The winner will be announced on my new blog, deemsterdiva.wordpress.com.
Check me out over there to hear what his guess was, as well as the real answer!
GOOD BYE BLOGSPOT!
You might not agree with what I do. You might not understand my life choices. But if you can look past the my track marks, you might just find we're more alike than you think. This blog is about my life as a heroin addict, not about drug recovery.
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Sunday, March 23, 2014
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Guess What Drugs I'm On And Win A Prize!
 |
| Guess what drugs I'm on in this picture? I'll give you a hint. It's NYE at MSG. |
So, I just used that title as my hook to lure you in. In reality, I wanted to let all my beloved readers know that my official blog is moving over to wordpress.
You can find me at DeemsterDiva.wordpress.com. I was just really confused and couldn't decide if I should include the underscore or not. I choice the lazy route. I’ll still have this one up for a while, maybe indefinitely,
but I’ve already started not posting my blogs here. You will see that many of the old ones are repeats, but there is plenty of fresh content in their as well. So, I guess
you should change your bookmarks and following me over there, quick like bunnies! The wordpress
lurkers are not so quite. You know I can see my stats right? I know that
you're reading. It's okay, you don't have to subscribe and advertise to
the world that your following my blog out of some sick voyeuristic
curiosity. But just so you know - I know ;-) For those of you who don't choose to follow, I understand. I would be embarrassed too. I love you and I'll miss you! Hit me up if you're ever gonna be at a show!
Peace, Love & Rock n' Roll
D_D
Ps. If anyone is brave enough to answer my caption question, I will actually mail you a very special little gift! You don't even necessarily have to be right. But it at least has to make me laugh ;-)
Thursday, February 20, 2014
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
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
Monday, February 10, 2014
The Silk Road 2.0
original incarnation of the Silk Road died with the arrest of Dread Pirates Roberts (DPR). But dark web visitors rejoiced when Silk Road 2.0 came to life after a little over a month of being off-line. Unfortunately, less than two months passed before more arrests were made. The current DPR has been noticeably silent and a new administrator that goes by the name Defcon appears to have taken over managerial duties, posting announcement and messages on the homepage. As of today, there is one that reads “If you had an order in escrow before break began, be sure to read Defcon's full announcement before using the marketplace.” Silk Road administrators claim that the site is now able to seamlessly transition between managers, even if the current DPR is taken into custody. The supposed failsafe system was implemented by uploading portions of the Silk Road to “over 500” backup servers around the world. If one server goes down, or is seized by authorities, then another one can take its place within minutes. DPR’s announcement “We now have over 500 independent backups with keyholders in 17 countries. Whack-a-mole will not work. Time for an open, frank discussion.” was release on Twitter back in December and is meant to assure customers, and warn law enforcement, that the system cannot be stopped.
The new Silk Road is an improved version of the
original, offering heightened security for those looking to purchase illegal
contraband like narcotics and paraphernalia. The Silk Road operates using the
Tor browser, protecting the identity of its visitors by blocking their IP
addresses, and uses the encrypted e-currency, bitcoins. Both are effective
tools against the preying eyes of law enforcement, protecting the identity of
all users.
Although there are other sites on the dark web
offering the sale of scheduled narcotics, many of them have proven to be
unreliable or flat-out scams. None have been able to offer the same quality of
service or variety of products. The Silk Road operates more like its surface
web counterpart, including a rating system for sellers and buyers (think: ebay
or Amazon), escrow for financial transactions and a forum to rate and discuss
the quality of service and products.
The name of the administrator, (or former
administrator, as the case may be) Dread Pirate Roberts, is a reference to The
Princess Bride. The Dread Pirate Roberts was not one
single man, but a persona taken on by a chosen successor to the last Roberts,
perpetuating the legend of the dreaded pirate captain. The last Roberts, aka
Ross Ulbricht, fell to the folly of greed. He was arrested on October 2, 2013
on multiple accounts of drug trafficking, hacking and even two for-hire kills.
On the surface, not much has changed from the
original Silk Road to new and improved version. The most significant change is
the added security feature which allows users to use their PGP encryption key
for added authentication. One moderator, who goes by the name Synergy, wrote “Silk
Road 2.0 will be reborn better, much much more secure as testament to the
tenacity and determination of this wonderful community of ours. We
will not be down trodden, we will rise again.”
The black market bizarre now has thousands of items for sale, including everything
from marijuana to china white heroin. It’s tempting to dive back in and start
shopping! But with all the turmoil over the last few months, it might be wise
keep an eye on things, before dumping a ton of money into bitcoins. I have
faith that the drug using members of society will persevere and prevail, but
what road bumps the DEA and other law enforcement agencies will throw our way is
yet to be seen. The War on Drugs is not over, but I’m confident the people on drugs
are winning.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Silk Road Pt. 1
Okay – I’ve outlined some of my experiences on the Silk Road (or SR as sometimes refer to) and although this is lengthy, there is a large amount of information for someone who is serious about using it for the first time. I don’t go into the technical how-to’s of setting up Tor, but I’m happy to answer any questions about that if you start the process and have difficulty. But just a couple of words on it… Be Smart. Don’t try to put it on your work computer (duh!). You need to use a computer where you can control the proxy settings. And don’t underestimate the value of a thumbnail drive vs. your hard drive. There will be no trace of Tor while not in use, if you remove the thumb drive after each use.
 |
| An example of the front page of the Silk Road |
I would say that the vast majority of my transactions have run smoothly and been completely successful. But the first few undoubtedly made me a little nervous. Eventually they all worked out, but with each order something out of the ordinary happened. Odd packages started to arrive, unsolicited - including a string of random drugs, definitely not purchased, arrived in the mail – but more on that later. The first time was the oddest - and definitely the creepiest. Admittedly, I made a couple n00b mistakes, which might have triggered some of these events. This is why I’m writing all of this – so anyone who wants to journey down the Silk Road, can have access to a manual of sorts - an instruction guide, riddled with some humorous personal antidotes.
My first purchase, I ordered a vile of acid. It was a 250 drop vile at 50mg a drop. The seller was from the Netherlands and requested a no bitcoin transaction, PayPal preferred – an EXTREMELY odd request on the SR and one I have not seen repeated since. However at the time I didn’t realize just how unusual this was. I didn’t do a lot of research before my first purchase, I got too excited and jumped right in with a large purchase immediately after joining (yeah, yeah impatient, I know). But I could tell that the bitcoin process was initially going to take a few days to set up, so I was just stoked to see something I could pull the trigger on immediately. And a huge vile of acid, which was exactly what I was looking for! No more buying 10 strips on lots or going through one of the two people I know who can sometimes provide a sheet. This was going to last me for a while! (It was gone in like two months – but that’s inconsequential to the story. Just shows that I like my acid. Quite a bit.) Especially since I already had a full sheet as well as 50 drops in a vile a friend scored me in NY. I prefer liquid acid, because my ideal route of administration is IV, so it bypasses the step required to soak the LSD out of the strip. Makes it much easier… but anyway… back to the Silk Road.
 |
| Listings of LSD available with picture, seller info, pricing, etc |
Anyway – the most reputable sellers have no problem selling in escrow, but there are some completely legit sellers who request early release. In the end, the choice is yours. Do you want to purchase from someone requesting earlier release or not. There’s definitely risk involved, but I’ve done it for sellers with extremely high ratings by a large number of buyers and my transaction be completely smooth. Once you release funds and leave your review (which is required as funds are released – a big flaw in the SR still if you as my humble opinion), there is now no way to go back and change your remarks or communicate with other buyers how you were ripped off. Luckily, there is one more line of defense to protect yourself and all buyers, although it can be overlooked much of the time. There is a message board, a forum, where you can report fraudulent sellers and give a description of the transaction, communication and product – both good or bad. Most (maybe even all) reputable sellers have their own forum page. There are also threads listing all types of shady sellers as well.. This is your only option for recourse if you are scammed after waving escrow. But hopefully the product was FIRE and you want to fluff the seller with high praise.
 |
| Listing for Heroin #4 (China White) including description, reviews, picture, price and shipping info. Kinda makes my mouth water :) |
 | |
| An example of the Fake ID's for sale. One of many illegal things sold on the SR |
Although drugs are by far the largest category on the Silk Road, there are many other illicit items for purchase as well.
❤ ☮ & ♪♬
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Cooler Months, Funner Socks!
I was browsing my favorite online sock store a little earlier and realized it had been a really long time since I posted any new sock pictures! So I'm going to have to rectify that and take some more pics.... especially when the order I placed arrives! But in the meantime, I thought I would give a little homage to my current collection. I don't believe I have posted this Youtube video on this blog yet. I made this one about a month ago, and it gives a good sampling of my current sock collection. Hope you enjoy watching and maybe you'll even get a little bit motivated to go out and buy some new, fun socks of your own! (or for that special femme in your life... socks are so cheap they are a great "anytime of the year, just because" type gift! So here's my little video, I like to call... Sock Junky!
Peace, Love, Rock 'n Roll!!
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
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.
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.
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