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..
1 month ago