Friday, July 9, 2010

You'll only like me if you're all Smacked up

For those few of you who are not junkies who read my blog, when I say Smacked up, I mean Junk, Heat, Horse, Henry, Judas(my personal favorite, your best friend who betrays you) H, Skag, and of course Heroin.

I am once again reading Junky by Willaim S. Burroughs. My favorite author of all time. My favorite book of all time. I'm reading it in paper back not on my nook, because why download a book that I already have. You can thank Burroughs for all the names for Heroin I have up there. Judas I knew before I read Junky. I found it on a website once. It was a website for parents to help them detect if their child was using Heroin. It gave all signs that your child is high. Pinned pupils. Slurred speech. Nodding out mid sentence and coming back to without noticing they were unconscious for up to a few minutes. Slowed breathing. Scratching. I had all these signs, but I was on medication for my Manic Depression so my parents just decided it was a side effect from those medications. It wasn't until I my mom noticed the bloody track marks on my hands that I tried to cover with makeup that they realized I was playing with fire. They just couldn't believe that their only living child would dance with the devil. So even after they figured it out, when I would come around them high they would pretend to not notice it because they didn't want to believe it. Only when I was blasted out of my mind and was unable to even stand up that my mom would cry and my dad would scream at me. I would just swing in and out of consciousness, feeling heavenly. Nothing was wrong even though my mom was crying and my dad would be too if he wasn't so mad.

So tomorrow is the big day. I see the Jess guy that I know from my past and that I've been texting again recently. I haven't seen him in about six years. This is a big leap for me. On average I hate people. There are very few people that I like. They have to be very smart, and normally they have to hate my guts for me to like them. Jess doesn't seem to hate my guts, but I liked him the fist time I met him, because in my mind of course he hated my guts. He was smart and funny. I was quiet and dumb. In my mind I'm also choosing a person over a refined plant. I love Heroin and all other Opiates. I know for sure that I love Opiates, I've known that since I was 19. I have no clue if I love Jess. I know I like him. I know he's funny. I know he's smart. I know he's hot. I don't know if I'm good at sex anymore. I'm scared about that. I'm out of shape, sex is an athletic activity. Fuck, at least I'll burn some calories. He'll get some pussy, if I suck oh, well I tried. The texing will stop and there will be no more sex for me. I'll start over on another 2 years. Hopefully it won't be as long as that this time. I do love giving head though, and if I had Ice/Clear/Crystal Meth I know I'd be a great fuck because that shit make me as horny as a rapist. Here in the Midwest Ice isn't that abundant and I probably wouldn't use it if it was offered. I said probably. Depended on how nervous I was. Crack/Coke does the same thing, but its much more fleeting. You need hit after hit of that shit. Ice you just need one hit and it last you at least a half hour if not two hours or more.

I guess I don't have to choose tomorrow between dope and Jess. I have time. He might decide he doesn't like me. He hasn't seen me in six years. I've gained weight. The nice thing about being an addict is I always have dope to lean on if I get hurt. If weren't an addict I might be suicidal. Sorry Jess, but you haven't gotten too me so much that I'd be suicidal over you if you didn't like me. That would take a while. Although I do become suicidal over trivial things. Mostly internal things.

The Young's are suicideing themselves out of existence. Its a fact. Its all been men so far. Its a fact men commit suicide more often than women. Women attempt suicide more often than men. Men just complete the act more often. Its because men use guns mainly when killing them self. Guns and Rope. My Grandpa used engine exhaust. My dad tried rope, but my mom cut him down before he strangled to death. Luckily he didn't know how to tie a knot that could break his neck automatically. You'd never guess that my dad tried to commit suicide. He's a macho man. It just runs through our veins. My dad found his dad dead in his truck in our garage. My dad was 33, I was 7 and Angie was 6 my mom was my age 27. We all saw him. My mom was a nurse and tried to give him CPR. Then the ambulance came and put a sheet over him. We waited for the Medical Examiner. I stood by and kept bending a spoon back and forth. That night my parents brought me and Angie to the bar. It was a bar that my Grandma Betty's brother owned. I called it Jimmy's, but it was called Bitter's Inn. Its all burned into my head. Second day I brought it up, or is it the third? Fuck it, I won't talk about it ever again. Not on here anyway. My there rapist make me talk about it all the time. How do you feel about... What are your thoughts on... Do you spit or swallow?

Tomorrows blog is going to called Softly Spoken Lies. I am excited to write it. Its gonna be one of those one with pretty imagery, and pretty words. The kind I write few and far inbewteen. I've already stared thinking about it today. I don't have to leave for Jess' until around 6pm. So I can blog still. It might be all about Jess, but in a beautiful way.

Today at the clinic I had to get my blood taken. The nurse couldn't find a vein on me. I know how to find a vein, so she handed it over to me. I hit on my first try. As soon as I saw the blood blossom into the syringe I felt that rush. My heart began to flutter, and the warmth ran up the back of my head. Only for a few seconds, but it was glorious. I felt high for a few seconds. It was like when I read one of Heroinheads blog posts. I told my councilor about it, and she said, its normal for IV drug users to become hooked to the needle just as much as they are hooked to the Heroin or Opiate. Cooking up was and is one of my favorite thing to do. I took pride in cooking my H. Water, citric acid, tourniquet, syringe, spoon, candle, dope, alcohol pad, cotton. Each instrument needed, and every detail important. Put the water in the syringe. 70 units, put the 70 units in the spoon, pour in the dope, a drop of citric acid, put spoon over candle until it boils, put your cotton in, take your syringe and put it on the cotton and suck up the concoction. Then cap of the syringe. Tie off your arm or hand or leg or foot, and then take syringe, slide spike into vein watch for the blood to blossom in dark red sometimes crimson red, and then push plunger in slowly make sure your skin doesn't bubble up. If it does it means your missing your vein and its going under your skin. Make sure it stays flat and goes in the vein, and then untie tourniquet, take spike out. Wait 5 to 10 seconds and the Opiates flood your Opiate receptors in your brain, and heaven on earth is there. Its like a ritual you have to do to reach Nirvana.

1 comment:

Gledwood said...

How come you were using citric acid? I heard American heroin doesn't normally need it... or was it the Asian brown sugar we get here..? That you HAVE to put citric or vit c into. I met a mad woman from NYC on the way out of the druggieservice complaining how for a month she had been buying heroin wondering why it wouldn't dissolve and complaining about this "citrus stuff" as she called it.
Yeah tell me more about this citric acid... or is it for banging pills? I wouldn't know, there isn't really a pill scene in this country. Here opiates = heroin, and heroin = brown.
I beter stop talking about this sorry but it's my favourite subject.
I gotta run Anna it's 9pm and I'm exhausted.
Best of luck with the shagathon
;-)