Breaking News: Maine Gov. Saint Wants People to Die

In an act of pure humanitarianism, “Maine Gov. Paul LePage (R) appears set to oppose a bill increasing access to a lifesaving anti-overdose medication because of concerns rejected by public health experts that it could encourage more drug abuse.”

This was first brought to my attention while reading a blog with the title “Re-Maine High, and Ye Deserve to Die”. I can only assume that this man is a saint, actually he must be more like the messiah, because he clearly has the authority to judge people’s personal behavior, and sentence them to death. I was raised in a very religious household and went to church every Sunday. But I’m having a hard time remembering when and where the Savior says that you deserve death if you take drugs. Does he include alcohol among those drugs? I guess religion is really changing these days. Which brings me to another point, you never hear about churches taking this position. Only hard-headed, self-entitled, narcissistic assholes have the gumption to make statements like this. As a self-appointed messiah, I assume he must be perfect, or else what right would he have to be the judge, jury and executioner of millions of people, especially in his own home state where heroin overdose is on the rise. I’d like to examine his skeleton closet before I let him put me on trial.

The article goes on to state…

“Fatal heroin overdoses in Maine quadrupled from 2011 to 2012. Naloxone is a drug that can reverse overdoses from heroin and other opioids like morphine. State Rep. Sara Gideon (D) is sponsoring legislation that would place the drug, which is sold under the trade name Narcan, in the hands of police, firefighters, at-risk users and their families.

Gideon said that ahead of a scheduled Wednesday hearing, the governor’s chief health policy adviser, Holly Lusk, told her LePage would oppose the bill in its entirety.

“His main objection is his belief — and I have to emphasize ‘his belief’ because there is no evidence that supports this at all — his belief that increasing the availability of Narcan or naloxone will lead the drug user or drug abuser to have this feeling of invincibility,” Gideon said.”

Invincibility? Why didn’t I think of that. Now I can go slam way too much heroin, suffer an incredibly painful, scarey, life-threatening overdose, and still come out okay? Bring it on! Fuck, I don’t care if I have to have to have a needle jammed in my heart, recover in a hospital for days and almost die! Whatever. I’ll be okay. Sky’s the limit baby, I’m invincible! This guys a genius. Now were is that 4 gram ball of black tar? I’m all alone and can’t think of anything better to do. Oh right, I’m all alone. Who would even be there to administer the drug for me? Shit. I guess I’m not invincible after all.

The Needle Exchange program near my house offers Over Dose prevention training that comes with two prescriptions for Naloxone. Since I live with another user, it’s an incredibly useful thing to keep around, in case of those extreme emergencies. But heroin does not cloud the brain enough for me to think that this is in anyway fool-proof. No matter what society thinks about heroin addicts, we’re not all idiots. My boyfriend and I are both active, productive member of society who support our habit with regular jobs (well I’m a freelance writer, so not regular, but I have a steady income). I’m sure neither the governor or this asshole supporter of his who wrote the blog, would not any idea if they met either of us. And I’m sure none of my friends or family think I deserve to die.
It reminds me of a state senator down in the south (or it could have been a House member) who started the “Smoke Pot, Lose a Limb” campaign. He tried to get a bill passed that would sentence pot smokers to an amputation, if convicted. My jaw hit the floor when I read that. I wish I could find the article I read. If I can find it, I’ll post it. Luckily the bill was not met with the support he desired.
For the rest of the article on Gov. Lepage, click here…

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/11/paul-lepage-drug-overdose_n_4770196.html

The Monkey On My Back

I'm trapped in my thoughts, stupid consuming thoughts. They are so simple, so few. But they are ever there. Crushing my skull inward, until my brain, crippling under the devastating pressure, cries for relief. I scan my body for physical pain, somewhere, anywhere(!) that would justify the agonizing crush of my mind. I find nothing. No physical justification. Just the thoughts. Unrelenting.

I survey again, taking inventory of my surroundings. Some physical discomfort is present, yet not intense. A dull throb in my back. Bones tired. Muscles tense. Hands tremble slightly. The tremble intensifies to a shake as I lift my hand off my knee to examine my hands. They shake as though they belong to an old grandmother. Her hands - frail, veins blue and thin - gently reach with love and excitement, caressing the cheek of her newborn great-granddaughter. But those aren't my hands. That's not my story. I'm a 35 year old woman, supposedly in the prime of my life. Yet those are my hands, shaking almost ruthlessly, veins blue and bruised. I shove them under my legs, trying to regain some control. Or rather, to hide my lack of control. My sweat feels ice cold as the breeze comes through the window, though it's hotter than sin outside.

My thoughts are back. I suppose they never left. I was only momentarily able to distract myself by focusing on the physical pain. The TV is on, l guess I've been watching, but I can't recall what's happened. How long have I been watching?

"We should bring a cooler and a blanket. It should be fun, right?" I'm in a conversation! Can I remember what I just agreed to? Can he tell that I only have these unrelated thoughts to any question he, or anyone else, may ask me? Have I responded properly or is it plainly written on my face? I feel the words form on my tongue and my voice says "Yeah, that should be fun. I love Jurassic Park."

<No!> My brain yells <If I agree to come, I can at least go high, right?!? I won't have fun without heroin!>

Shut up, shut up, shut up! I'm terrified he can read it in my face.  He smiles at me, maybe oblivious. Or perhaps just unwilling to address my constant companion, my hidden inner thoughts. Those opinions of the ever present monkey on my back. My best friend. Always predictable. Always with the same response. The infernal repetition. Always. Every sentence of the day.

"Cool. We'll pick up some food and make a picnic of it!"

<As long as I can get high. Otherwise it won't be fun>

The shows back on. His attention turns back to the television. I relax. Focus is off me. He couldn't tell I was thinking about heroin. I made it through another conversation. I try to watch some TV. Doesn't he know that this is the way all our conversations go? Every single one of the day, from the moment I wake till the time I try to sleep again. Although since I stopped using, three hellish, unending weeks ago, I've barely slept a wink. I just pray for time to past, waiting till I can feel the needle pierce my skin, see the blood enter the chamber and taste the heroin enter my bloodstream. Waiting...

<You know you can't stay away from me for long. You won't be happy without me.>

…i know…

<You've made it three weeks clean! You deserve to get high.>

There's the pressure again. My brain pounding against my skull. My eyes close trying to keep my brain from spilling out.

I hear a far away voice pulling me back from the dark.... "What do you want for dinner tonight?"

Ahhhh…! Why won't he just leave me alone! I don't want to eat. I don't care about food. I just want heroin, you idiot! How can you be so blind and inconsiderate!

"I don't know, maybe Subway or something."

I feel sick but I know I have to eat, or else betray the little voice in my head. The voice of my little monkey friend. And I'm hoping he leaves the house, if just to give me moment of peace.

"That sounds good. I'll grab it 15 or 20 minutes. That cool?"

"Yeah, sounds good." I hear myself say. Although the words are detached.

My mind drifts again, though I pretend to watch the TV. I can't focus my attention. I don't want to be this unhappy. I don't want to be a slave. He once said to me that I didn't love anyone as much as heroin. Actually, he's said it a few times. I hated him for saying that. That can't possibly be true. I love people. Heroin is a chemical. But I thought. I thought about my past. Is that true? Could that possibility be true? I thought about my friends, my family, my boyfriends. I've hurt all of them. Every single one of them I've lied to. I've deceived, stolen from, betrayed. And who was always there for me? To comfort me when I was afraid, humiliated, insecure?

Heroin was always with me when I was alone. It made me feel wanted, accepted, needed. Heroin made me feel as though I had a place in this world. It wasn't that I merely loved heroin, I knew that heroin loved me as well. But even beyond that, heroin made me lovable. The rest of the world might not see that or understand, but I knew why. I knew what gave me strength in the eyes of the world. I knew what gave me strength in myself.

I suppose he was right. I do love heroin more than any other person in my life. Well, why not? Who else was with me in my darkest, most vulnerable times? When I was all alone and needed a friend? Heroin was always with me.

But here I am, desperately abstaining. For what? The approval of people who don't understand? Who will never understand? What is wrong with me?

I won't be without you for long. I desperately pleaded for heroin to be there when I was done with this pointless separation.

 <I will always be here for you. You will always need me. In fact, you can't live without me.>

I knew it was right. I can't, so why even bother trying. This is stupid. I shouldn't have to go through all this pain, when I know the second this month is over I'm going to have a needle in my vein faster than you could count to the next minute.

Yet here I was. Trying. Giving it one more try. Maybe this time will stick. Maybe this time I'll learn something new. Maybe this time I'll clue into this secret that every other person in the NA rooms seems to understand. Maybe....

"I'm going to go pick up the sandwiches. Want me to just make a snap decision while I'm there?"

"Sounds good." I mumble.

He kisses me on the cheek, since I avoid turning my lips to meet his. He is unaffected or unaware of my unexplained bitterness when the door closes behind him. I'm alone again. Thank God.

I try to empty my mind while I watch the TV. I'm not really interested, so I play with my nails, filing and cleaning.

"… I can feel it running through my veins…" I hear the TV say. I don't know what the context is, but the statement sets the monkey's voice off again.

My veins. I put the nail file down and turn my hands over to examine the top of my hands again, skin, nails and veins. My nails are dark and filthy underneath. No matter how often I try to clean them, the blackness sticks.  Soiled with visual reminders from the black tar, carbon from the chemical reaction between flame and metal and from a general avoidance of a purifying shower. I've put of the unpleasant task since I started this futile fast. The reminder of the hot water cooling and mingling with the cold sweats on my body during withdraws gave me the chills. How unpleasant, I shuttered. Although I knew, if only for the sake of the public, it was soon unavoidable.

My veins, now they were the true traitors. They gave my secret away, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. The blood red scabs, the bruising. They told my past. Not only the heroin, but the meth, the coke and all the other drugs I maintained directly into my bloodstream and straight to my brain. Over and over again. But mostly they told about the heroin. The telltale signs of a junky. The lowest cast of American society. A cast I was not only proud of but one I clung to, like an obsessed lover.

Although I sometimes tried to hide them, in less critical situations I wore them like a badge of honor. What would I be without them? How could I make it through a day without stabbing a syringe in them 5, 8, 1 0 times a day and still be happy?

<You would not be happy. Only I can bring you happiness.>

My head hung in shame. No, of course not. I could never be happy without heroin. How could I even think otherwise? I'm the traitor.

I heard keys jingle and moments later the door opened. I stuffed my hands back under my legs, lest I betray the voice in my head.

"I got a turkey club" he said cheerfully.

"Awesome" I spit the word with poison, though I was unsure if the tone gave away my true unhappiness.

<You don't need a sandwich. All you need is heroin. Soon.>

I know....

The internal struggle was killing me. I know that people were happy living without heroin. Billions of them the world over. I saw them on the streets, going about their business, raising their families, going to the movies. All without sticking a spike in their veins. But how? How do they achieve this? That couldn't be my life, could it? Had I been happy before heroin? Had there been a time before heroin? I could barely remember anymore. I didn't even want to remember.

Yet there was a softer, weaker voice. I felt it struggling to be heard over the louder, more oppressive voice of the monkey.

<it is possible. you know it is. don't give up. you are lovable.>

I looked over at my boyfriend and took the sandwich he was handing me. "I love you" he said.

"I love you, too." I wanted to cry.

Top 15–Things that SUCK about Drugs and Drug Culture!

Okay folks – Since I’m not using drugs (at least any good ones) I figured I would focus some of my energy on things that suck about drugs and drug use, instead of spending my time studying drugs, pining over drugs and listening to Lou Reed – which is my normal course of action during times like this. So let’s cut out any bullshit and head straight to the punch. I present – 15 Things that SUCK about drugs!


1. Opiate Constipation. Need I say more. OUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Nothing more painful when it final does push its way out. All you can do is sit on the toilet, crumpled over in a ball, and screaming “Please help me Lord!” Unless that’s just me… in that case… ignore this one, Girls don’t pop. Public Service Announcement: Don’t forget your Deculex!

2. Blowing bad coke. One line of bad coke and your noise is Fucked for days. Over last years NYE run in NYC, the first night we got bad coke. Two lines and my nose was destroyed. We got good coke for the rest of the trip, and I couldn’t enjoy it because my damn bloody nose hurt so bad from two fucking lines of that cut shit. Really – no need to ever do anything besides slam coke anyway… the only reason I’ll do lines is because of the social stigma around locking yourself in a bathroom to cook it up. Which brings me to my next point.

3. The social stigma around IV use. Yeah, everyone knows that heavy IV use is bad for your veins and bad According to the study by the National Institute on Drug Abuse*. It’s this freaking trypanophobia or aichmophobia, belonephobia, or enetophobia – or whatever you want to call a fear of needles – that has everyone so up in arms against other people doing it.

for your body, with all sorts of negative possibilities. Abscesses, needles breaking off in your arm, Staff collapsed veins. But  why people assume everyone that IV's is going to die prematurely, and live a hopeless life in the meantime, is beyond me. But I don’t see why if one choices to IV a drug (which when done properly, is not an intrinsically dangerous activity.) that makes you any worse of a person than someone who blows lines or smokes everyday. Yes, once you IV it’s hard to go back to anything else, BUT all Routes of Administration are clinically proven to cause addiction and can be equally as harmful *

4. People that live in the state of California or other states where having a medical marihuana card is not only readily available, but practically required for citizenship in the state. And then on top of that – talk about how good their weed is. Which is one of either two things:

1. Not good at all – in fact it reminds me of the crap from college. Don’t offer it to me, we’re smoking my weed. Period. And stop acting offended, I hold all my drugs to high standards. Save yours for when your home alone and don't embarrass yourself.  OR
2. Bought for them by their friend with a card.

Just go out and get your own! If you don’t want to get the fancy card they all try to trick you into (fyi – it’s not your actual prescription and can’t legal protect you in anyway. You need to carry your actual paper recommendation for that), it can as little as $35 bucks. That was what I paid at the Cannabis Cup last year, where I renewed, even though I still had some time left, just because it was fast and easy. And they were processing people through the line like a slaughter house – I was in and done within 6 minutes.

5. Old black men that go around to head shows in Los Angeles, like say, at The Greek, and try to push these ridicules looking mushrooms, and fake opium around. Those mushrooms don’t even slightly resemble real Psilocybin mushrooms of any sort…. and your opium smells like incense from Venice Beach. Stay clear of these guys. They hit up every head show.

6. The popular rumor that plugging turns you gay, or you wouldn’t possibly do it if you weren’t already secretly gay. I’m here to set the record straight once and for all. Yes – if you plug (or boof, or booty bump, or whatever you want to call it) you will immediately want to suck cock if you are male. Scientific proven fact.(I forgot the source – I’ll try to find it later or something.) Now let’s put the subject to rest.

7. The archaic and assigning expression, SWIM. If I open a forum and I see the word SWIM sticking out like a sore thumb on the page, I will immediately shut down the site and go to bluelight for my answers, where they specifically tell people NOT to use that an acronym. Everyone knows your talking about yourself. You’re not being cute. It’s not going to protect you from the law. And if for so dumbass reason you are using it in a sentence like “SWIM has a meth lab in their house in Marietta Georgia, and I find such-and-such the best method to not blow up my kitchen.”, maybe you should reconsider the illegal and personal information you are posting on the World-Wide IntrerWeb on a Drug Message Board that logs your IP address every time you sign in.

8. Ugh, I’ll say it. As bad as constipation is – Opiate Withdraw. Far worse. ‘Nuff said about that. The thought makes my spine cure. I’ve had enough of the Cold Sweats already today, I don’t need to trigger more.

9. Loosing, dropping, boiling over, blowing across the room… Any act of “God” that diminishes or destroys  your pile o’ precious drugs. I’ve been the cause, your roommates been the cause, YOU’VE been the cause, it happens. But Lord Almighty, it sucks when it does. Your only hope is that you have a stock pile accumulated somewhere.

10.Selling anything to IV users that’s not what it’s supposed to be or has additives that haven’t been pre-tested. I’ve put some N-A-S-T-Y shit in my veins, believing I’ve bought what I was told. When you are dealing to IV users, it’s a totally different game, you could kill someone. I spent a WEEK shooting MSM  thinking it was Meth once, let alone all the 99% fake blow and a couple incidents of MDMA/Moon Rocks that fucked me up (not in a good way) after slamming.

11. Speaking of slamming – can’t leave these little beauties out…. abscesses, staff infection collapsed veins, missed meth shots, scar tissue, IM soreness, phantom veins, track marks, blown-out veins. Trying to shoot for 3-4-5 hours and not being able to hit – or IM cause now your rigs filled with blood. Anything along these lines. Yeah, IVing can come with a great pay off being 100% bioavailable and instantaneous, but damn there are some shitty things about.

12. Street dealers in downtown LA that threaten to stab you with their knife “cause I’m not afraid to go to jail. You think I won’t stab you just to stay out of jail?!?” Just because you asked what else they have, instead of immediately buying the Crack they’re pushing – and wasting their time at 2am! They’ll stab you!

13. When police monitor a area that is constantly swarming with people buying/selling drugs, and target one or two people, just to make their presence known. Every person in a 5 block radius is dirty, or high. You know it’s not going to stop, we know your presence isn’t going to make it stop. Just park your car down the street and wait for an emergency, like a mugging, or rape, then jump in when people need you. Same goes for security at shows – 90% of the people are packing dirty. Drop the pretense. If you want to ban glass – more power too you. Take it all. Just accept the fact that drugs are everywhere. It hasn’t changed in 100 years, nor will in for another 100.  Where there is live music, illegal drugs are present.

14. Raw mouth after a night of ecstasy binging… or as you young folks call it, Molly. Either way – MDMA in all it’s forms. It’s fun. It makes you dance all night. Provides some great sex. But damn my mouth is sore after a night or two of rolling. No matter what precautions I take. Anyone have a remedy for this??

15. Drug hands. I hadn’t painted my figure nails since I was in high school. Now I’m required to paint them
weekly, just to cover up the black grossness that penetrates the skin and gets under the nail. I can’t lick my fingers without getting this nasty taste, even though I’ve washed my hands like 8 times since last time I used. It permeates, and doesn’t go away!

Bonus! ANYONE WHO COMPLAINS ABOUT THE SMELL OF DMT! GET OVER IT – FOR BEING THE MOST AWESOME DRUG ON THE PLANET, IT’S OKAY TO HAVE A COUPLE DOWNFALLS, LIKE SMELLING LIKE BURNING PLASTIC AND DEAD BODIES AND STICKING TO EVERYTHING IT TOUCHES. BESIDES, I GENUINELY DON’T MIND THE SMELL. DON’T KNOCK IT TILL YOU’VE TRIED IT.

Next time I hear someone complain about the smell, I’m going to offer to pack their pipe with my fine weed, and blast that shit with DMT. Takes ages to get the smell out, I’m not sure if it ever really comes out. And if you ask to borrow my bowl (packed with weed) ya gotta take the extra DMT flavoring with it, no complaints