Shelley's 2-Step Recovery Program: RFR!

You know what I hate? 12-steppers. They aren't fucking special. "I'm a drug addict (or alcoholic, or sex addict, or compulsive gambler, or relative of one of the above, or whatever), I can't help it, I'm powerless. I can only stay clean by rehashing my past for an hour each day." Don't they realize that ANYONE who does drugs (I'll just use NAzis as an example to save keystrokes) for long enough will become a drug addict? They weren't born with anything different. Take someone who hates drugs, get them in a bad car accident where they need oxycontin to function long-term, come back in a year. Are they a drug addict? You bet your ass they are! No one is powerless over their addiction. We all choose what we want to do, and if we overdo it we get hooked. Then we believe that the almightly twelve steps are the way out of the mess that WE OURSELVES created.

Taken under the wing of veteran NAzis, we actually believe that nothing is our fault. Mugged your grandma for her percocet? You couldn't help it. Set a crackhouse on fire for refusing to serve you? You were powerless over the drugs. Let your 1-year-old son sit in a shitty diaper for three days while you were too tweaked to leave your room? Addiction is a disease, you can't blame someone for having a disease! Oh, and do 90 meetings in 90 days. That way you will be so retardedly entrenched in the program that you won't be able to figure out that it's all a bunch of manipulative bullshit. Addiction is not a disease, and everything that an addict does is that addicts fault. No more cop-outs, no more "disease of addiction", no more "endorphin deficiency syndrome", no more. Just take the goddamn blame for what YOU did.

But see, I am here to help so I am starting my own recovery program. It's called "Recovery from Recovery" or RFR. It's way better than any 12-step program because... wait for it... it only has 2 steps. And I can accomplish what took others 12 steps in a simple two:

1) Get the fuck over it.
2) Move on with your life.

That's all there is to it! And we only meet for five minutes to introduce ourselves and go over the steps. Once we've gotten over it and moved on with our lives, there's no need to continue the meeting, nor is there any need to meet again tommorrow. But, for those of us who need a little reminder, we do meet once a month to remind one another to get the fuck over it.

So, who wants to join RFR? Admission is free and I bet MONEY that my drug program will have identical stats to every other drug program on the planet: NA, AA, methadone maintenance, suboxone maintenance, 3-day detox, 28-day rehab, 60-day rehab, 1-year rehab, Christian drug programs, boarding schools, teen drug programs, hospitalization, methadone/suboxone detox, home "comfort-med" detox, and just saying fuck it and quitting all by yourself. They all have a success rate of between 3-5%, and RFR promises to match those statistics. After all, it works if you get the fuck over it.

I'll go out there and be the best rasist I can be

I don't know what to do about my brother's friends. I was outside this morning crying on the phone to Greggie because I am so frustrated and no one listens to a word I fucking say on this issue. My parents are no help, as he is the favorite kid (although there is no question that he earned his status as the favorite and I sho nuff earned my status as the fuck-up) and they are loath to correct him on anything. But I will get reamed out for the same things that his friends do with no consequences- and they don't even live here.

Every day and night, they are here- my brother Lucas's friends. The wankers, the melvins, those loud little pricks, the invaders. And as much as I love Lucas (and I do!!), I seriously hate his friends. I don't hate them as individuals, I just hate everything they do. They devour my food and sodas and then leave the wrappers/empties laying around on the counter or the floor. Occasionally they leave full containers out of the fridge overnight, such as milk and cheese that I payed for. One idiot (who I call "the screamy one" because he has no concept of talking at a normal volume) left the fridge wide open. I called him out, and he apologized and returned to the fridge to get out a gallon of milk, the Hershey's syrup, and a cup. He shut the fridge that second time, I'll at least give him that. But the milk and the syrup stayed on the counter alongside his empty milk cup. Lazy little shit...

It's not just food and empties that they leave all over the house. Magic the Gathering/World of Warcraft cards, video games, dice, assorted Dungeons + Dragons paraphernalia, books, cellphones, and *cords* litter the floors, couches, chairs, tables, and pathways. I've tried everything to get them to pick up after themselves- asked nicely, asked my parents to tell them, piling all the crap (including spoiled food, dishes, and dirty drawers) on my little bro's pillow, kicking their stuff into corners, threatening violence, hiding anything I trip over, and lately threatening to throw their stuff away if my foot hits it. There has been absolutely NO improvement, and my parents don't seem to care one way or another. "It's between you and Lucas," they say. So I took matters into my own hands.

Last night, there were Playstation and Wii cords allllll over the floor, pretty much spread out taut in places where folks walk. I told Lucas and his boys that if I tripped over a cord because some little asswipe was too occupied with his warlock casting spells or whatever to wrap it up and put it away, it was going in the garbage. I guess they figured it was an empty threat, because I woke up early this morning to go pee and guess what? I tripped over a fucking controller cord- actually 2 Playstation (or maybe X-box?) controller cords wrapped together- and banged into the wall, hurting my knee. Those little fuckers (who at that point were sprawled all over the floor and couches after turning the blasted thermostat way up because they were too lazy to find a damn blanket). So I unplugged both controllers from the game system, wrapped 'em up, and put those SOBs in my purse. I threw them away in a dumpster in Lake Clarke Shores. Hell- I warned the little shits, didn't I? Cords all over the ground are a safety issue, and I'm 32 weeks pregnant so if I trip over their crap and fall, it could jeopardize the health of my kid. Me and my little Jaz are more important than his stupid video game controllers. According to Greg, the dumpster I tossed 'em in has already been emptied. Good.

The worst part of all this is that I am forced to take the "disciplinarian" role, which I fucking despise. I've NEVER played the party pooper, and the last thing I want is for my little brother to think and/or say, "Oh great, Michelle's home- fun's over, guys!" I love Lucas to death and I don't want him resenting me. But it's gotten out of hand!! My parents have a pretty strong double standard going for us. I play music quietly at the computer, our folks shut me down. Lucas & Co play music loudly over by the TV (5 feet away from the 'puter, if that matters), no one says a word. More than once I've been woken up at 3am after falling asleep on the sofa and told to go to my bed because "you have your own room and you can't sleep here." Lucas has spent consecutive nights on the couch (along with his boys, who according to my folks need to be gone by midnight- not that they enforce any rules they make for the star of the family).

Why isn't he in his room? Because his bed isn't made- seriously. Why isn't his bed made? Because he asked me to wash his sheets for him, and I did, and I put them in the dryer and when they finished drying I piled his sheets and pillowcases on his bed and then told him that his sheets were clean and dry and waiting for him on the bed. That was 3 days ago, and his sheets are still in the same pile in the same corner. Lazy little turd. I don't mind helping him out, but it's not that hard to make his bed- it's 2 sheets, 2 pillows, and blanket- and yet he seems to be incapable. Jesus wept.

In addition to kids all over the couch, one asshole (the screamy one again, I think his name is Matt) was sprawled on the floor. Directly in the only path to the bedrooms and the bathroom. I've really had enough of these little fucks, but I don't know what to do about it! My parents don't enforce any rules they make, they don't listen to me, they have no respect and no attention span, they leave messes, they make too much noise, they hog the computer and TV at the same time, and refuse to leave even when Lucas isn't home. Let's see if having to replace their oh-so-precious video game controllers gets their attention...

SeLeCtEd rEpLiEzZ:

"Hey, had some stuff shipped to you today, hope you like it. XOXO Melody"

Thanks so much baby! Me and the soon-to-be munchkin sho nuff appreciate your generosity :)

"I think that if you told your N.A. meeting that you were on methadone they would be much more understanding that you're trying to portray. Do you think you're the first heroin addict thats walked through the door? Please. I've attended NA off and on for a long time while on suboxone maintenance, and they were fine with it. There were plenty of others at the meetings that were on methadone or suboxone and again, there was no judgement. So it's not your thing... no reason to be so negative towards a method of getting clean that has helped countless people."

I did say that I was on MMT (methadone maintenance treatment, for those who are unfamiliar) at the meeting, and I heard from many that "being on methadone doesn't count as clean time." Of course I'm not the only heroin addict there- I'm probably not the only person being told off there either. NA is like many other organizations in the fact that they are not judgemental- as long as you agree with everything they believe. They state opinions as facts, and I'm not down with that. Addiction as a disease? That hasn't been proven, so although there is a lot of evidence for BOTH sides, it is still nothing but an OPINION or perhaps an educated guess. You say there's "no reason to be negative towards a method of getting clean that has helped countless people"? I can be negative about anything I want- that's one of the great things about having my own blog. And you, of course, are free to disagree with me. The NAzis are quite negative against MMT, which has also given many people their lives back. I say that it doesn't matter WHAT your crutch is (and NA is just as much of a crutch as MMT), what matters is that the day ends and you haven't put needles in your skin or a crackpipe between your lips. Right?? Damn straight! But I do have to give you mad props! You straight-up disagree with what I say, and yet you didn't attack my character and call me a retarded whore (or whatever). Instead you wrote your opinion. That is awesome!! Controversy makes the world go 'round.

"it's always been my understanding that the owner of this blog supports free speech if not encourages it, even when people don't agree with her."

You're goddamn right on that note!

"OF CORSE WHITE TRASH LIKE U WOULD HAVE STUPID SHIT LIKE THIS ON YR SITE WHAT DO U KNOW ABOUT BEING A SLAVE STUPID RASIST BITCH??????"

I've never been called a "rasist" before- I'll just take it as a compliment. So thanks, I'll go out there and be the best rasist I can be! And I know just as much about being a slave as you do- sounds about right? I know a lot about what is funny though, and that slavery thing was funny!

"I am a racist , I know another rasist when i see one , she isnt a racist . She isnt even a wannabe racist , nor poser skinhead . She even strikes me a someone who has shared her money/food/drugs with mixed blood people !"

Yeah, I've hooked "mixed blood people" up all the time. When I worked the streets, I even dated Mexicans and other hispanics! Whooooo!

"I think that ihatethosewhodance needs to remember that there is not one race that has not been subject to slavery at one time or another. "

You know what's funny about that? The picture I put up isn't even about black slavery, it's a picture of the pyramids of Egypt so technically if it's racist (or is it rasist??) then it's against JEWS, not blacks. Yep, all races have been slaves- damn straight. But no American in 2008 can talk about slavery as if they know something. Cause none of us know shit!

a whiny-little-bitch noise

My whole upper jaw fucking hurts!!

I woke up at 3am feeling like asshole, which was remedied when they upped my dose at the clinic. The doc had no problem doing that since I've been on my same dose for a while and haven't had a dirty UA yet- well, I always seem to test positive for THC (duhhh, I wonder why?) but they don't give much of a damn about that shit. Hooray for that!

Then I went to an NA meeting so I could get my clinic paper signed. I hate those meetings on gp [general principle] because they all think that addiction is a disease. Addiction isn't a disease! That's just an easy way to not have to take responsibilty for your actions while high. "Yeah grandma, I did rob your house and sell the contents for crack, but I have an incurable disease so I couldn't *help* it!!" Buncha bullshit if you ask me (and I know no one did, but this is my blog and I will fill it with my opinions and anyone who doesn't like it can hang out somewhere else- it's a big internet out there). Addicts love nothing more than not taking responsibility for their stupid choices. Yeah, I said choices. Addiction is a choice. Using drugs is a choice. Doing stupid fucking shit because you're high- well, it was a choice to get high so technically anything you do in a blackout is your fault too. Of course I include myself- after all, I'm a junkie too (just in case anyone wasn't aware of that fact, hah!).

So if addiction is a choice (and it is), then why am I still on methadone? Easy! I don't want to come off the shit, it will be hard and I'm *choosing* not to face that anytime soon. I'm physically addicted and that makes it more difficult. But how to people like me become physically addicted to drugs? By getting high... all the time. If I hadn't *chosen* to stick myself with dope-filled needles day after day after day, I would never have gotten hooked. I knew the consequences of shooting heroin (and smoking crack, and doing speed, and popping pills, and smoking cigs, etc etc etc) and yet I did the shit anyways, because it made me feel good and I liked it. How is that a disease again? Cancer is a disease- you don't get offered cancer and get to weigh your options and then choose whether or not you want it. AIDS is a disease- you can't decide to stop having AIDS before it gets out of hand. [Before anyone says this, I know you can get these diseases and others by making bad decisions, but not always. For example, smoking for years can give you cancer, but so can winning the Tour de France, right?] But drug addiction? It's a choice, plain and simple.

Another thing that pissed me off at the NA meeting was those assholes bashing MMT. Apparently they are too good to take methadone and look down on those who do. Methadone is a crutch- no shit. So are those stupid meetings. MMTs down an addictive but legal drug every morning, NAs go sit in a circle and whine about their horrible disease every afternoon. At the end of the day, what matters is that you didn't stick a needle in your vein or a crackpipe between your lips- right? That's not what the NAzis think! I didn't say that I was on methadone because I didn't want to hear the bullshit the very first time I went. Next time though, I'm gonna speak up! I love controversy, plus I feel pretty strongly about this. MMT let me go through with this pregnancy, not to mention that it pulled me off the streets and out of a vicious circle. I have nothing but respect for that program because without it I would've detoxed with nothing, and had a miscarriage months ago due to NAS (or maybe just a braindead baby) which would have made me very sad, and then I'd use that as an excuse to start banging again. Hooray for methadone maintenance!!!! I've used heroin a grand total of once since my first dose at the clinic, and I'm happier. I still miss my shit sometimes, but I must admit that this is a better way to live.

Then I went to the dentist for the first time since my childhood. The dentist confirmed my suspicions- the tooth was broken in half, apparently because of a huge-ass cavity. My first cavity. He then went on to tell me that he could pull the rotten tooth and leave a gap (please god no!! I thought to myself) or do a root canal and a build-up (?) and a crown. My dad agreed with me that a gap was bad (daddy and his magical AmEx to the rescue!) and we decided it would be better to save the tooth than pull it. My first root canal.

It was totally NOT COOL!!! The drill freaked me the fuck out. I don't even like the noise that a nail-file makes, or sandpaper on wood- it makes me shudder, that nasty scrape-scrape-scrape sound. *ughhhhh* So I took my ipod with me and cranked the volume up as loud as it would go and shut my eyes hard. I could still hear the drill. The novocaine didn't numb everything, apparently there was a "curve in the nerve ending that didn't get numbed" which of course hurt like a son of a bitch every time he poked it with a sharp thingy. He did that a lot, and I'd feel it from my jaw to my skull all the way down my spine, and immediately jump in the air and make a whiny-little-bitch noise. This kept happening over and over. Between the sharp pokes to a rotten nerve ending and the drill scaring the shit outta me, I was a little crybaby there in the dentist's chair.

One good thing- I didn't have a full-fledged panic attack until after the dentist was finished and I stood up out of the chair. I wasn't standing up for long, let me tell you! I apologized for being a whiny little bitch, stood up to smoke a cig, and immediately started shaking and crying and collapsed on the ground. They said I did great because I didn't try to stop the dentist, or jump out of the chair, or bite, or scream, or punch anybody, or throw up on anyone. When they shoved that piece of plastic all the way down my throat and left it there- well, it's a damn good thing I don't have a gag reflex, huh?

So... that sucked. And I have to go in 2 more times! Once for "the build-up" whatever that means, once for the crown. I want gold, it's actually cheaper than porcelain. One gold tooth that's not a grill? I like the idea... yeah, I like it a lot. :)

REPLIES:

"i lost my first tooth 2 weeks ago congradulations its all starting to catch up with us 23 yrs old and we over the hill!!"

Don't worry baby! Where you live, you'll blend right in... especially on those trips to Coulby.

"you suck"

For a living, baby! But seriously, is that the best you can do? Really? *sigh*

"Do you think doctors, writers, designers, etc. are just working for the money? Don't you have any desire to do anything with your life?"

What you are referring to here isn't a job, it's a career. Now, I'm going through a lot of shit right now, basically my life just got flipped completely upside down and I'm doing everything differently. If I start thinking about a career now- well, I'm already psychotic and I don't want to overwhelm myself. Right now I'm not focusing on "the rest of my life" and my career, I'm thinking about a)becoming a mama b)making money for right now c)staying clean d)this blog! And that's enough for any bitch to come to terms with at once- especially a crazy one.

"CAN WE SEE A PIC OF GREEGIE ? OR IS HE SHY"

Greg has asked me not to put any pictures of him or his camper online, and I respect that. If he ever changes his mind though, I will be on that soooo quick! So yeah, he is shy. :)

then you decide

Dem updates be gettin' shorter 'n' shorter, no?

God, I wrote some funny fucking shit last night! I was bombed on delicious heroin and Valium and far far far too much mj and I was watching Me, Myself, and Irene when I decided to start writing. Was gonna type it up and post it when I got to the library but forgot the notebook. Whatever, it doesn't make any fucking sense anyway, although it is pretty fucking funny. Bwahahahahahahahahahahahaah lordy I guess I'm still fucked up. It's fucking Greg's fucking fault! (note to self: too many effwords) He keeps bringing over weed and pressuring me to find people to buy some from. So I been smoking his guy's weed (oh yeah- and paying for it even though he gets to keep the bag and leaves me jack shit) which is decent, but then I found a dude who sold me a quarter for a dub (from Greg's dude we pay $30) and it was FIRE so I give Greg a little tiny bit since that's what he always does to me and he got all pissy. "Shelley, come on, what the hell is that? That's not even half a joint!" Not that we really smoke joints anymore, but it was still funny as hell. He has a little metal weedpipe that he's fallen in love with and my friend gave me a bong which is cool. Cigars, those I like. Mostly when I smoke weed it's in cigars. Hell, I've been doing more weed than heroin at this point. Sucks to be back on the shit, but whatever. I'm not doing lots (except last night, but what can I say) mostly just tiptoeing through $50 worth a day and not always finishing it that day either. I figure there is a middle ground between shooting 2 or 3 Benjamins in my arm every day and being sick and writhing in the bed, there must be, cause I'm doing it! At least for now... "but it gets worse. It always gets worse, addiction is a progressive disease.. That's right, the DISEASE of ADDICTION."

I realized I've never on here shared my views on "the DISEASE of ADDICTION and the Holiest of Holies, THE TWELVE STEPS." My views are that calling addiction is a disease is the biggest load of crap ever except for the twelve steps. So they've proven a genetic link- whoohoo. Everything that defines us is genetic- like how fat parents tend to have fat kids and red-headed parents tend to have red-headed kids. If you're fat and want to be skinny, it's not a genetic disease. If you're a junkie, and you don't want to be a junky anymore, it's not a disease. I read that one book that Oprah said she liked then later she said it was a lie, and fuck what Oprah says I liked it! Addiction isn't a disease. aids is a disease!!! If you have aids, you can't just walk into a smoky rented rooms with a bunch of charged-up folks and talk about having aids and expect it to get better. You can't choose to quit having aids, or go to a special aids center for 28 days where you talk about it and write about it and at the end of the month you're testing negative, or slow down your aids, or decide when you can't handle having aids anymore and you have to stop! Jesus! Addiction isn't a f***ing disease, addiction is a choice. Every time you pick up the needle or the beer or the prescription bottle or the rockpipe or the deck of cards or whatever the fuck it is, you make a choice. Am I gonna put this shit down and do something with my life? Or am I going to continue to live like a fucking pathetic loser? Then you decide. Addiction is nothing but a whole crapload of bad decisions all in a row.

I'll go into the Twelve Steps later. I hate them too.

judge people until the sun implodes

There isn't nearly enough shit-talking going on here! I figured that out when I read some comment someone left yesterday calling me a piece of shit or something cause I'm a heroin ho. It doesn't piss me off reading/hearing stuff like that, maybe it should but it doesn't. It makes me laugh. Like, if I'm online and I read something I think is boring or terrible or disgusting or badly written, I go look at something else. But apparently this guy/girl (who I've never met) hated me SOOOOO MUCH that he created a blogger profile just to leave some shit-talking. So for a couple minutes, I was on his mind. I don't know if I'm explaining it right, I just know I think it's funny. Plus, I'm a big supporter of the First Amendment which allows you to talk shit wherever and whenever you want to whoever you want however you want. Some other said, "if you don't like it, don't read it" but that's not what this country is about. We all have the absolute right to look at others and say what we want! People say, "you have no right to judge me!" Sorry, hon, yes I do. I can judge people until the sun implodes and there isn't anything anyone can do about it, except judge me right back. That's the American way. But the good thing is that if someone DOES judge you and talks shit, you have the right to not give a damn what they said. God bless America. So if someone feels like shit-talking on my comments section, don't even bother defending me. Not saying I don't appreciate it, but it's a waste of your finger muscles cause I think shit-talking has it's place.

Well it's Friday and that means it's Money Night. Hooray! I went to a noon NA meeting which was kinda boring. Still don't know why I went, just seemed like a good idea.

God, these updates are just getting shorter and shorter, no?

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...

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..

reverse porcupine

I'm finally in detox in Miami!

It's about fuckin' time, Michelle, dontcha think?

Well, yeah. My arms were starting to look like swiss cheese. Infected swiss cheese. Reverse porcupine. If I had as many needles sticking out of me as I stuck in me, I would look like pinhead from Hellraiser. Space-baser. Needle freak. Fu-ckin jun-kee. Mosquitos would bite me and drop dead on the floor.

Lots of hell. Lots of pain. Lots of fucking hellish painful agony. Haven't been able to eat a bite in days. Scream in my sleep. Would literally KILL for one bag.

The sad part is- I don't plan on staying clean! I can't wait to get high again. Someone special has a stash for me. Woohoo! But ONLY if I stay my full 7 days. It's worth it! Working right now- I'd rather stay clean for... well, a couple more days. But if he switches out, I'm Fuuuuucked with a capital FUCK.

Other than that... I'm doing good... HAH!!!!!!!!!!

a sick voyueristic nature

I was kidnapped Tuesday night. Held against my will in a date's house, he had remote controls for the doors and wouldn't let me out. I suppose it was my fault for putting myself in that situation- I have to look at my part as they say in NA. Fucking NA. Haven't been to a meeting in a while, praise the good lord above. Of course, now that Christmas is over, the 'rents are gonna jump back on my rear about meetings, meetings, meetings. I go, if only to placate them, but I seriously believe those bullshit sessions do more harm than good. By the time the hour is over, I'm shook up by everyone talking about how good it would feel to do one last shot. I could have done a hit right before the meeting, I still leave feeling sick. If it's not that, it's people talking about the stupid shit they did while smoking crack. We've all done stupid shit. I didn't realize these meetings are designated Story Hours, focusing specifically on stories that make the storyteller look like a total asshole. I think the only reason people keep coming back to those meetings is a sick voyueristic nature deep inside everyone. Listening to the struggles and the fuck-ups of strangers is riveting, and it keeps you from thinking about your own problems. But does it help? I'm sure it helps some, but most people I know have either left the program or go in-and-out, following a relapse/recovery relapse/recovery pattern. It's all a pile of shit.

The reason I got kidnapped was because I was making money to keep Micheal and I high and in a decent motel room. I love spending time with him, talking to him, holding to him, having sex with him, sleeping with me. Sometimes I wish I could stop loving him, but I can't. If shit doesn't work out between us this time, I'm joining the other team. I'm sick of men, they are all pretty much the same and I've heard it all before. But with Micheal, the biggest problem is his mama, Connie the Cunt (CtC). A couple hours after he left the house, CtC started calling me- and she didn't stop.

"I know Micheal is with you."

"Let me talk to Micheal!"

"Don't lie to me, tell me where he is."

"I'm going to press charges if he doesn't show up for work tommorow."

I covered for him, of course- I never saw him and he never saw me. We did have a great time together and got real high. Then I went to Miami to see my family, where I shot too much dope in the bathroom and almost fell out in front of my parents and aunts and uncle and everyone. It was wonderful and awful.

try me with pain, try me with fire
just deliver me my one desire
bind me, gag me, beat me up
but when you're through, fill up my cup
make me cry, make me bleed
but give me everything I need
stretch me on your torture rack
steal the clothing off my back
make my path a dreary black
just give me all that I lack
lock me up and toss the key
charge for it a deadly fee
make me miserable and blue
why even ask? you always do
destroy my joy, my faith, my trust
all I ask is that you're just
make sure the misery you serve
is exactly what I deserve
and when you finally kill me dead
send me back to hell instead
nothing to lose, nothing to gain
and by this point I like the pain
give it free and snatch it away
just like every other day
love me like a mother would
then take away all that is good
fill me up with all your lies
but when I'm god, everyone dies
amen

"...and this guy was an asshole!"

[[Clay Walker- 'Fore she was mama]]

I've come to my senses, that I've become senseless
I could give you lessons on how to ruin your friendships
Every last conviction, I smoked them all away
I drank my frustrations down the drain, out of the way
So I sit and wait and wonder
"Does anyone else feel like me?"
Someone so tired of their same routines and disappearing self-esteem
I could be an expert on co-dependency
I could write the best book on underage tragedy
I been spending my time at the local liquor store
And I been sleeping nightly on my best friend's kitchen floor
So I sit and wait and wonder
"Does anyone else feel like me?"
I'm so overdosed on apathy and burnt out on sympathy
Let the meaning slip away
Lost my faith in another day
Self-depreciation seems okay
I never thought I'd make it anyway
[the science of selling yourself short]

[[KoRn- Alone I break]]

You got your hair permed, you got your red dress on
Screaming that second gear is such a turn-on
Now the fog forming on my window tells me that the morning's here
And you'll be gone before too long
Where'd you learn those new tricks?
Man, I shouldn't start that talk
But life is one big question when you're staring at the clock
And the answer's always waiting at the liquor store
40 ounces to freedom, so I take that walk
And I know I'm not coming back
[40 oz to freedom]

[[Less Than Jake- Dope man]]

Last night I shot some dope and my entire arm blew up, shoulder to fingertips. It started burning real bad mid-push but I still finished it off. I told my dad a spider bit me, showing him two little [track marks] holes on my swollen hand. He worked for 15 minutes helping me get my rings off before they cut into my skin. The swelling is almost gone now, but I'm scared to put my rings back on. That shit hurt so bad, and scared me too. The rest of the batch didn't do anything like that to me, but it could have, and my brain pounded that into me every time I did a shot last night so I couldn't really enjoy my high. Micheal was supposed to call today, which he did, but I was sleeping and didn't answer the phone and now I'm hoping he calls back. We are spending the night together [[supposedly]]. Shit never seems to work out with us.

[[Carrie Underwood- Before he cheats]]

I haven't hit a meeting lately- not that I'm complaining or anything. I hate those stupid fucking meetings. Found a great website, gonna add it to my links. It's called AA De-programming, and it talks about all the bullshit you'll find in the program. That book I'm reading though, "12-step Horror Stories" is increasingly sounding like bullshit. 90% of the "horror stories" aren't about AA or NA, but about specific rehab centers or people. It's like, "I went to NA and this guy was an asshole!" Really, honey? You'd think in an entire group of basers, junkies, alkies, tweakers, pill poppers, geekers and burnouts that everyone would be nice, kind, and well-adjusted. Certainly no assholes there! It's the dumbest shit I've ever heard. That de-programming website kicks ass! Check my links for it.

[[Rick Ross- Hustlin']]

If I told you I cared, could I still smile
Without the vomit rising in my throat like bile?
If I told you I cared, could I still wake
Each day without feeling fake?
If you cared for me, you'd be there for me
And caring for you wouldn't be a bear for me
But you won't, so I don't,
Because it's one less burden to bear
If I pretend I don't care
But can I hide my love for you for another day?
At least until the sickness fades away?
I used to lie with you in bed and you were dead
With your lips turning blue and your arm dripping red
If I told you I cared, you'd piss and moan
And leave me here all alone
Hurting, crying, longing for your touch
So I don't care, because it hurts too much
I will always love you, no matter how you treat me
But I won't let you defeat me
Because you've destroyed the last of my trust
It makes me cry, but you and I can never be an us
You light up my world, I want to be your girl
But I don't want to die so I guess this is goodbye...

[[Big Boi- Kryptonite (I'm on it)]]

hookin' to pay the piper, trickin' to pay the reaper
the price keeps gettin' lower while the risk keeps gettin' steeper
shootin' up old Ben Franklin several times a day
smokin' up Andrew Jackson- is this the only way?
the cook, the sting, the blood, the rush, it's all I know I've got
but I convince myself that I don't care and prep another shot

[[Sublime- Garden grove]]

no one can ride forever

Laziness abounds within me, so I basically replicated my post from my other blog. It won't happen again, it just said what I had to say and I liked it.

All I can smell and taste is Altoids Mango Sours. I don’t like carrying spoons around with me, so I cook up in the tops of Altoids tins and leave the candy in them. That way if the cops search me, all I have is clean needles and candy, neither of which is against the law. Hooray for me. The problem is, sometimes the candy melts onto the top of the tin and of course when I’m sick I’m not gonna stop and wash it off (god forbid!) before I pour my shit out into it. I noticed when I was drawing up that my cotton was sticky, but I didn’t really care as I proceeded to do my wake-up shot. Bang bang, started untying the phone charger cord from my arm and waited for the muscle aches to fade. The taste of those fucking mango sours filled my mouth and nose. It got me well, but it’s been about an hour and I can still taste that shit. From now on I’m gonna wash out my tin top before blasting off, unless I’m real real sick and can’t wait the extra 30 seconds.

I'm reading a book called "12-Step Horror Stories" about people who were degraded and humiliated and rejected from AA/NA. It's really great, now I know I'm not the only one who thinks that the 12 steps are a huge pile of shit. I won't deny that they work for some... but they need to admit that they don't work for everyone. Of course they won't. The NAzi's "know" that The NA Way is The Only Way. And if you can get clean without their help, then I guess you were never really an addict to begin with. What a crock.

I’m dreading going to work today. It’s about 230 pm, I just woke up an hour ago and already have a couple dates set up around 4 pm. I could jump in the shower now and do them sooner, but my laziness is taking me over. I don’t even want to shower and wash my ass, that’s how unmotivated I am.

Just wait until you start sniffling again, Michelle. Wait until your stomach ties itself into a knot and won’t let anything in. Then you’ll remember your motivation, your reason for working, your reason for sucking and fucking your way through Friday night. Or maybe you shouldn’t wait until you remember. Maybe you should go out now and save yourself the pain.

It is better not to wait. But I got the confidence and laziness that comes from having another couple bags waiting for me in my purse, and am therefore sitting around the house, updating both my blogs, eating chips, talking on the phone, basically just doing what I did yesterday. Outside of the 2 dope runs I made last night (and they weren’t even really runs, because he delivered to right across the street from my house), I managed to sit inside in my pj’s the whole day long. Well, I also went to one NA meeting but I only go to those to appease the parentals, who are convinced that NA is The Only Way To Stay Clean And Sober. Hell, I’m living in their house. So I don’t complain. I go to the meetings, take my seat, send text-messages for an hour, smoke a cigarette outside while Guys With A Year Or More try to get my phone number, and roll on home. It’s not too much to ask in exchange for rent-free living. I actually did give one NA guy my number, but he didn’t want anything from me that had to do with sobriety. He wanted a date. That’s one of the ones I have set up for myself at 4 pm. God, am I lazy.

Last night, before I went to bed I did 4 bags at once. I don’t know why, it just seemed like a good idea. I’d never done 4 of that shit and I wanted to see what it would do. What happened was, I fell out for a good 3 hours sitting on the closed toilet with my pants up. I woke up leaning against the towel rack with a stream of dried blood dripping from my wrist down around my fingers. Lovely. I must’ve gotten really fucked up, wish I would have been there to enjoy it.

I suppose it’s time to get in the shower, go back to Dixie, and make the money I need to stay well. For me, being hooked on dope is like being at a locked-in carnival. When you first get there, it’s awesome. You can ride all the rides, try all sorts of new stuff, play games, hang with your friends, etc, and you’re having the time of your life. But after being there a while, you start to notice that some of the rides aren’t put together that well, and some of your friends die while riding them. You stand back and see all the imperfections, all the suckiness, all the terror and fear that you’ve been enjoying for so long, and it stops being fun. But you can’t leave. And the rides look so exciting, so tempting, that you stop looking for a door and jump back on the Tilt-A-Whirl with the decision to just ride until you die.

But no one can ride forever.

To the day that we part
From the beginning, right back at the start
There will always be that love for bliss
And unacheivable unfathomed euphoria
To where only you can take me
And yet only you can break me
You are my Savior, my Killer, nothing less
I need a fix, I need to fill that emptiness
You creep around with your scaly self
Seething, burning, making me cry
Writhing, dying, I just wanted to say goodbye
But never just once, you're too precious to waste
Never satisfied by your vile taste
So I lick again, cringe, and trail off into space
Until I'm on the mountaintop
Looking into forever and all
Slipped, and down I fall
But together we'll find the ground
You are my rail and always to my avail
But please don't leave me now
I can make it work somehow