Thursday, March 29, 2007

damn near killed me

Better a short quick post than no post at all, right?

I'm going to Orlando this weekend, I'm actually leaving right now, with my mama. It's a reward for sticking through detox and not leaving. And of course, for staying clean. Hah. I did a bag yesterday, 1 1/2 bags actually. I was gonna do 2 but my expericenced eye saw how good the dope was, so I offered Shane to each to a bag and a half. Not like he's gonna say no to that, right? We only had one cooker and it was my shit so of course I had to go first. I hit on my first try, while he was still setting up his shot- damn near killed me. I could feel something cold and hard surrounding my body, turns out it was the floor I toppled onto. Shane was the one who got me up, took the rig out of my hand, walked me around the room, splashed me with cold water, etc. He hadn't even got to do his shot yet. That is a friend, and that is some really powerful heroin. Next round, I'm doing a half. My mom found the rest of it and flushed it, which isn't really a bad thing when you think about it. Greg took all my damn hooking money so I'll be broke this weekend. That fucker.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

"delivery boy"

I am just your average liar
I am just an imbecile
I will only complicate you
Trust in me and fall as well
I will find a center in you
I will chew it up and leave
Trust me... trust me... trust me... trust me
Why can't we not be sober?
Just want to start this over
Why can't we drink forever?
Just want to start this over
Why can't we just be sober?
Just want to start this over
Why can't we sleep forever?
Just want to start this over

[[tool- sober]]

That is the best junky song out there. Well, I came home last night with cash that I ended up spending on my "delivery boy." I'm pissed at myself for buying it but I've only done ONE out of FIVE bags (no wakeup either) so I'm better off than I was a couple months ago, no?

Justify, justify, blah blah blah

Greg is super pissed at me about the dope situation. I'm not even gonna tell him I bought more, he'll shit his pants fo' sho'.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

a large group of switchouts

Here are some bits and pieces from my personal journal during my 21-day stay at the Watershed-

Can't see straight, want a shot of something, don't care what it is as long as it's some type of narcotic!

I figured out that I can't do shit without a morning dose of something, whether it's dope or crack or a joint or a handful of pills ((ooh, I hate pills, almost as much as I hate crack)). But if I have my "wake-up" I'm okay for a while because it's not just the dope, it's the whole ritual that I miss.

My roommate left me a whole bunch of clothes and it's cool cause she dresses like Morticia Addams after a fat blunt. Goth, but colorful.

It really is a different world, the junky/crackhead world. For example, if you go to a "normie" and tell they, "wow, you've really gained weight!" they'd be offended but in the case of us space-basers and vein-poppers and compulsive drinkers it can be considered a compliment. It's like when my friend was going 80mph down Okeechobee to buy heroin and he cut off three cars: "sorry normal people! we're drug addicts!"

I've had the same dream for 3 nights straight, except it ends worse every time I have it. The dream is about me sneaking out of here (from the 4th floor, no less) and going with Greg to cop. Each dream ends a little bit worse.

I have to stay until Monday to keep everyone from bitching. They took my methadone away and I've been sick ever since.

Insanity is not doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. Insanity is not being able to tell dreams from reality. I feel like Tom Cruise in Vanilla Sky. Got promoted to level 2 in the program. Restless/kicking legs are hell!

I'm off heroin, methadone, ALL opiates! I'm not a junky at the present moment which is cool. It's miserable and I hate it! If this is getting clean, I don't want any part in it! I long for my junkydom. The entire world is based on layer and layers of semi-fossilized bullshit.

I got pink sweatpants!!

St Patrick's Day aka DUI Night. I bet we get a category 5 this hurricane season, cause last year Katrina was headed straight for us until it missed and fucked New Orleans in the ass instead. Also, 2 years ago we got bitch-slapped by 3 'canes in a row: Wilma, Jean, and Frances all in just a couple of months. We had to go to Broward to have a warm meal.

I fucking hate AA. I hate calling myself an alkie when I hate fucking alcohol. I hate calling myself an addict cause you have to say it at the meetings. I can call myself a junky because it's my label and it only applies when I'm actively addicted to heroin, which right now I'm not. But meetings are the worst! I don't want to hear about your abcesses and your abortions annd all the dumb shit you did while smoking crack- we've all done dumb shit. I don't want to hear about how Uncle Bob touched you wrong when you were 4. What happens happens, but here in Reality World you're not 4 anymore, but in fact closer to 40. Get the fuck over it.

Now they want me to stay until Friday! What a large group of switchouts! If I'm still here past 5pm on Friday, I'm gonna start some fires!!


Back to today... rode around with Greg for a while. We went to Broward to pick up this girl Victoria who I was in rehab with at Summer House and the second we got her well she switched out on us too. Refused to do anything. I understand what a junky stunt is, but most heroinphiles don't burn bridges when there's dope on the other side. Since I've been out I've been sleeping in Greg's camper and I think both of us need a shower fo' sho'. I shot a cap today, it was awesome especially since it brought me down from the coke I had just plugged my hand with. My scars are looking so much fucking better...

It's good to be back..

Saturday, March 24, 2007

not even dopesick

I'm baaaack...

I didn't take a vacation. I was at another detox. Woohoo for me, huh? Well I don't have much time to chill at my mama's house, my other blog is more descriptive this time cause I got shit to do and people to see but here's the main idea:

It was called The Watershed, right south of me in Boynton Beach. I got methadone and ativan to detox (mostly methadone). I didn't like it there. Greg picked me up. I shot dope and coke and smoked weed the yesterday, which was my discharge date. But I haven't done any today and it's past 4pm. And I'm not even dopesick in the slightest bit.

My mama wants to take me to Disney World.

I'm not dead!!!!!

Thursday, March 1, 2007

all sorts of (mostly unhelpful) stuff

I've been out of detox almost 2 days, and on my last day I was given no medication at all. Makes sense, right? Well, I woke around 5 am (sick as hell, of course) and left around 11 am, driven to the Sheridan Street Tri-Rail station and rode north 9 stations north to L-Dub. It felt like a 10-hour ride. Sweating, freezing, shaking, trying not to moan out loud- basically wanting to die. The train seemed to travel even slower as we entered my county. I stood up and paced up and down the car, every muscle clenched, nails piercing my hands as I watched the exits on I-95 go by... once I saw the Lake Worth water tower I jumped on the phone and called Greg. I knew he had 2 bags for me, and I had never been so sick in my life. At least when I was pissing and moaning and shitting my pants at Summer House, I was on liquid Dilaudid and Valium and all sorts of (mostly unhelpful) stuff. At this point I was less than half detoxed and feeling the pain.

I have never wanted to die more than I did during that 45 minute Tri-Rail ride. NEVER.

Greg took pictures of me when he picked me up. I was shaking, nose and eyes running, hunched over like an arthritic old lady, and he wanted to take my picture. Made no sense to me. Then he got me well. It took me about 20 minutes to hit a vein and even then I missed some of it. I felt all the sickness melt away into fucking ecstasy...

Why did I bother going through the agony of detox? Why put myself through hell only to stick myself soon as I hit town? What the fuck was that about? At that point, none of it mattered. But now...?

Sure, I've done a couple more shots since then. Maybe a grand total of 5 bags in the last 2 days (an improvement upon 5 bags every 2 hours/minutes). I wait until I'm totally sick and then do just enough to get high and it's working wonders for me. The truth is, that detox was too expensive and didn't work. "It works if you work it?" Well, not when it's Day Seven and you're still puking up yellow foam because you can't get water down. I'm going to another detox- one in Ft Lauderdale that uses methadone (not methadone maintenance, I don't need to turn the monkey in my back into a fucking gorilla). They recommend a 14-day stay for us big leaguers, or dope fiends, or needle junkies, or dregs of society, or whatever you want to call us. It won't be as "resort-like" as Summer House in Miami, I won't be able to use a computer. So I guess I'll have to record my second-time-around detox adventures when I return to my beloved Lake Worth.

There really isn't anything for me here... except for Greg. I really do love him. But he thinks I'm just a kid with a stupid crush. Maybe I should leave Florida. Hell, I'd never do that. Maybe at least leave the county? I've never really been anywhere. I could give Orlando or Tampa or Miami a shot. Different names, different faces, same stories. I just need to stay strong as I can. I'm dopesick as hell right now and at my mama's house. I'll fix when I get home cause I didn't bring any with me (I'm looking at about an hour-long ride) and that's okay with me.

I deserve to be fucking sick.

It's easy to see the world through someone else's eyes, but you have to be willing to close your own.

I don't even know what that means...