ShroomySatori
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Aug 24, 2015
- Messages
- 2,935
Sasha, I know what you mean about lonely and sad in withdrawal. In some ways, it is the worst symptom because you can't see that things will ever get better with or without the drugs. I just feel numb to everything but not in a good way. Like I lost my soul and spirit, and in many ways I have.
I am a grown man late 20's and I break down and cry every day, several times in withdrawal. It is over real shit too, not just stuff I make up. Dark corners of my mind. Shit that opiates numb from me. It is god damned miserable, why was I born if this is what I am doing to myself. What I have become. Why did I go to engineering school if this is my miserable fate upon graduating. Fucked up my spine 6 months into my first job, they came to me with a legal agreement to sign saying I wouldn't sue them. I had taken a few days off to go to the hospital for my spinal pain because it was becoming extreme and they didn't have compassion, all they knew was that I was no longer performing like in the beginning. I was focussed on the back pain and nothing else, yet all I get is less than 50mg oxy daily after half a decade. I have lost faith in this country and if I ever make it in life I am getting right the fuck out of here to someplace that respects my disabiliy. I'm still traumatized by that shit... it was right before probation ended and my self esteem has never recovered. I see their point. They were better off with an engineer who doesn't have excruciating chronic spinal pain. Anybody is. That's why I no longer bother trying.
I'm fed up. I can't quit. My life is going nowhere. I usually sniff my dillies but I think I will finally shoot them once I'm home from this pointless vacation. I've had the rigs since last year, just couldn't bring myself to do it. Now, I can. I guess that is not too encouraging but I know I'm not alone. All I want is to be happy, and I can't unless I'm high on opiates.
Without opiates, I become a poly drug abuser. I've been popping meth and doing lines of C pretty much every day that I'm out of a strong opiate. This is new to me and it's not a good sign. It is reckless yet I still do it because it's self harm. I can't deal with the pain, emotional or physical.
Although, I popped 3 percocet earlier today and for a couple hours I forgot about everything and played my guitar and had fun, thought about the trip and was excited for it. I just took another 3 and I should feel the false sense of confidence and happiness kick in pretty soon. I am such a selfish fuck I can't even wait for it. I need to at least have something to sniff.
Whatever. I'm saving most of my meds for my trip so I can be semi-normal. It will be good for me, and if not I can always rush home early for a dilly shot. I'm pretty pissed that I'm a talented guitarist but I can only ever play anymore when I'm "high". I haven't been able to manage a shower lately, I cannot even keep myself well groomed in withdrawal. I took 60 milligrams of high grade etizolam the other day to deal with it.
I don't know why I thought abusing all those opiates would be okay in the end. I wasn't thinking straight. I was happy that finally, finally, finally, my back didn't hurt anymore. I still feel that way despite all this shit, it's my best chance at having any sort of life. I don't really get out of bed without opiates and I destroy all aspects of my life. Otherwise, I am normal, and I hide it quite well. I don't know how this horrific misery is not visible to my family and whatever friends I have left. Nobody seems to notice, until one day they will find my worthless body. I don't know where I am going with this but I'm pretty obviously clinically depressed. I should be able to smile soon for a few hours... shower and play some more hardcore music. My tolerance is a little lower. I don't know why I was so afraid of needles for so long... I'm not anymore. Not one bit. If I'm popping 60mg etizolam at a time, getting into coke and meth as I can't deal with the depression, I may as well hit myself with the dilaudid and not waste any.
What keeps me going is my younger brother. He is coming of age and I don't know him too well because I was kicked out of my house at a young age because I was smoking weed since I was depressed as far back as university. Kicked out in the middle of the freezing Canadian night without a chance to grab a sweater or coat. I'm just getting to know him now. All I know is I love him too much to end my life. It would really fuck his head up. He's all I care about and he's a better guitarist than I will ever be. He grew up watching me play. I don't want to leave him my guitars even though one of them is his all time favourite dream guitar. I just can't do that to him. I could give a fuck less about my parents who kicked me out to the streets when I was an eng student getting good marks, just because I was a fucking pothead. If only they knew what I'm up to these days. I at least want my little bro to know. That I couldn't take it anymore. He doesn't do drugs because he's smart. He saw how many problems they caused me and I'm just going to give him a hit of DMT when the time is right, since he is interested in those types of experiences. Fuck, do I ever get overly emotional in withdrawals... it's no wonder that I don't stop. I've known for a while that it's going to kill me though. I sniffed 50mg of heroin after a one month break the other day, and it was stronger than taking two crushed up 80's. It nearly killed me, my breathing was dreadfully shallow for several hours, but I just don't care anymore.
I am a grown man late 20's and I break down and cry every day, several times in withdrawal. It is over real shit too, not just stuff I make up. Dark corners of my mind. Shit that opiates numb from me. It is god damned miserable, why was I born if this is what I am doing to myself. What I have become. Why did I go to engineering school if this is my miserable fate upon graduating. Fucked up my spine 6 months into my first job, they came to me with a legal agreement to sign saying I wouldn't sue them. I had taken a few days off to go to the hospital for my spinal pain because it was becoming extreme and they didn't have compassion, all they knew was that I was no longer performing like in the beginning. I was focussed on the back pain and nothing else, yet all I get is less than 50mg oxy daily after half a decade. I have lost faith in this country and if I ever make it in life I am getting right the fuck out of here to someplace that respects my disabiliy. I'm still traumatized by that shit... it was right before probation ended and my self esteem has never recovered. I see their point. They were better off with an engineer who doesn't have excruciating chronic spinal pain. Anybody is. That's why I no longer bother trying.
I'm fed up. I can't quit. My life is going nowhere. I usually sniff my dillies but I think I will finally shoot them once I'm home from this pointless vacation. I've had the rigs since last year, just couldn't bring myself to do it. Now, I can. I guess that is not too encouraging but I know I'm not alone. All I want is to be happy, and I can't unless I'm high on opiates.
Without opiates, I become a poly drug abuser. I've been popping meth and doing lines of C pretty much every day that I'm out of a strong opiate. This is new to me and it's not a good sign. It is reckless yet I still do it because it's self harm. I can't deal with the pain, emotional or physical.
Although, I popped 3 percocet earlier today and for a couple hours I forgot about everything and played my guitar and had fun, thought about the trip and was excited for it. I just took another 3 and I should feel the false sense of confidence and happiness kick in pretty soon. I am such a selfish fuck I can't even wait for it. I need to at least have something to sniff.
Whatever. I'm saving most of my meds for my trip so I can be semi-normal. It will be good for me, and if not I can always rush home early for a dilly shot. I'm pretty pissed that I'm a talented guitarist but I can only ever play anymore when I'm "high". I haven't been able to manage a shower lately, I cannot even keep myself well groomed in withdrawal. I took 60 milligrams of high grade etizolam the other day to deal with it.
I don't know why I thought abusing all those opiates would be okay in the end. I wasn't thinking straight. I was happy that finally, finally, finally, my back didn't hurt anymore. I still feel that way despite all this shit, it's my best chance at having any sort of life. I don't really get out of bed without opiates and I destroy all aspects of my life. Otherwise, I am normal, and I hide it quite well. I don't know how this horrific misery is not visible to my family and whatever friends I have left. Nobody seems to notice, until one day they will find my worthless body. I don't know where I am going with this but I'm pretty obviously clinically depressed. I should be able to smile soon for a few hours... shower and play some more hardcore music. My tolerance is a little lower. I don't know why I was so afraid of needles for so long... I'm not anymore. Not one bit. If I'm popping 60mg etizolam at a time, getting into coke and meth as I can't deal with the depression, I may as well hit myself with the dilaudid and not waste any.
What keeps me going is my younger brother. He is coming of age and I don't know him too well because I was kicked out of my house at a young age because I was smoking weed since I was depressed as far back as university. Kicked out in the middle of the freezing Canadian night without a chance to grab a sweater or coat. I'm just getting to know him now. All I know is I love him too much to end my life. It would really fuck his head up. He's all I care about and he's a better guitarist than I will ever be. He grew up watching me play. I don't want to leave him my guitars even though one of them is his all time favourite dream guitar. I just can't do that to him. I could give a fuck less about my parents who kicked me out to the streets when I was an eng student getting good marks, just because I was a fucking pothead. If only they knew what I'm up to these days. I at least want my little bro to know. That I couldn't take it anymore. He doesn't do drugs because he's smart. He saw how many problems they caused me and I'm just going to give him a hit of DMT when the time is right, since he is interested in those types of experiences. Fuck, do I ever get overly emotional in withdrawals... it's no wonder that I don't stop. I've known for a while that it's going to kill me though. I sniffed 50mg of heroin after a one month break the other day, and it was stronger than taking two crushed up 80's. It nearly killed me, my breathing was dreadfully shallow for several hours, but I just don't care anymore.