl that I really fucking like, someone I can say whatever I want to and she still thinks I'm cool. She's talented, intelligent and sexy, and I cant believe that I could ever meet someone like this. Statistically the odds just seem impossible but I suppose good things (I mean, REALLY good things, not just like finding a bag of dope on the street), do happen. I once thought it was kind of liberating to transcend the desires of the flesh and replace them with sinister chemical seductions, but its kind of nice to have it switch around once again. It's nice to enjoy talking with someone, without thinking "God Damn, when will this mother fucker leave so I can find a way to shoot some dope!"
Through a forest made of worn hypodermics, bent spoons and cracked out lighters I kind of see a path out of desperation, and it's not through group therapy, twelve step programs, or even total and complete abstinence. If that works for others that's great but I've given it the best shot I've been able to muster at this age, and I know when I dont "feel" something. I just got to do what I feel is right for me, because that's the only way I can escape a life where I'm sitting in some shithole mutiliating my arms with cocaine.
It's been a rather intense past month, and after my relapse, things got a little messy for a while as I eased my way back into a storm of flickering lights and bleeding arms.
I stopped going to school almost entirely and instead sat under bridges and waited for stoned spaniards to bring me heroin. I'd sit at the bus stop with my sketchbook out, trying to draw the homeless man to my left, looking down when the squad cars passed, and pretending to get calls on my cellphone whenever the bus arrived.
When I'd cop I'd run to the nearbye bathroom at McDonalds and lock myself in, throwing my bag down on the ground and quickly fixing up a shot. With the grace of a pro, Id kneel down on the floor, steadying my hand, inserting the needle into my arm, registering, shooting, flushing the toilet, running the sink. I'd walk out right as the dope exploded in my brain, and though I'd be surrounded by the stench of hydrogenated oils and pink slime, I'd smell flowers and exit through the door, passing the garages, warehouses and schools, until I'd reach the train.
I'd sit outside my school for hours, not going to class, just nodding out in front of the cafeteria, ciggarettes burning my fingertips and littering my pants with ash and soot. I'd walk down to Tompkins Square park; not to cop but to see if my friend Mark was still alive. I never saw him and it didn't really hurt that bad.
I met a girl that I really fucking like, someone I can say whatever I want to and she still thinks I'm cool. She's talented, intelligent and sexy, and I cant believe that I could ever meet someone like this. Statistically the odds just seem impossible but I suppose good things (I mean, REALLY good things, not just like finding a bag of dope on the street), do happen. I once thought it was kind of liberating to transcend the desires of the flesh and replace them with sinister chemical seductions, but its kind of nice to have it switch around once again. It's nice to enjoy talking with someone, without thinking "God Damn, when will this mother fucker leave so I can find a way to shoot some dope!"
Through a forest made of worn hypodermics, bent spoons and cracked out lighters I kind of see a path out of desperation, and it's not through group therapy, twelve step programs, or even total and complete abstinence. If that works for others that's great but I've given it the best shot I've been able to muster at this age, and I know when I dont "feel" something. I just got to do what I feel is right for me, because that's the only way I can escape a life where I'm sitting in some shithole mutiliating my arms with cocaine.
