Sunday, April 22, 2007

lame-ass hostage situation

Well, yesterday I told my mom I've been shooting up.

I didn't give up the extent of it, but I told her and had her drive me to an NA meeting up at JFK hospital over in Atlantis, where I got some phone numbers. I was so high when I got there that people were falling over themselves trying to talk to me, convince me to go into detox (AGAIN?!?!?), help me out any way they could. I'm gonna start hitting meetings on the daily, although I really don't have any respect for the 12 step programs. It can't hurt though, right?

I'm getting to the point where the high I get from shooting heroin isn't worth the bullshit it comes with. For example, I'm out of veins on my arms and hands and am now slowly but surely wrecking the bottom of my feet with vicious-looking tracks. Who injects shit in the bottom of their feet?! This junkie does. It grosses me out just seeing the needle sticking out from there, but I still register and slam the shit home. Yuck.

Yesterday I went with Mae and a "friend" of hers named Zander to score an 80 because none of my people felt like dealing with me. We copped and then Zander decided that if he wasn't getting a bag, he wasn't going to let either one of us out of the car. He jumped on I-95, locked the doors, and rolled up the windows.

So... this guy thinks he can KIDNAP me? Huh?

I wait until the traffic has slowed (it's about 5pm at this point, rush hour!) and light a cigarette so he'll open my window, then stick my hand out, open the door, and run out into the breakdown lane while he continues on. I called Greg, who jumped on the highway and picked me up. Lame-ass hostage situation. I'm too smart for these stupid motherfuckers. I know, I know, one of these days...

...DEAD. Before I even realize what's going on.

So I get back with Greg and shoot one of the new bags in the camper, then wander out to smoke a cigarette. I immediately fell out in the parking lot, causing him to scream at me at the top of his lungs the entire way home from Wal-Mart. I can't call him until I have 30 days clean. God, I'm gonna miss that asshole! A whole month, after I'm used to seeing him every single fucking day, is gonna drag on and on.

I woke up this morning at 1130am and shot another one of my 20 bags. Couldn't find a vein, so I just popped it and it still got me high as a mother. Next shot, half a bag. And, not until after my parents go to sleep or else I'll get kicked out fo' sho'.

I guess that's all there is to say...

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