Pleading with the Devil

It's fun to have a secret sometimes--to nurse and enjoy, knowing a private joke that's all yours. Doing H is now my secret, my little personal free fall into the void. I've only done a little H out on the east coast--powder, not the Mexican Tar out in the west. Smoking it and water railing it (mixing it in a needless syringe and shooting it up my nose) tasted like how i imagine catpiss would taste.

L said he liked the taste. I imagine it's just a reaction to the euphoria that rolls around his brain right after it hits the back of his tongue.

It wasn't that good a hit. But I can't stop thinking about it. It reminded me a lot of morphine, that thick viscous high, that sucks me down into the couch, shuts my eyes, and fills me with apathy. It reminded me of shooting oxy as s 16 year old, the euphoria never being that amazing, but my brain learning to crave it--filling me with unforgettable lust.

Im consumed by desire, want, need.

I don't know how someone could take opiates and not feel this way. I watch them pick up their RXs and I just after each one, as I imagine they must. But I somehow they don't care. Is my mind so fucked up or is theirs?

I don't have an answer, just my own fear of feeling the void surrounding me once more.

The naloxone is stashed in my drawer, waiting for the day I fulfill my destiny and return back to nothingness. I don't worry about my own fate, just the pain of those around me.

What the fuck am I doing?

I'm scared I'll test positive on Wednesday at my pain management appointment. Please god don't let him test me. I don't want to go back to endless pain or the embarrassment of having to take suboxone/methadone at the pharmacy.

Please let me just get this one by the doctor and I won't fuck up again.

I'm pleading,

Lucy