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...