Saturday, April 27, 2013

The end of my pain forever

Hey there old friends, enemies, and the rest of you fuckers I hate so much. (If you think I am aiming this at you...I am.) I'm back for a moment to put my past behind me. I've been stuck in the wonder years for too many years. As a dog barks outside my window, and the afternoon sun pours into my bedroom as sit at my antique desk, typing away on my MacBook Air where old and new collide to make right now. Right now is where I am.
I'm sitting in my pink desk chair, wearing my Hemingway replica glasses, for the corrective lens over the left eye, and just a clear non prescription lens over my right eye. Showing I am officially old, and boring. Although the Un natural hair dye, and the hard to find t-shirts, with a black hooded sweat jacket with the Pixies band name scrawled across front and is only made known that it is a band  hooded sweat jacket when I zip it up to over my breasts, do the few people who notice me in a crowd, or even alone walking down an old country road in the pouring rain, and lightning storm, that I am wearing a black hood sweat jacket sipped up past my tits because I have a wet, white t-shirt shirt on underneath, and no bra. 9 out of 10 people who do see the word "Pixies" in large white lettering on the front of the hooded sweat jacket do not know it's an advertisement for an early 1990s new wave band. Most just think I like tinker bell and/or am a big fan of pretty pictures, and statues of beautiful women who have wings, and pastel purple hair, an eyes. Really I don't give a fuck if anyone notices me, or my clothing. I need to get my bangs cut again so I can hide my eyes behind both my hair and my glasses.
Maintenance stopped blogging for a number of reasons, mainly I've outgrown the title of this blog. Even though I am still on Methadone Maintenance Treatment, I am not strung out. I still hate my face, but I couldn't care less about this place. No matter what "place" I'm in I will hate it. I know this because I am an isolator. I isolate myself, as long as I have my blanky, my books, my laptop, iPhone, mainly for the iPod feature, and my Eleanor Rigby I can hole myself up. Of course I am a neat freak, and like to keep organized, so I would do a lot of cleaning. When I wrote that just now, in my mind I saw my room being filmed through a Movie Camera, not just a video camera but a movie camera. As the camera pans in to my office area. My laptop is open, and my iPhone is connected to a bluetooth speaker playing Elliott Smith, Leonard Cohen, and early Bright eyes. Then the camera pulls back and shows my empty pink chair, and the computer screen is on Microsoft Word, and there is an open page with a few words, and the camera movies in and the words come into focus. The documents reads,"I am so sorry. God forgive me, for I know not what I do Love Anna Grace Young the rest of the document is blank, except for the cursor still blinking. Just then Leonard Cohen's song Dress Rehearsal Rag start to play, and the camera is now on my bed close up, starting from the bottom, wear you can see my old fashioned bed, with my old fashioned floral sheets, and my white down comforter. The first part of the body lying in the bed is feet with hot pink ankle socks on over white tights, and up to just above the knee you see the frills of a red baby-doll dress, and up to the waste, you can see one arm is hanging off the bed, and there is blood smeared on the pristine white down comforter, and up to the neck where the collar is buttoned all the way to the top, and above is the pretty bow.
 like a little girl dress buttoned up all the way, and you see my face pale and bluish, my eyes open but unblinking, and the camera pans out to show pools of blood, one on the floor , and one on the other side of my body down by my hips, and my palm is facing up, and you can see three long vertical slices from my wrist to the inner elbow, on the floor in the pool of blood is an exacto knife, one of the sharpest blades I know. Unlike a straight blade razor, an exacto knife has a very sharp pointed tip, and the razor is slanted, ideal for cutting intricate things that can't be torn, or with a scissors because it's just too small. The exacto knife is like a scalpel, but with a sharp pointed tip.

With the exacto knife you don't have to apply pressure the entire length of the cut, as you would with a straight edge razor. With the exacto knife you poke or rather make a quick stab, and make sure its deep, then just pull the razor up the wrist, to the underbelly of the forearm, lot the inner elbow. It's much less painful to make such deep long incisions on the wrist and under arm. Also unlike the razor as you pull it up your arm and tear the flesh, and rip the veins, and ligaments, tendons,            the exacto knife make a nicekkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

From today forth, this blog is not logger a blog to rehash my "glory days" as a heroin user, or to make the fact that I threw away my late teens, and all my 20s on heroin seem cool. I'm anything but cool. Just the fact that I even once thought that was cool, proves I am dumb as shit. What do I have to show for my life at age 30? Nothing more than some scared up track marks, bad veins, a methadone addiction, and 50 extra pounds of fat. Oh, I can't forget the teeth rotting in the back, and a cavity on my right front tooth. Lucky for me it's still small, and not brown, just like a chip off my tooth, except its up by my gums. No credit, no sex drive, no want, or need for a romantic relationship with anyone, male or female. No need for even a basic friendship. No, I have my methadone dose, which keeps me comfortably shielded from those pesky emotions, and the inability to make any new emotional attachments to anyone or anything that I didn't have before I became completely and utterly ravaged by opiate and then opioid addiction.

From today forth is the beginning of the end. The end of me, who I was at the end of my life, who I never will be. All promises I'll make, but never keep. To remind myself, the universe wastes nothing. Well, it wasted its time putting me together as a human being. I'm damaged bad at best.

May I make a toast? Let's all raise our drinks and toast the end of my pain forever.