No Repentance

There is something so unrepentant about being a cokehead. At least junkies, once in a while alone, you will reflect on how you are such a piece of shit for continuing this, but cocaine leaves you empty of those feelings. Now you are simply full of one goal, nothing else occurs in my brain. I wonder if I'll OD soon, and this whole saga will come to a quick end, wrapped up in a perfect package.

All the people that get down, must get up?

Home for two days and back on the coca. While I was home I swiped a bottle of percocet, going through 29 in under a week, almost all to myself. I probably seemed fucked up, but my parents have seen me in such distressing states over the past few years that as long as I seem happy they don't take too much notice. The last time I saw them was after I went off my meds, in the midst of a horrible panic-attack-meltdown. They made everything better, and got a doctor to call in my meds for me so that I could get back on them. My mom was mad at my father, who went off his meds two months ago, which she partially blamed for me going off mine.

My nose feels as if it's been scraped with razors. I want to shoot up, but last time I gave myself a big skin pop, which took forever to go down AKA I missed the vein badly. My skills are now severely lacking, especially since I have to shoot up in my upper arm to avoid my painful scar tissue in the crease.

We haven't admitted to each other that our coke use is a problem yet. I know I'm taking my place as a classic white, middle class girl who went to NYU... perfectly described by Jacques Brel (my favorite French singer):

I can no longer use the excuse that I don't know any better. I guess I never really cared that I was fucking myself up. My arthritis already did that for me, and any attempt at keeping my body in perfect health seems like a waste of time. I just need to keep my job and stop doing this dumb shit, and maybe I can make something of myself eventually.

- Lucy