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?

the robot voice

My entries sure have been few and far between. Shane (my bestest buddy) wrote a poem for me! Here's how it goes:

She sleeps with the sun and walks with the moon
She stares at her reflection in a spoon
You can't judge her for that
She knows where her head is at!

Shane is such a sweetheart. I threw my roomie out in the street. She promised a thousand times over that she'd have her half of the rent payed on time and come rent day, she's nowhere to be found. In fact, I still haven't seen her. Hope she didn't get roped off! Actually, I couldn't care less. I gathered her crap and put it out on Dixie Highway. Now when I say I "put it out on Dixie Highway" I don't mean I placed it on the sidewalk or at a bus stop. I mean I scattered her shit all over US-1. She picked the wrong manic-depressive crack-smoking heroin addict to fuck with, you know? Joe (my old roomie) served his 10 days in the county lockup and is back to living with me at the motel. He used to snort a lot of heroin, and he asked me specifically not to offer him any and if he did ask me for some, to tell him no because he doesn't want to get back involved in that. Props! I wish it was that easy for me. Sometimes I wish that all my connects would just disappear into the stratosphere so that I would be forced to quit. Ah, wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first...

Me and Greg are back together after the son-of-a-bitch dumped me on my birthday. I hated him for a couple days over that, but I can look back and see what he was pissed off about- me and Shane! But Shane's old lady is out of jail too (she gained about 15 pounds- girl looks good!) so now it's back to Me+Greg and Shane+Kim which is the way it should be. I'm not gonna say I don't like Shane, because that would be a lie. Sometimes I think about giving Greg the ol' Fuck You note and taking Shane as my own. But I'm really in love with Greg, although no one understands it. I've heard people say that he's a creepy old man (he's 49) who is taking advantage of a young girl (I'm 22) but it totally doesn't seem like it. That could be part of the whole "taking advantage" part though. Whatever, I'm not your average 22-year-old. I know where my head is at! I'm more like 22 going on 50.

My heroin habit is spiraling out of control. I shot 15 1/2 bags yesterday and finally had to go to sleep at 8pm to prevent me from doing any more. I also shot coke yesterday for the first time in almost 2 months. Just 2 shots! It was nice to hear the robot voice again (that's Micheal's term for how odd everything sounds right after a big coke shot) but I was glad that I barely had any. The last thing I need is to go through a whole pile of the shit to where I'm shaking too bad to hit a vein and end up with 2 totally numb arms from missing. Ugh. I did them 2 shots back to back, followed them with a shot of dope, 2 joints, and another shot of dope. I was shitfaced! Felt great. Argh, that's the problem- that it feels great! I wish getting high felt shitty, then maybe I would quit. Actually I don't think I would stop getting high just cause I didn't enjoy it. I would be a lot more depressed though. Fuck! I thought I had it that time.

I met a new friend out on Dixie. She works at one of the "jack shacks" and says she gets at least $200 per custie. Why do I care? She says she can get me a job there! Yey! Problem is, my tracks are so noticable that I wouldn't hire me if I wasn't me. I found an awesome vein on my inner arm between my wrist and my elbow and I managed to put holes down the entire length of it. Once you mix my lack of common sense, my desperation and my need to get high, anything can be done. But it's all bruised and swollen, and... well, I'll take a camera-phone pic and see if I can't get some new pictures onto this mo-fucker. I guess that's all I really have to say- I don't know what I came on here to really talk about.

I'm hooked on these smoothies called Naked Juice, especially the one called Green Machine. Props!
http://www.nakedjuice.com/main.php

"as far as hookers go, you're like fucking Hemingway"

LSD

Later on in life
Something in my mind will slip and
Down, down, down I'll trip and fall on my pride

Loathing myself for all I've done
Sun, stars, and the moon have died
Deader than I've ever been

Living a lie I don't even understand
Submerged in catastrophic confusion
Dreams and reality become one and the same

Losing the last shreds of my sanity
Smiling, because I know that I
Did it all to myself

I WISH

I wish I had a vein
I wish each day didn't bring a fresh wave of pain
I wish that I was sane

I wish that I could cope
I wish that I could smile without being full of dope
I wish I had more hope

Of course I love a good hit
But the rest of the time it just makes me feel like shit
I wish that I could quit

I wish I wasn't bored
I wish my depression would finally reveal it's core
I wish I wasn't a whore

I wish I wasn't cursed with charm
I wish I could wake up without a needle in my arm
I wish I could cause some harm

I wish I made more bread
I wish I could quiet the noise that fills my head
I wish I wasn't dead

RUNNING OUT

"You shouldn't have finished that dope, Michelle!"
I just woke up and I'm going through hell
I would give both my legs and an arm to get well
And no one has shit that they're willing to sell
Crying and craving that damn needle stick
I won't survive another cold-turkey kick
This is the monster that I'll never lick
Pain I can handle, but I can't take the sick

If I don't write poetry sometimes, my brain feels full and it literally hurts. I don't pause and think about what the next line or the next rhyme will me, it just flows out of my mind through the pen and into the notebook I have set aside for my poems. I mean, I'll go back and fix shit but I'd rather not improve upon them because I like my poems best in their natural state. "LSD" was written during a strange acid trip. "I WISH" was written after I struggled for over 15 minutes trying to hit a vein, then gave up for a while and whipped out the notebook. Amazingly enough, after writing the poem and tying up again, I hit on my first try. Maybe my brain just needed to be emptied so I could concentrate on what the fuck I was doing. "RUNNING OUT" was written in mid-sweat with tears streaming down my face. Killer. I guess I'm pretty good at writing poems. Someone wrote me an email and in it he wrote something along the lines of "as far as hookers go, you're like fucking Hemingway." Mad props. I'll take that as a compliment, no other way to take it. I guess.

I got myself a new roommate, a girl this time! A workin' girl too. I would say she's the only Dixie ho I could stand to live with. Street meat, har! She's a big time basehead and shoots dope but she doesn't have a habit. She actually doesn't know how to boot up, she always has me hit her. I don't mind, seeing that she has to go through my people to cop and therefore always ends up breaking me off.

I smoked too much crack last night and ended up having to take tons of my Seroquel just to come off it. I don't know what it was about the dope because it really wasn't that much, it was just super good and I got super-jonesy which I usually don't get from smoking crack. Shooting powder, that's a different story- I'm all like more more more more MORE!!!!! Another thing that sucks about shooting coke is that after the first shot my hands shake like a mother and it's hard to hit. I'll get a vein perfect, but when I go to push it in I shake and the fucking shit moves on me so I see my skin start to swell and I'm like fuck! Then I have to stop and find the damn vein again and hope my hands stay steady enough to get off. Cause missing with coke sucks, it burns and then the spot goes numb and you can get an abscess real easy. If my hands are shaky when I'm shooting up, it's better to try and hit my foot because then I got both hands free- one to hold the needle steady and one to draw up and push in the plunger. I haven't shot coke in a minute though. Hooray for me! As good as a screaming coke shot feels, it's not really worth the aching jones and the difficulty hitting a vein and the having to do it every 5 1/2 seconds and the always-there possibility of doing just a wee bit too much and having a fucking seizure. Yes, I have coke seizures! I don't actually remember having them, because I black out seizures. But I've heard from several different people that after coming out of a coke seizure I'm scared of everyone and everything around me and I literally start screaming at the top of my lungs. That must freak people out, especially when they're high on coke too. I know I'd freak out if it happened to someone I was getting high with. Crazyness.

Blah blah blah, this is one long-ass post, huh? My head was so full and I had to empty it. Isn't that what a blog is for, to empty your brain to complete strangers? I can't think of another reason to have one. Writing is fucking catharsis to me. One of these days I'm gonna write my whole life story.

Right now I'm hanging out at a friend's house, typing away on his laptop. I was gonna go to the library today to update but I managed to get there less than 10 minutes before it closed. I didn't have my phone on me (I had forgotten it at the house and my roomie had it because she doesn't have a room key and didn't want to leave it in the unlocked room) so I had no clue what time it was. God forbid they equip motel rooms with a fucking clock of some sort. Usually the microwave tells time, but not mine. Shitty.

Greg dumped me on my birthday! Can you believe that shit? He was jealous of Shane living with me so he hurt me bad and dumped me. I spent half the day crying. I trusted Shane with my fucking life and I left him alone for one night to go to Miami and he sold Joe's phone to a crack dealer. The worst part was that when I asked him about it, he denied it. My best friend in the entire world looked right into my eyes and lied to me. That cut me DEEP. I don't know if I can ever trust him again! He wrote me the sweetest birthday cards though, and Greg didn't get me shit. Nice boyfriend, huh? But me and Greg are back together for some reason. I really do love him though. Everyone I love hurts me. He has the other room key which is why Billi (my roomie) doesn't have one.

My life is so goddamn complicated...

our daily thunderstorm

Happy birthday to me! Now I'm 22 years old.

Just checking in after being gone a while. My dope habit is better than it has been, but it's still there keeping me in check. Yesterday I was sicker than I've been in a while, and none of my 4 dealers felt like answering their phone. Out for the weekend, bitch ass dealer? At least answer the phone and let me know so I don't continue to dial your number for the next few hours and burst into tears when I get your answering machine.

I left detox and moved in with a male roomie. He payed half the rent and drove me around all the time. Last night he got arrested taking his chica on a crack run, and he doesn't even smoke. Got pulled over for only having one headlight and found a warrant for a failure to appear. I checked pbso.org police blotter and found out that no, they didn't do a process and release and yes, they did take him upstairs. I might have to find myself a new roomate/ride around the city.

Shane is staying with me. He doesn't have a heroin habit so when I throw him a bag he gets twisted. Jealousy jealousy. Greg hates that Shane is living with me. More jealousy. Truth is, I am sleeping with him. But so what? He doesn't have to know that. He doesn't even know about this blog. Har!

Went to Miami Beach for the fourth, it was pretty uneventful. I didn't bring enough h with me so I was sick as a dog pretty much from the time the sun went down on. We watched a movie, which I continued to say seemed like we had walked in right in the middle. After watching most of it, my cousin read the DVD box where it clearly stated: "Disc Two". I asked if we could watch Disc One next time I came over.

Been smoking tons of pot lately, mostly because of my room mate (Joe) is a major smoker. Been off the coke though, with a few exceptions. The weather sucks here in south Florida in the summer- hotter than hell all day and all night except in the afternoon, when we get our daily thunderstorm. It's pouring right now. Don't know what else to say really... except that I MISS BLOGGER AND OPIOPHILE!!! I wish I had a laptop or something.

Until next time.

there is no in-between for me

I don't like the drugs but the drugs like me. That's a lie. I like the drugs plenty. Quitting drugs is harder than leaving a long relationship. You know it's unhealthy, you know nothing good can come of it but if I put all the dope and coke and crack and bong-hits aside, the world would be a different place. MY world would be a different place. Will it be better in the long run, and even if so, what about the short term? Can I really walk out of this detox and never pick up another bag of heroin? Never again hit a crack stem or a joint or anything that enhances my lonely existance and gives me something to look forward to? I guess I'm sitting on the pity pot. The sick has mostly passed, but now I'm facing months of discomfort, insomnia, restlessness, shaking, boredom, and basically feeling wrong and bad. Like right now as I type this, it's about 80 degrees and I'm shivering bad every few seconds. I can't function without my opiates. Is this what I want? Or do I want to roll back to where I was before entering this detox, waking up sick and only having that one wake-up shot to screw my head on right 15 minutes before my rent is due? There is no in-between for me, I'm a full-fledged heroin addict.

If I really clean up my act- no heroin at all- I can move. I'd be free from the H-ball and chain and could leave without having to worry about enough to last for the trip plus the time it would take to find a good h source wherever I go. Even if I only move to Miami, it's still a change of scenery.

But it's a conundrum. What would be the point of having gone through all this pain, sickness, sweat, tears, seizures, torture, and boredom if I'm just gonna fall of the wagon right when I first get out? Why bother staying till tommorrow if I'm gonna hit the strip and call [dopegirl's name deleted] the second I arrive?

I have a feeling that when I write my next post, I'll be high on heroin. That thought kind of depresses me, but it's just facing reality. At least they just gave me my valium.

the pokey bloody goodness

I'm in detox, woohoo! Actually it's a big flaming fiery hell. When I first got here, I slept for 10 hours and woke up wishing for death. They couldn't give me meds because I was just puking em up non stop, so I ended up with 4 needles in the butt. Then my face muscles locked up and my whole face turned to the right. My tongue tried to force itself into the back of my throat and I was talking like a Down's syndrome patient. God damn that shit was scary.

This is like... day four. When I first came in here, I was determined that I was gonna do the right thing. Hell, I wanted it more than anything!! Anything was better than the way I was living: sharing a motel room with someone I don't even like just because he had a car and didn't ask me for crack or heroin ever. Tricking on the streets, well I might keep that one because the money is so farkin' good. But I was sick of the sick. WAS... now that's the key word in that sentence.

Now I can't wait for the pokey bloody goodness that accompanies a big shot of heroin. Maybe it'll go away after I totally get well, or maybe not. Either way if worst comes to worst, I can always kill myself. KIDDING!!! Just kidding!!! Or is that just what I want people to believe? Bwahahahahaha!!!! God, I'm such a goof nugget sometimes, no?

So now I'm stuck. I don't want to be a junkie ass addict again, but I can't imagine doing ANYTHING that involves leaving the house without a shot first. Maybe I could start doing it only on weekends? Hah, that's a funny joke. Maybe I'm in the wrong business, I should be a stand up comic, because that was such a funny joke. Me... as in Michelle Angelina... using heroin... just on weekends? Fucking stupidly hilarious, but also very sad. I'm looking so forward to getting a bag. I got either 3 or 4 more days, then I hit the strip and start the fuck over. It's a depressing situation.

But fuck depression. I can overcome it and if I need chemical assistance then so be it. I might write again before I leave detox but probably not. This is my room mate's laptop that I'm typing on right now.

sick, depressed, and miserable

Yo, it's me...

I know I haven't written in a minute. I got thrown out of where I was living for using heroin. Imagine that. So I moved into a shitty motel in Lantana, the town right south of Lake Worth. I was living there with a guy I don't even like to split the rent and even with that I barely got my rent payed. I spent 20 hours of the day sleeping and when I was awake I was constantly sticking myself with needles until (duh) my veins went away. I got none left. My last hit of my whole life was a skin-pop.

Yeah, my last hit. I'm going to detox. Again. Maybe it'll work this time because I'm sick, depressed, and miserable. I haven't been able to really get out of bed for days, except to go do Extacy and shoot benzos with this awesome guy I met on Opiophile. Well he didn't shoot benzos, but he gave me the benzos to shoot.

I don't think I've ever hated my life more than I do right now.