Thursday, May 20, 2010

All I ever see around her are things of hers.

I'm really sad right now. I got an email and it was perfect, and I'm watching this movie that I really like. Its called " I love your work". Its about this movie stars decent into madness. I have a headache, and I swear to you there is no such thing as true love.

My mind is a very fragile thing. Too much of something or too little of something and there is no coming back for days. I lay in the fetal position and cry and cry, then I let my imagination blur with reality. Sometimes for days and days my parents will have to put up with me living as I imagine Courtney Love would, or as some imaginary person I made up. Most recently her name was Jody.

Right now my Methadone dose is way too low, and the shock from the Suboxone has taken its toll. I admit I'm not taking my medication, and that is another reason I've been blogging so much, and so non scenically. I can't fucking eat. I fucking eat when I'm sad, and I'm sad without wanting to eat. I probably have a hunger headache plus too many cigarettes.

Every five minutes I feel I HAVE to write something down. I grab a notebook, or the laptop and just write. Not five hours ago I was able to write coherently. Now my thoughts are all disorganized. I want to write an email back, but I can't bring myself to do it. I'm at a loss. I'm disappointed in myself. I wish I could crawl into someone else. I wish for just a minute I had someone to lay next to in the fetal position. I wish someone would wipe my tears from my eyes. Right now they are streaming from my eyes, and I can't pinpoint exactly what made the water works flow. My room is a mess, and its really smokey in here even though I have a fan in the window. My really soft 2000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets have juice spilled all over them, and I have cigarette burns in every blanket I own from nodding out.

I feel like an idiot kid. Wearing some clothes that don't even match. I called my friend and she made me laugh. The only thing we talk about is opiates and benzos. I guess there are only two things I really love to talk about, opiates and benzos. I wish I could play the guitar. I can't be myself, I can't be by myself, I want to be quiet whenever I want. I'm taking the cure. I'm gonna drink, drink, drink, until this hole in my soul is gone.

I JUST WANT TO FALL IN LOVE. No back dream fuckers gonna boss me around. You can't help me get over Kurt Cobain. I need to take a shower, and I wanna fight fate. You think I ought to shake your motherfucking hand. Come here by me, I want you here by me. Nightmares becoming real, its so fucking clear. I'm going to drink my self in to slow mo. Anything to pass the time. All we have is wine. All you do is read my words that all just a long drawn out wine. I'm dreadful sorry. Nobody would have me how I am. I don't want to walk around. I don't even want to breath. I live in a small town where all I can do is grit my teeth.

How come your not saying a word. I'm sorry your the one I regard. Nobodies looking now, no-ones about to shout. I wouldn't have you how you are. There my headache is going away. I think I can breath a bit more freely. Wait I need to smoke. Here we are were stupid shit collides. I keep looking at my healed track marks, and noticing veins that are supple ready for a poke, and I can't help wanting to kiss a fresh track mark, trace along a boys body his huge veins. Tie a tourniquet around his arm, puncture the skin and slip the needle into his huge vein, watch the blood blossom in crimson, push the plunger in. Watch his pupils constrict, his body slump as the warmth of the shot pulses throughout his body. Watch his jugular pulse and rush the blood to his head. Kiss his Jugular. Touch his neck. There is nothing more sexy than watching a man shoot up for his first time. You know your watching a beautiful car wreck. Watching as the wave of nausea hits, and he runs to the bathroom to vomit, and you know its a good vomit. A good shot, not wasted. How little dope it took to get him high. How much it took me to get just as high.

I want someone to deliver me my Heroin. I want someone to kiss my fresh track mark. There are no huge veins on my body anymore, just large tracks up my arms and down my hands. I want someone to show me around Alphabet town. I know what you are I just don't mind. Its what I want.

I'm just a junky girl, you can do it if you want to. I traced your footsteps in reverse up to Queens. I wouldn't be a hero if I wasn't such a zero.


Gledwood said...

no huge veins on me either

i actually managed to get one on my arm, twice in a row, the other day, which is a wonder

i have been injecting in my legs for years

when the hit is done i have to point foot to ceiling in some strange balletic move, in order to pour the poppy-juice down to my brainbox

if i don't, the circulation is so shyte, it will only sink to my foot and itch away. afghan brown heroin #3 with vitamin c or citric acid

I'm at a loss. I'm disappointed in myself. I wish I could crawl into someone else. I wish for just a minute I had someone to lay next to in the fetal position. I wish someone would wipe my tears from my eyes.

i've got a counselling session this morning. i was up at six

2x everybody loves raymond and frasier come on from about 7am now it's 2x will and grace. the only thing i like about that is squeaky-lady

at the counselling i had before, over 10 yrs ago, i was being told "you're an addict, you're an addict" but i didn't think i was

even the local druggieservice agreed.

what the counsellor spotted was the attitude, but the behaviour didn't match, as i was still able NOT to use ~ i had a drawerful of ecstasy (well, about 5 pills) that i had no occasion to use as i gave up going out after new years 2000. they were no temptation. then i took one when i was withdrawing. big mistake. i spent all night sweating and dilirious sat up in bed. at 3am i had a shower to get the sweaty muck off

my old counsellor told me i ended up curled in the foetal position sobbing, that i needed more help than she could give me, that i needed a psychiatrist not just a counsellor. but i distrusted psychiatry and treated myself with heroin and heroin made me feel wonderful

incidentally i cannot remember crying like that in session, but i trust her recollection. i do not want to remember or feel or relive

all i wanted in the end was to get high or to die. most addicts are not afraid of death. it is life that terrifies us

Anonymous said...

Your writing brings me down. I wish you would fuckin just put that needle in your arm and kill yourself.

Anonymous said...

Anna, I truly wish the best for you but please stop misusing Elliott like that. You shouldn't reduce yourself to a cliche. There is more to you than that. Elliott was cleaning up when he died. He wanted to be healthy, raise a family. Unfortunately he had dr's who filled him full of dangerous psychotics and when he wanted to quit, it was too much too soon and he went over the edge.

He hated it when people used his music to legitimize destructive choices. His music is about hope. He would want for you to growth through where you are now and emerge as a better, more fulfilled person. XO

AnnaGrace said...

I regret misusing Elliott's words. The fact remains I am a cliche'. There is absolutly nothing original about me. Believe me I've looked.

I've stolen from Elliott a million times over. I'm so glad someone noticed. I feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I disagree that his work was about hope. I do agree though that had he not killed himself and had unfournate chance in meeting me, he would have wanted for me to grow, and emerge as a better more fullfilled person.

Thanks for commenting.


AnnaGrace said...

Gled, I've got the picture in my head of you pointing your foot to the ceiling and letting the blood flow to your head, although I find in my imagination your naked and look like Marry Poppins.

Life is what terrifies me. Wanting to not plagurize, wanting to be original, wanting to follow through with something for the first time in my 27 years. All those things scare me to death. Which is why I cling to idea of suicide so much. I feel such saftey in suicide.

Geld, I'm so curious as to what you look like, and how you live your life day to day. You facinate me to no end. Your so full of information, to me that is one of the most sexy traits in a human being. Even if it were useless information. Your sort of like haveing an encyclopida to talk to.

AnnaGrace said...

Sorry I bring down anon. Maybe you shouldn't read anymore.

Carrion Doll said...

anon, if it's that bad go find something else to read you fucking idiot. p i think your the one who needs to end it. people like you are a waste of good breathing air for the rest of us.

Anna, your beautiful, your writing is ...I don't have a good enough word right now for it. Too much methadone for me and not enough sleep,lol.
~Carrion Doll