Sunday, June 30, 2013
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Friday, June 28, 2013
No one ever needed to worry about me. Even when they did.
Now, I'm not crazy, I know that is not the appropriate response to have to that and I've discussed it with my shrink.
I just want to know what it's like to be able to completely abandon all responsibilities and even reality and devote oneself 100% to their drug addiction. I see images of junkies in a nod and all I feel is a envy. "Look how content they are. They literally do not give any of the fucks about anything." and the next thought is "How can they live like that?" I find myself almost passing judgement but at the same time wishing I could live with that sort of reckless abandon. I want to know what it's like to be that fucking selfish. I swear, junkies have to be the most selfish people on the planet. I'm doing everything that I'm supposed to be doing. Where's my 90 day vacation where I get to spend the whole time working with a team of professionals trying to get to the bottom of why I am the way I am???
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
My son didn't make it. 1yr using, 5yrs methadone. He tapered off, in my opinion too quickly, then used-
after drinks with friends
Killing him - three days dead on the floor I found him.
I thought he was doing great! I kept asking him "are you ok? Are you sure?"
He always said he was fine.
What I was clueless to was how hard it was to come off methadone.
I hate myself for not knowing enough about this insidious disease.
I wish I could save someone.
Here is information about the DOPE Project. It also has a video attached
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Monday, June 24, 2013
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Friday, June 21, 2013
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
I had two junkie choices of either New York or San Francisco. These were the only places I was SURE I could get heroin in either place. I had been to New York City in 1988. We slept in our car at Tompkins Square Park. We drank blackberry flavored brandy to say warm. This was the first time I saw a dead person (or thought was dead) on the street. His body was blocking my path. I asked my friend "what do I do?" He said "This is New York, step over him". It was in the 30s at night. I was freezing cold. We never found heroin or pills. We got loaded on something or another but it was not the place for me. I had it in my mind I would try my hand at San Francisco.
I was staying with a friend briefly but he was going to the University of San Francisco. He agreed to let me stay in his dorm. I must heartily apologize to him in this public forum. I was a train wreck from day one. I needed to get out in the mix. Where can I get some drugs? Where could I find someone? They would be able to hook me up with what I needed if i could only find them. I also had a few friends that had moved to the city. I knew if I could find Slick, I would be in good shape. That money was burning a hole through my pocket.
Up until this point in my life, I used drugs but I never had easy access to them. I also was the kind of person that had a job. I either went to school or worked or both. My parents did help me out but most of vices were funded by my own labor. San Francisco would become a total departure from everything I knew of life. No job, no place to live, drugs everywhere. When I was a teenager, my friend and I used to listen to the band Fang. They used to sing songs about the Tenderloin, being a junkie, being completely free and not giving a fuck. The cab driver told me on the way from the Greyhound station : "This is the Tenderloin. Do NOT come here." That moment will always be cemented in my memory. That was the day when I found everything I wanted in one place. My life changed when I set foot on the bricks of the Civic Center. I had a return trip ticket but I never came back. My life was here.
I need directions. "Can you tell me which bus will take me downtown? I need the Tenderloin..."
To be continued...
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Monday, June 17, 2013
Selling drugs sucks when you are an addict. How much can I use of my own supply? Then you are having to turn sick people down all day long. Then people are willing to degrade themselves while you are witness and collect on their misery. In addition, there is the issues of storage of said drugs. It seems like drugs and money spend a lot of time nestled in the crotch area. And five hundred dollars in a condom in your vagina is not comfortable in case you wondered about it. Nor is a package that has to be sorted through by touch while one leg is up on a car. It's a wonder I ever had children at all with the amount of bacteria that was up in that area.
Having a bottomless supply made it easier for me to use more, care less. Not more heroin, more of everything I could get my hands on. I liked to use heroin, speed and coke in the same syringe. I would feel normal, just for a few minutes. Then my mood would be as dark as my circumstances until i had time to get that perfect combination. nothing made me happy except money and freedom. Honestly, I did not have much of either. I was working around the clock but I was always alone. I trusted no one, including myself.
This is me and my homegirl in 98. We were clean but not cured by any standards.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
THE DEPTH OF MY INSANITY
Step Two: Came to believe a Power greater thanmyself could restore me to sanity.
The first time I sought help from a 12 Step program I became acquainted with Step 2. My first reaction was that it did not apply to me. Being a devout atheist I had no reason to succumb to this concept of weakness. Also, I was clearly NOT insane.
Up until this time I had defined Insanity in much the same manner that I’m sure most of us do. By my own definition: which I had come to with my own personal experience with the mentally ill. You know, the folks on the bus talking to themselves. Clearly I was not of this lot.
Like most Drunks I had come to the realization that my drinking was a real problem. I had transcended recreational drinking. I had arrived to the point where every time I drank, I got drunk. Well, not “every time”. But to be honest, in the last five or so years of my drinking, the only times I drank and did not get drunk were because it was impossible; ran out of money, at work etc. I had, on several occasions, drank myself into actual alcohol dependency, whereas I needed medical detox to get off the sauce. In every instance where I was in detox I always drank the day I was released (you know, to celebrate a job well done!)
OK, so maybe I was insane. After all, I did a lot of CRAZY shit when I was drunk: stealing cars, getting into fights with police officers, public nudity etc. Oh yeah, I did drugs! Now I do not consider myself a drug addict, though I have done far more drugs than a lot of people I have met in NA meetings. I believe that my drug usage was a result of my ALCOHOLIC thinking.
Let’s take crack for example. I have smoked a few thousand metric tons of crack. But, not one single time was I ever sober and decided to smoke crack, the thought would never cross my mind. Yet, add some booze to me and the idea of smoking crack seemed like a WONDERFULL idea. Pretty SANE huh?
Modern Psychiatry defines insanity, in a nutshell, as: “The complete inability to know the truth”. Sound familiar?
The last five years of my drinking was an absolute nightmare. I was married with three children and was completely unable to care for my family; booze had rendered me completely un-employable. I could not go to work because when I would woke up (come to) I was stricken with tremors and anxiety attacks that only a few drinks could quell.
Booze is a mysterious thing. It is a vehicle to delusion. My mind was as deeply addicted to delusion as my body was to the alcohol. I was Peter Pan and Vodka was the Pixie Dust that brought me to Neverland. I had come to AA believing I had a drinking problem. I was wrong. Booze was NOT my problem. Booze was my SOLUTION. Booze was the solution to happiness, sadness, anger, frustration, success, failure ad infinitum.
The truth was, every time I took a drink a chain reaction occurred. Every time I took a drink I wanted another, the more I drank, the more I craved. My thirst for alcohol was insatiable. Every time I drank I COULD NOT STOP. Every time I drank I would do absurd and tragic things.
So when drunk, I did insane things. This was NOT the insanity of my alcoholism. The INSANITY of my alcoholism was the fact that prior to drinking I had no idea these things were going to happen, despite the fact that they happened every time I was drunk. (Remember: The complete inability to know the truth)
Today, I know the truth about myself. The first drink gets you drunk. How does that even make sense? Well, let me tell you: if you get hit by a train, it’s not the caboose that kills you. After seven years of sobriety I can clearly see that my behavior could not be described as anything short of mental illness.
I have mastered my drinking problem. By that I mean that the problem of the drink no longer exists for me. I have recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body. What was it that did this for me? It was a Higher Power. At first, that Higher Power was the meetings themselves. Then it was sponsor. Today, I have a profound relationship with a God of my own understanding. Today, I believe that I was truly insane, lost in a dreamlike existence where I could not cope with reality. Today, I live in reality and have learned to roll with the punches of life. I believe that I have transcended insanity to sanity and it was a power greater than myself that did it.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
Today, I have a small wake up. This requires me pulling both pair of pants down to my knees while I am still warm enough that the veins are up. I can sit behind teis shopping cart and dig for at least twenty minutes before anyone will really notice. I am camped with two other people. One has been up on speed for four days and finally crashed. He won't wake up even when the street cleaning truck comes six inches from his head. The other is still sipping on a forty ounce left from when the corner store closed at two am. If he can hold on a little longer, the store will open again at 6 before he gets the shakes. I think he smoked some crack or something because I see his eyes are full of black pupils. He normally avoids my morning ritual. He says he hates needles.
I have two outfits (aka syringes) and some sterile water. There is so much cut in the black tar I can smell the coffee. I have a burn cooker from the bottom of a can. I will have to take some cotton from my sock. This five dollar piece of dope is going to do nothing but take the sick off of me. The matches start to burn my fingers but I dare not move. I need this hit. The dope is hot. I am cold. I feel it burning. I pull up the poison. I find a vein, a roller in my leg. I pray to the God of junkies. Let this be the hit that relieves my suffering but does not kill me. A five dollar piece never should kill someone but I might die from the infection that goes with it. I feel the hot liquid overflow into my muscle. Damn. I missed part of it. I rub it in a circle. I feel nothing but a sore spot and some regret. I should have tried somewhere else. Im cold now. I pull my pants up. The guy walking through the alley must have gotten quite a show.
I should get up now. I have no food, no money. Its almost time though. The dealers will be on Eddy soon. Maybe I can make some sales. I have one clean needle left. I have the whole day in front of me and a habit. Time to get to work.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Friday, June 7, 2013
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNmx1r0Cx8M Including one of my favorite songs ever
Monday, June 3, 2013
I am letting the past steal from my present when sit and feel sorry for myself. Boo fucking hoo. No more. Not today. Not this week. Join me. Make a list. Set a goal. Take some action.