First things first, he didn't notice. *sigh* Second, I'm going to Chicago tomorrow for more dope. *sigh*
Third, Osama Bin Landen is dead. *uh, oh well* My dad made me look at the picture of Bin Laden shot in the head. Once he had me look up be headings, and we found one. I watched the damn thing. I thought they would cut his head off with a sword in one fell swoop, but nope the took a knife, and it took time. You could hear him trying to scream even though his throat was cut. I still have a hard time thinking about that. Okay enough of the macabre.
I still have some H left over from the g that I bought, but soon it will be gone, and I thought I'd stock up.
Now I just have to worry about my dad getting sick, or having back pains. I bought some vicoden from a friend and put it in the Tylenol for him. If his back is hurting and he needs something extra he always goes for the Tylenol. Hopefully that will work. I just got enough for him until his pills come this week. He leaves before they get here, which means he's going to have to go two to three days without any opiates.
I was so worried about this pill thing, that all I did today was lay in bed with my dog. I have silk sheets that I bought, and a nice down comforter that I bought, and its really comfortable. I only did a small shot of dope today, and I can feel that I'm already getting sick.
I woke up this morning with the shakes. I don't think it was withdrawal shakes, I think it was nerves. I put off fixing until around noon, and I layed in my bed just wondering what my dad was going to do when he noticed. Then around 5, about an hour ago, I decided I needed to make plans for more dope. So I texted so and so. They said tomorrow, I said okay. I'm excited to see what kind I get. Brown or white? Who knows maybe black tar. I doubt it. I had been listening for my dad to do his pills all day, at 5:30 I went over to a friends house to pick up so and so's money to bring down to Chicago with me tomorrow so I can get so and so some dope. When I got home I looked at my dad's pill box and it was full, and he didn't say a word. I don't know what to do with myself now. I'm still worried. I feel like scum for this.
I also called the Methadone clinic today, and they can't get me in until the 18th and that's not even for sure. My ex councilor said they may not even take me back on because of my mental health problems. How can they not take me because I have such severe mental health issues? Isn't that against the fucking law. I want help to stop, or I know I'll die, but now the Methadone clinic has to put my case through a review. I could have screamed.
So that's the low down.