Thursday, August 30, 2007

there was crack EVERYWHERE

My veins are coming back. Hooray!

I got a comment the other day where someone said that they hoped that my blog was fiction and not what actually happens. Sister, that makes two of us.

Micheal called me the other day. I told him that I have my own place now, the "undisclosed location" that no crackheads or dope fiends or evil cops know of. The only person (besides the other people in the building) who knows I live there is Greggie, and I like him coming over. Also I know he won't tell anyone, even if he gets mad at me. Because there's 3 ways to communicate something to the whole town- there's telephone, telegram, and telecrackhead. Which one sounds the most efficient?

I've been swimming every day, either at the beach or the pool, and when I'm not underwater I'm running around outside trying to make money or just hanging out. As a result, I have a bitchin' tan. I've never been this dark before, I'm the whitest person in SoFla as far as I know (not counting any albinos, of course, but if you're an albino and you voluntarily live in south Florida you're fucking stupid hah!). It's pretty cool.

So... last night I spent $50 on crack and smoked out at this apartment/crackhouse that a lot of people hang out and get high at. I really didn't want to hang with Dirty Debbie and company, so me and my friend (the only one living in that crackhut that I can honestly call a friend) locked ourselves into his room and lit up. Halfway through smoking it, we start hearing BANG BANG BANG on the door.

my friend: "Who is it?"
outside: "Lake Worth police!"

And let me tell you, there was crack EVERYWHERE. Good thing they didn't have a warrant, hell, they didn't even search- not that they had to. There was choreboy and baking soda and a spoon and pushers and shit like that just laying out on the table, my shit was sitting right under the corner of a pillow and I had needles and a cooker in my purse. But the cops just came in, shined their flashlights around, and said they were coming back later tonight with "papers". Is that policeanese for "warrants"? Well, I wasn't about to stay there and find out. I did a couple more hits and went on home about 30 minutes after the cops left. As a result, I didn't have any money when the rent lady woke me up this morning. Fuckburgers. I actually just payed it off (it was due at 11am, it's now past 3pm) because I had to cop a lil something first of course.

I guess that's everything interesting that happened.

Monday, August 27, 2007

my 'hood, and my new home

Well, another couple of days where nothing much happened, though I have been making a truckload of cash. On Friday I had to move out of my family's crib and had no money and no damn place to go, having spent all but $10 the night before on heroin. Looking back, I'm not sorry I did that because I woke up Friday morning SO sick (I hadn't done a shot since about 6pm Thursday night) that if I hadn't had any I don't know what I would've done. Madness, utter madness. So I got right then went with my mammy to go get an ID. It was a surprisingly short wait at the DMV, then I packed a weekend bag and got dropped off in Lake Worth. My 'hood, and my new home. I worked until I was able to get in touch with Greg, and then I worked some more but this time without my heavy suitcase slowing me down. Instead of getting a room, I bought more heroin and spent the night with Greg in the back of his camper. I thought it would be too hot to sleep there, but the fan and the "air conditioning" (ghetto as it may be) actually kept us pretty cool as we slept.

Saturday was PROFIT DAY. I started working at about 10am and by noon I had made over $230. I went to CVS and bought a whole bunch of "hygiene items" such as lotion, toothbrush/toothpaste, toner, body wash, soap, hair ties, etc. Then I attempted to buy 7 bags from #3 (I'll call my dope dealer that because she's #3 on my speed dial) but she kinda pressured me into buying a full gram because that was all she had on her at the moment. Whatever, just $30 more than I was planning on spending. Then I got a room at... wait. I haven't even told anyone in the NEIGHBORHOOD where I'm staying, and I'm planning on posting it online? Nope, not gonna happen. I got a room in Lake Worth, that's all I'll say. Technically I'm not allowed at that motel, me and Micheal were thrown off the property many moons ago. I explained to the manager (in the form of bold-faced lies, mostly) that Micheal was the reason I had been "asked to leave", and that I had gotten sober and was working now and with a 48-year-old man who had better things to do than start trouble. It worked! I'm still there. Plus a week is cheaper than a week at the Barefoot Mailman (my former residence) which is a plus. One night is the same price. But the new place has a pool! And on Friday I had just bought a new bathing suit, a Tommy Hilfiger knockoff, and I wanted to show it off. I checked in, let Greg smoke a joint in the new room, and then we went swimming. It was awesome. Then I went upstairs and took a shower so I could try out all the new crap I bought at CVS.

Then I went back to work, since my phone bill was due. I missed the Metro store by about 15 minutes and had to pay at a Western Union location, which turned out to be a buck cheaper. Hey, a buck a month is $12 a year which still doesn't total up to much. But hell. That's a dollar I could be spending on a candy bar. I payed for another night then shot myself to sleep. But I ended up making over $400 on Saturday. Not bad for street meat.

Sunday was like the perfect lazy day. I woke up late, got stoned, and went to the beach with Greg. We were trying to figure out which beach to go to, and decided on the one that was less than 5 minutes away from my new crib. I guess there is something good about living in south Florida, no? : ) I actually got a tan, no small feat for someone like me whose veins are swimming with Irish, French, and German blood. Actually it's more of a mild sunburn. But hell- it looks good. After the beach we showered and went to eat at Carmela's Pizza in Lantana. That's the place that me and Joe got pizza from every single day while living at the Barefoot, and it kinda made me sad being there. I still have the 10 flyers he collected, entitling me to a free pizza by turning them in. But they're not mine to use, they're Joe's. So I'm keeping them. I kinda want to put Joe's picture up on the wall surrounded by the pizza flyers as kind of a memorial. I really miss that man. I'll never find another roommate that awesome. After dinner I went back to work since I was out of dope and planned on staying another day.

One comment- each shot of dope takes me at least half an hour to find a vein, sometimes longer. I tried jug shots, but Greg said he wasn't hanging out with a chick with track marks on her neck so I can't do that. Mostly I'm hitting the bottom of my feet, which hurts like a son-of-a-whore but works, eventually. This morning I hit on the first try, and on my second shot I hit on the second try. So I guess that's an improvement. Not that I ever give up- I guess I finally found something I'm committed to. Hah!

Today I was woken up at around 10am since I forgot to pay my room last night. I payed and tried to go back to sleep, but it didn't work. It's impossible to wake me up without waking up the Dope Sick Monster, and once he's awake I better be spearing a vein pretty fucking soon- OR ELSE! So I got myself straight, then decided to come here, to the Lake Worth library, in order to update my bloggie and fuck around on Opiophile. It's like a junky MySpace, hah! I hadn't barely turned the corner when I got scooped up by a regular, which was cool because then I could afford lunch at my favorite little sushi spot right down the street from the library. Saito Bangkok, the best sushi joint in town. Mmmm, sashimi specials (drool like Homer Simpson). I still have a blast left (and 15 bucks) so I guess I should go to work. That is, after screwing around on Opiophile. Haven't done that yet.

I lost my notebook today! Left it in a date's car! He's a regular and he has my phone number, so hopefully I'll get it back. Hopefully.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

"on the road to recovery"

I did crystal meth again today. I also bought a new notebook, so here's my brain emptying itself into it. I wrote 4 words: "live" "work" "Greggie" (my bf) and "die". Then I wrote the first thing that came into my mind. Here's what I came up with.

Live for yourself
Love others
Deserve the best or
Get what hell you deserve
Karma sure is a bitch

Work your way up the ladder
It's a long way up
It's the only way up
Lots of ways down
All of them a lot faster
Because no matter how high you climb
Hell is just a couple rungs beneath you

I wish we had more time
You work too much
And never have any fucking money
I sleep too much
And put my money in the wrong places
I wish we had more money
I wish we had more time

Die because of what I live for
Live for what I will soon die for
They say death is only the beginning
But if the starting line looks familiar
I don't want to run

Some other shit...

I've heard the same shit 50 million times
And I've still got 50 million rhymes
For every brain cell
And yet I sit in a cell
A homemade prison of my own creation
Like living in a foreign nation
A little brown universe all on it's own
Millions of people live here
But we all live here alone
To throw away the needle is to unlock the door
But I always come back for more

this is your brain on crystal meth
i sit back and wait for the attack
the rush that i crave and the energy i lack
eyes pop open like they were never closed
sleep is just an elusive dream
every muscle clenches up and starts to scream
it's almost hard to believe i ever dozed
the heat fills my head till my brain cells boil
my hand involuntarily crumples up my foil
and throws it to the ground
my heart beats- once, twice, and it's the loudest sound
i ever heard in my life
feel like my ears are gonna bleed
this may be what i want but sleep is what i need
i can't believe i gave this up for so long
my arms are like twigs but i feel so damn strong
like i suddenly have superpowers
and i know they'll last for hours
but hours turn into days
until i don't even know how long i've been away
but fuck that- this time i won't become a head case
cause all i want is one little taste

Enough with the notebook. My last heroin buy was last night at around 930. I managed to stretch the shit to last until about 6pm but now I can't get more. I'm not sick yet but I'm terrified to go to sleep because I'll be fucking crawling on the ground when I wake up. Staying awake until I'm too sick to sleep isn't an option though. Not only that, but when I wake up I have to go to the DMV with my mom and wait in fucking line to get ID cause if I don't I can't get a motel room which means it's the spillway for me tommorrow night. So after waking up in a pool of cold sweat and throwing up stomach acid for half an hour, I still have to wait several hours, some of them in the hot sun, before I can even start going to town and getting "on the road to recovery" so to speak. Why isn't the dopeman answering? I know he'll deliver to Wellington if I ask him to and I have fucking money. I'm so goddamn pissed off right now.

On a good note, I saw Shane today. We just bummed around the mall. Got to see Greg today too. He took most of my fucking money, that bastard. I love them both.

[[several hours later...]]

Dopeman answered and is on his way. Life is looking up.

Monday, August 20, 2007

shelley da junkie

I don't have too much to say today.

Joe's funeral was better than I expected. His family wasn't sour or indifferent towards me, in fact just the opposite. Seconds after I walked in the "memorial room" his mom approached me and hugged me tight, telling me how glad she was that I showed up. While she was hugging me, she whispered in my ear, "you know he loved you." That was all it took. I started crying like a baby. I told her I didn't think I was gonna cry, she said it was okay, that she had shed her fair share of tears the past few days. I went up to the coffin and said my piece to Joe, nothing I feel like sharing here, real personal stuff just between me and him. I've made my peace with what happened. The autopsy found that it wasn't an overdose, it wasn't the heroin, it wasn't the pills- it was a heart attack. Of course it was probably aggravated by the heroin and the pills, but the cause of death was listed as congenital heart failure. I never expected his relatives to be so cool with me, not in a million years. They were just overjoyed that I cared enough about Joe to figure out a ride ALL the way to fuckin' Boca Raton just to be there for him and for them at the funeral. God, I miss him, he was one-of-a-kind. I'll never find another roommate like that, not another Joe.

Life has been pretty monotonous lately. Wake up, shoot, eat, watch TV, shoot, go to town, shoot, work, jones, cop, shoot, work, shoot, go home, shoot, sleep, repeat. There's nothing really exciting or new to blog about. Just the same ol' shit. I'm out of veins again, that's one thing. I had to skin-pop in the Wal-Mart bathroom today just cause I couldn't find a vein and I was out of time so I just said fuck it and popped. It was 2 bags of that fire shit from [name deleted] so it still got me high. No rush like IVing gives me, but by the time I got my shit cleaned up and I left the bathroom I was floating around with a goofy grin plastered on my face.

My best friend Diamond made us a version of those BFF necklaces, the ones where each one has half a heart on it and one says "best" and the other says "friends". These came out of a dog- and cat-tag machine, they are pink hearts on cheap silver chains and they both have 2 lines on them. She's an alcoholic and I'm a heroin addict, so they both represent our personalities.

Hers says,

Mine says,

I fucking love that necklace. We both promised to never take them off, and I don't see why I ever would. Who cares if it gets rusty? I'm proud of my junkie-ness.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

written on a matchbook cover I found


Firmly grasp individual match, keeping fingers away from the igniting tip. After liberating said match from its confinement, assure that your matchbook cover is closed. Briskly strike the tip across the provided strikeplate on the backside of your matchbook to facilitate ignition of said match. Repeat when necessary. Flame good.

Wow, all that to light a fuckin' match, huh? Like anyone pulls out a book of matches and says to himself, "well I got cigarettes and I got matches- if only I had some really detailed instructions! Then I'd be groovin'!" Hah!

silence is golden, duct tape is silver

Okay I apologize in advance if this post isn't upto my usual standards because I am quite fucked up right now. I've been complaining about my left shoulder for months (I thought I had what street hookers call "date shoulder" which is caused by leaning over to the drivers side during car dates) and the chiropractor was only helping a little so I wnet to a pain management doctor. He did an x-ray and checked it out and discovered a hairline fracture on my shoulder blade and pinched nerves. That didn't surprise me. What did surprise me was the prescriptions he wrote me: 60-count OxyContin 40mg and 60-count Soma 350mg. I never thought I could walk into a doctor's office with trackmarks on my arms (and hands, and wrists, and feet, and legs, and ankles) and walk out with scrips like that! So I filled them and took 2 Oxys and 2 Somas. Right when I started to feel them kicking in, I shot 2 bags of bomb heroin.


Joe's obituary was in the paper today, so I went out and bought a copy. It was the first time in my life I ever bought a copy of the sickeningly liberal Palm Beach Post, in fact I didn't even know how much it cost! I took out the local section, ripped out his obit, and threw the rest of the paper away. Didn't even read the comics. God, I hate the Post. All newspapers are slanted, but this one is ridiculous. Greg also printed me out a picture of Joe, he's gonna print another one with me and Joe and also he's taking me to the funeral on Thursday. I'm scared that his relatives heard that there was heroin in his system and blame me for it. I'm gonna be sad enough at the funeral without a lot of hate aimed at me. I'm gonna go ahead and brace myself for it though, especially from his mother. When your kid dies, you have a lot of anger and need someone to throw it on and I guess I'm perfect for the job. The hard part is gonna be if she actually starts something with me, to not make any kind of smart remarks. An old woman doesn't need smart remarks coming from some snot-nosed brat at her son's funeral, that's for god damn sure, but if someone attacks me verbally I can't just let it go. I don't have it in me to ignore mean comments. And I don't just defend myself, I attack back. And I get personal. I think it'd be better for everyone if I showed up at the funeral home with a giant piece of silver duct tape plastered across my mouth. Silence is golden, duct tape is silver.

I still have no cell phone because it was pouring today so I could barely make any money and the cash I did make payed for my scrips and my chiro appoitment and heroin and my ride home with Greg. Tommorrow, I guess...

My 19-year-old brother hangs out with kids between the ages of 17 and 20, which is totally cool, then there's this one creepy guy who is like 24. He finished college and moved right back in with his parents. He doesn't work, doesn't date, doesn't drink, doesn't get high, doesn't go out, doesn't go to school, doesn't do shit. He hangs out with high school/college kids, plays Magic: The Gathering and Dungeons n Dragons, and goes online. As my brother puts it, the kid never grew up. It's sad. Sure I'm staying with my family right now but that's only because my best friend died less than a week ago. I'll be back on my own by Friday, not only do I want to be but also I don't have a choice in the matter. Even if I'm not ready to leave I'll be dragged out kicking and screaming. Fucking bitches heh.

God, do I love OxyContin...

Sunday, August 12, 2007

dead of a drug overdose on our bed

The day my cellphone got stolen, I got arrested. There was a fight going on at the convenience store near my house where I was buying cigarettes and when the cops got there they ran everyone's name. I had a warrant, for a failure to appear in court on a paraphernalia charge. So, they cuffed me and brought me to county. I refused my first appearance twice, because I was simply too sick to get out of bed. Not that I was sleeping anyway, but whenever I stood up I started to get dizzy and chilled and pukey. Detoxing in jail was a son-of-a-bitch! I literally shit my pants twice. You can imagine all the shit-talking there! I didn't really care though, I was too sick to give a flying rat's ass what some hoes in jail had to say about me. As long as no one was beating my ass (or touching me in any way) they can shit-talk till Jesus comes back. Day 3 I finally went to my first appearance and was given time served.

So I got out today and Greg came and picked me up. I was still sick and he lent me the money to get straight and we had an agreement on how I was to repay the favor. I fulfilled my part of the bargain, and then he started being an asshole so we started fighting and he stormed out, telling me never to call him again. But he took my house key. Joe was all fucked up when I left to go make some money, and since he had repayed Greg for me I went to get the money to pay him back. When I got home, I banged on the door for 5 full minutes and no one answered. I didn't have my key, so I got the key from my landlord and let myself in. That was when I noticed the peculiar way that Joe was lying on the bed, with his head and one arm dangling off. His eyes were open too, but he wasn't breathing.

His heart wasn't beating either.

I had found my roommate and VERY close friend, dead of a drug overdose on our bed.

Joe is dead.

I raced back over to the landlord's office, SCREAMING at him that something is wrong with Joe, call 911, I think he's dead. The paramedics and police came, but nothing could be done. They think he od'd on his psych meds and he did a little heroin too but he's never shot up before. When I walked into that room, finding him dead was the last thing I expected. I was in shock, screaming and babbling and dripping sweat and crying my eyes out. I managed to fill out a police statement, just writing when I left and when I came back and found him and what I did. They asked if I cleaned out the room. Hell, all I did was put his weed away! There was no dope in that room.

I can't believe he's really gone. No more tiny little joints and a pile of roaches laying on the bed. No more waking up to the Weather Channel (his favorite). No more laughing about stupid shit in bed together. No more yelling at him for answering my phone (which was a non-issue anyways, since my phone is still stolen). No more getting woken up because he's lonely and wants to spend time with me. No more him lending me money to buy dope so I didn't have to go out, so I could hang with him in the room instead. No more of his mom's homemade chili, which she made special for the two of us who have acid reflux and can't really handle normal chili. Well, he had acid reflux. I'm having a really hard time believing that Joe is DEAD, gone forever. I couldn't look when the coroner and the cops brought him out of the room, I think if I had watched that I would have started screaming and been unable to stop. My mom came and picked me up. While they were bringing him out I was hugging her with my eyes shut, but I heard the clunk of the wheels and I passed out, spilling my bottle of water and cutting my knees. My mom said she would have held me up if she could, but I was just too heavy. I was weak, from not eating since Wednesday (I was too sick to eat ANYTHING, especially county chow) and in shock. The paramedics almost had too give me a shot. They were like, "are you the one who found him dead?" Yes, yes I was. The worst part about it was his eyes. They were open and staring right at me. I haven't seen a dead body in a while, and not experienced the death of a close friend since my girl Hana overdosed on an IV heroin/coke combo in high school. I didn't find her though, her sister told me about it. Joe... well, those dead, open, overdosed eyes are going to haunt my dreams tonight.

I just wanted him to be okay, and when the paramedics told me he was gone and that there was nothing they could do or that I could have done, and that I did the right thing by calling 911 the second I got home...

...that's when I went into shock. I was screaming, "MY BEST FRIEND IS DEAD! JOE IS DEAD! GOD, I LOVED THAT GUY SO MUCH! HE WAS ONLY 36! HE'S DEAD! MY BEST FRIEND IS DEAD!"

God, if that doesn't hurt. My heart is aching. I'm waiting on dope to ease the pain right now, my guy is delivering out here to Wellington at 4 in the morning because I told him I needed him and told him what had happened to Joe. My dealer is always good about delivering no matter where I'm at. He loves my money and I love his shit! But he's a nice guy too, real sympathetic about the whole Joe thing. I was actually crying on the phone to him! Now that's unheard of, me spilling my guts to the damn dopeman.

I miss Joe... god damn I really do.

When I'm sad, the whole world goes away
When I'm sad, nothing can make it okay
When I'm sad, nothing sounds like fun
When I'm sad, I feel like the only one
When I'm sad, I can't even turn a trick
I get so sad I feel physically sick
When I'm sad, I don't have a single friend
I'd give anything just to make the sadness end
When I'm sad, nothing can ever fill that hole
It's like depression of my motherfucking soul
When I'm sad, everything just makes me cry
When I'm sad, I just want to curl up and die
When I'm sad, I'm on the way to going insane
When I'm sad, all I can feel i soul-destroying pain
When I'm sad, I stick a needle in the perfect place
Because that's all I have left that puts a smile on my face

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

i loved that phone

My phone got ripped off today. It made me realize how little I have, and how much I love the fucking things I do have. I loved that phone. It had all my numbers on it, and all my dates and dealers and friends and family knew me at that number. Now some piece of shit has it. I know where his girlfriend and kids live, and I'm gonna go shoot out all his windows with fucking paintballs. I may never see my phone again, but he won't make any money off it either. He'll have to spend his phone-stealing profits fixing his house. Stupid fucking cunt!!!

I am so depressed. I wake up dopesick enough to wish death on myself every morning and get that way again quicker and quicker each day. I can't do anything about it. I want to die..

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

the fire follows us out

Well, it's finally happened- I have officially run out of veins. Fucking nothing left. I could always go for my neck, but... hell, I'm scared shitless. I stood in front of a mirror with my jaw open until it started aching, staring at the throbbing jug and poked it once with my rig, not deep enough to actually get a hit. Just the sight of the needle sticking out of my neck freaked me out bad. I yanked it out and puked right there in the damn bathroom sink. I just can't bring myself to do it. But if I intend to keep using, and at this point I don't really see another alternative, I'm eventually going to have to. My arms, hands, wrists, elbows, feet, ankles, legs, and knees are all collapsed. ALL collapsed. It takes me literally 30 minutes to get some blood flowing into the godforsaken thing because Lord knows I won't give up until I can taste the dope on my breath. It's the worst in the morning, because I wake up sick sick sick. If I wait 10 minutes between opening one crusty eye and pushing the plunger down, I'm crying hard. I just sit there, wipe the tears and the blood away with a strip of Charmin, and dig deep through every lump and bump on my body while my brain races: please god please god just let me get this fucking shot i'll never ask you for anything again just let me get this shot help me help me help me god i really need this right now please fucking help me get this vein ohmygod i need this shit so bad help me!!!! It's fucking pathetic, no? Ah well, that's my life!

I read on another blog (on here, actually) that it's like heroin addicts have this secret that no one else knows. He (or she?) said something along the lines of, "why buy an iPod or a big-screen TV or diamonds, they won't make you happy, but we know something that will..." Fucking lovely. He/she phrased it better than I did, I'm woman enough to admit when someone is a better writer than I. To use my own words, people in pain are like a crowd stuck in a burning building. Everyone is trying to get out of the building, out to safety, away from the pain- and they can't find a way out. But us heroin addicts- we located the fire escape, and we're sittin' pretty. But what we don't realize is that the fire follows us out. And it keeps following us. For the rest of our lives...

This has been one bitch of a depressing post, but I really can't think of anything positive to say right now. My psychiatrist dumped me as a patient without giving me refills. He sent me to get a $500 blood test and gave me an appointment for last Friday. My mammy and I got all the way to Delray Beach (butt fuck Egypt) to have his secretary (flaming whore) tell us that he has cancelled my appointment, and in fact he's not even in the office today, and that she called both me and my mammy to inform us. The thing is, she didn't call either damn one of us. I called back all the missed calls on my phone. None of em was from her. Hell, I even bit the bullet and (gasp!) actually checked my voice mail (which I never do) just to see if maybe she had left a message. No dice. That bitch is full of lies, but when I stop and think about it, it's the doc who is the flaming whore. What, am I being difficult? I'm a psychiatric patient, for chrissake! I'm supposed to be difficult, crazy, emotional, prone to outbursts, a drug addict, etc. He, on the other hand, is a psychiatrist. His chosen career path is directly dealing with these difficult, crazy, emotional, drug addicts prone to outbursts! Can a doctor just drop you like that? Is it legal? We've both left messages with FW secretary but no one has called us back. I called today and pretty much said all I'm saying now, only with a bit more profanity. I said that if he doesn't call me back by Thursday, the next call he gets will me from the American Psychiatric Association after I report his bitch ass. We should get a refund on the blood tests that he won't even give us the results of, no? If in fact he refuses to see us? That dumb bitch.

I started a new notebook, as my old one was filled with my rants. I'm a regular Dennis Miller. "Now, I don't want to go on a rant here, but..." I also wrote some more poetry, which I will publish on here as soon as I remember to bring my poem notebook with me when I come to the library. God, it'd be nice to have a 'puter at my own crib. Nice nice nice. I also wrote up some business cards on 3x5 index cards. I didn't make copies, but I wrote about 20 of 'em by hand and then put on lipstick and kissed each one. I gave out 2 so far, and both were received gratefully. On the bottom of each card it says: "Guaranteed to put a smile on your face!" Work work work, all day long.

It's over a hundred degrees out here, and not just while the sun is out. It's in the fucking 90s at midnight. Everything is in the 90s in south Florida- the temperature, the ages, and the IQs. If you add the temperature to the humidity... Jesus Harold Christ on a fucking rubber crutch! It's like drowning in a pot of boiling water just walking down the street. It could be 5am and you're just walking across the tracks to get a pack of cigs, but when you get to the store you will be drenched in sweat. Sometimes I wish I lived where it fucking snowed. I'll take that back come December, when it hits 60 degrees and I'm bundling up. I handle the heat WAY better than I handle the cold. Last winter it was mostly in the 80s anyway so I guess I don't have much to worry about. An Inconvienent Truth! Hahahahahahaha!

I'm a junkie hooker Republican. Did you know that people like me exist? Am I the only one? Any more of you out there? Speak out! Show yourselves, in the name of our crappy president! Bwahahahaha! Oh, and is back on! I'm so excited I could just shit. But I won't, cause I'm at the library computer and that would just be nasty.

"...but that's just my opinion. I could be wrong."

Saturday, August 4, 2007

shitty, sober, broke, hungry, stinky, painful, sick nights

I haven't posted for a while, been lazy. It's not my fault though. My roommate (Joe) rolls up 3 or 4 joints and actually wakes me up so I can smoke them with him. But of course I have to get a shot in me first, then blaze, and at some point we turn on cartoons and bring food over to the bed. You'd be lazy too. So I guess the way to keep y'all up to date is by posting stuff from my personal journal. I'm gonna leave out all the names and incriminating details that I include in my writing when it's not going on the internet. The deal is it's not edited or thought out or anything, it's just pretty much spilled guts on paper so pardon me if I'm not my usual storytelling self.

July 25, or Micheal's 23rd birthday
Very stoned writing! If you are really a junkie, it will show up in parts of your life that don't involve drugs. It's either that or my white-trashedness showing it's face, but I guess it doesn't matter where it came from. I'm stoned shitless, laying on my back at 1:30 in the afternoon eating. Suddenly, I had a random thought: "Nothing beats a swallow of cold mild straight from the bottle after a handful of cereal." That's some junky white-trash shit right there. The worst part is that I was smoking a cigarette the whole time. I'm proud to be an American.
I'm not quite sure why I decided to carry this notebook around today. After all, I am pretty fucked up. There's been nothing in my head lately. I'm so used to the voices, the whispers, the noise in general filling every little spot in my brain that I don't feel right without it. The Lithium creates the emptiness that nearly drives me fucking bonkers!
Scary dream alert! Well, it was scary while I was having but once I spelled it out it was kind of stupid. I dreamed I was sitting in a restaurant holding this ancient cellphone. It was a big box that looked like a graphing calculator with buttons of both sides and ants crawling out of it. Then we realized that there was a monster in the restaurant but we couldn't run and couldn't call for help because the cellphone was such a piece of crap.

July 26, or the day after my phone bill is due
Good day, bad day? I'll let my attitude after I write this be the judge. Last night I payed my phone bill the day it was due because I didn't want it turned off at all. I awoke this morning to a turned-off phone. Oh boy was I pissed! [[boring details about how I got my phone turned back on]]
Then I made some money and called [[dealer's name deleted, I'll call her "C"]] in a hurry because I had to go with my dad to lunch and to get a blood test for [[my psychiatrist]]. Bitch didn't answer! Once my dad scooped me up and we were sitting at the Grumpy Grouper, guess who calls? Stupid "C"! Dad and me ate and went to get the blood test. The blood lady got a vein on me on the first try, which was kickass because my veins blow dead rats in hell and the phlebotanist (however that's spelled) usually ends up digging around like I do.
Then my dad bounced me off on the strip, by that time the sickness was creeping up on me and none of the dope people were picking up. I was sitting outside CVS crying and sweating when all 4 of my dealers called me back in a 3-minute period. It was awesome cause I got to pick whose dope I wanted. I chose "C" cause 1 bag of her shit knocks me flat on my ass. It creepxs up- first it fills my sinuses and my throat and it all goes kinda numb and tingly, then it grabs me real tight by the shoulders and then my head feels real heavy and hard to hold up right before my eyes either roll up or mostly shut, Then the full-body wave hits me. And that's all from one dime bag.
Then Greg came and got me. Me and him and Joe got mega-stoned and I went back to work. At one point I did too many bags and started flipping out. I was walking around the apartment falling down and crashing into things talking nonsense. Joe got scared and made me lie down. Strong dope and powerful smoke make for one fuck of a high. Oh yeah and also me and Greg had a fight, we haven't made up yet. I'm gonna have to stop writing cause I'm too high and my eyes keep rolling up in my head,
I just sent dirty pictures to a guy I met online (through my blog). Aren't I a total slut? Hah! Until next time... tons of dope, tons of dick, and tons of dough.

July 27, or the premiere of The Simpsons Movie
Woke up, shot up, smoked up, washed up, shot up, came up, hooked up, came back up, shot up, snorked up a copule Valiums, then went with [[my cousin]] Lorry and [[my brother]] Lucas to Crazy Buffet and to see The Simpsons Movie. God it was hilarious- Bart gives us a full frontal! Came back up, hooked up again, shot up again- this time blowing my hand up like a balloon. It's on fucking fire, aaargh! Funny story- I was at this guy's house giving him a blowjob when his wife came to the door. He ran me out so quick he didn't even let me grab my shoes! I had to hide in his backyard barefoot amongst rotten mangos waiting for him to tell me it was okay to go and give me back my sandals. Then the fucker nade me give him his change back! Shit, I deserved it all, stupid prick. I just put a Valium under my tongue, Scott told me it'd hit quicker and stronger that way. So far- nothing. All in all though, it was one fun fuckin' Friday night.

July 28, or Valium hangover day
I did too much Valium last night and didn't wake up until past 3pm. I've been pill-high all day, and mixing it up with the heroin and marijuana I've been using since I opened one crusty little eye has been a hell of an experience. I've been sleepy and itchy and dumber than a bucket of hair all day. Right now I'm smoking a Newport and trying to keep my eyes from crossing. I talked to Micheal last night and told him that I had 19 days clean. What a fucking liar I am! I just wanted him to be proud of me, to like me, to have a reason to see me. I would do anything to quit heroin for real and for good. The problem with rehab is that I'd be miserable there and if I was miserable in my early sobriety I'd say fuck it real quick. I need to have other shit going well for me if I ever expect to quit.

July 30, or rent day
I worked all day. All day, from about 2pm to past 11pm. I was trying to make my $140 rent, which I must have made 4 or 5 times over but I kept buying heroin. It was an unstoppable force- I'd have another hund (and dope) in my pocket and think I was finishing up but, like a robot, I'd pick up the phone and call the dope girl ("C"). I made 4 buys today before I begun collecting the fucking rent. Also I ate and bought cigs and scratch-off lotto tickets, but over $280 went straight in my arm. This shit really needs to stop. I also took OxyContin. My rent is paid in full (on time), my phone bill is paid for another 3 weeks, the dishes are done, there are groceries here, my clothes are clean, I'm feeling awesome, and I got heroin for tonight and the morning. What a pleasant change from the shitty, sober, broke, hungry, stinky, painful, sick nights I've been through lately. Hooray!

Aug 1, or check day, aka "wake up, wake up, wake up, it's the first of the month so grab your checks and come up"
I wish I had nail clippers.
That fucking asshole! Another 20 minutes I gotta wait? This is the part of being a junkie that I hate, it's a really anxious, depressing, dopesick state of mind.
[[to the tune of Papa Roach's "Scars"]]
Tear my arm open until my eyes shut
The secret is not to do too much
But these scars remind me that I have no vein
But if I can find one, it'll kill the pain
[[to the tune of Taylor Swift's "Teardrops on my guitar"]]
You're the only asshole I want in my life
You treat me good but also cause me fucking pain and strife
You're a dick, you're pure gold, you're a creepy dirty old man too
Greg, I'm in love with you!
[[my day]]
I was supposed to see Micheal today, but dickface didn't call. It's all good though, I wasn't really expecting him to go through with it. On Friday night while I was watching The Simpsons Movie he sent me a test that said, "I need to have sex with someone. Wanna be fuck buddies?" That's even better than getting back together with him! We get to spend time together, we get to be friends, we get to have sex (that boy is great in bed; hell, I taught him everything he knows), and we don't have to put up with any of that jealous bullshit and fighting that goes hand in hand with a serious relationship.
I just shot 3 caps of incredible stuff. Just now, like 2 minutes ago and I am rushing hard! Whoo! It's all I can smell and taste and my chest feels swollen with the shit. Also I took about 3 Valiums sublingually along with 3 chewed up Percocet 10s so my head is kinda rolling around on my neck. It feels light enough to be hollow and too heavy to hold up correctly all at the same time- I guess it's hard to explain any better than that. I've always got people asking me, "What does it feel like to shoot up heroin?" I do my best to describe it, but it's kind of hard to find the right words to portray the experience. I usually say it's just fucking awesome. What else can I say? Fucking awesome is a good way to describe it anyway. There aren't really any good metaphors worthy of describing a bangin' dope shot. God, I can't barely keep my eyes open! I passed out for half an hour just now. I was sitting up in bed writing with my feet in front of me and when I came back my left leg was totally dead. It's the morphine / Valium / Percocet / heroin / weed high and it's completely kicking my ass right now. I better go to bed, or at least lay down in the dark and watch the end of South Park or King of the Hill which were both just starting when I layed my head down "just for a couple seconds". Now the cartoons are over and all that's on is Fresh Prince of Bel-Air which is a really good show, so is Full House. And Step by Step. Yum, crushed-up Tostitos... zzzzz.
News flash: I got my dope at 11:40pm and immediately blasted off. It is now 2:20am and I haven't even touched the shit, even though I have 6 caps plus pills left. That is fucking unheard of! Usually I'd be down to 1 1/2 caps 2 hours ago and jonesing for my wake-up shot. After waiting this long, I fucking deserve a couple caps in my arm. What an idea!

Aug 5, or the day I finally updated my blog
I just woke up, shot up, got SSTTOONNEEDD, and I'm amazed I made it to the library. I slept all through my Friday night last night and didn't make shit for money cause I'm sick. Not dopesick, flu-sick. It really sucks. I'm gonna go home and go smoke more pot. Here's some questions for anyone who cares to answer in the comments section or in my email:

1) In your own words, what does it feel like to shoot up heroin?
2) What the fuck happened to Opiophile? I'm in mourning over here!
3) Anyone want my phone number?
4) Isn't Scrubs a fucking great TV show?