Comfortably Fucked Up

1pm: Today I can't seem to get the temperature of the shower water right. It vascilates between scalding and tepid, with every turn of the nob. Closing my eyes cool water washes over me, I can't help but stare at the basin floor as a possible resting spot. It is not uncommon for me to slowly lower myself on to the cool floor of the shower, a controlled descent. My hands push the shampoo and oil and dirt out of my hair, so that I can once again open my eyes without soap rushing into them. I turn around slowly, bracing myself on the white tiled walls, and stare at the wall beneath the shower head. It begins to morph, becoming convex at the sides, while the other tiles remain flat, unchanging. My gaze is trapped by those pesky afternoon withdrawal hallucinations. I cross my arms under my bust and watch as the water pools in the creases of my arms until rolling down to hit the floor. It might have been hours that I spent standing in the shower, it might not have been me at all. Now clotheth damp hair, I'm still waiting for the hydros to kick in and my stomach to stop rolling.

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8:30pm: My fingers keep tickling the back of my throat until my stomach finally takes the hint. I repeat until my stomach pain finally subsides. I shouldn't have eaten a large blizzard and then dinner. The thought of this makes me feel nauseous again. Purging shouldn't be the answer to this, but I do use purging when either I've drank too much beer or my stomach is rocked out from eating too much. I probably haven't done it in a year or something, at least it's not a usual occurrence in my life. I guess I need to prove to all of you that I  don't have an eating disorder, or something which  is why I'm saying all of this.

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2/26
7:36pm: Depression. Crushing despair, boredom, self-hatred blankets me until I feel it choking around my neck. I want to break this, I just want all of these feelings to disintegrate. Apathy would feel better than this. Although I've accepted a job, my conscience smothers me with guilt because I'm not doing anything. I am a lump on the sofa.

To me, life has no intrinsic meaning. We are all parts of the natural world, with a finite life span, until we decompose and our elemental parts become new natural forms. The only goal I have for life is to be happy. It's a big part of why I use. If life has no greater purpose than for our own enjoyment of the experience, why not feel as good as you can?

No matter my logical conclusions, suicide clouds my mind. I don't really want to do it, I love my family and  R and all of my friends. I feel so low right now. I'm such fucking scum. A junky piece of shit. I guess at least I'm comfortable like this. Comfortably fucked up.

Withdrawal at 75 mph (or 120km)

I hadn't acknowledged the cold tingling running down my back, and the slow building cramps in my stomach. As we careened down the highway, moving at 75 miles as the Department of Public Safety had declared was acceptable. I wiggled a bit in the lane, causing anxiety to creep up my back. There on one of those 60 foot high fly away's that Texas seems to love, my mind picked up on the many uncomfortable symptoms in various parts of my body; the cold sweat, the bowels about to burst, the headache and anxiety hit me in one single wallop. Withdrawal was already here, and I would not be in reach of my pills for at least another hour. Fuck.

Earlier, eating my bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats (oh so delicious), I thought about taking my medication for the arthritis pain in my knees and hands. I decided not to, since I had to drive later on and I knew it was better not to take them. Without any added thought, I lounged around the house with the beige walls and the beige carpet and the ever glowing TV until it was time to leave.

R came along, he was somewhat angry that I had refused to be party to him getting a 1/4. The ticket had drained so much money, that I couldn't imagine going through it again. Now speeding into North Austin, I wished I had taken that pill. I can drive quite well on opioids--lots of experience--and seeing my psychiatrist while going through withdrawal seemed a bit gauche. I parked the car crooked under some cedar trees, before heading out into the crisp winter air.

"I'm withdrawing."

"From what?"

"I should have taken my hydro earlier..."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I just want to get home."

Now hours upon hours later, I've taken 3 more pills. It slows my mind, as the high grows from that spot behind my forehead and spilling down my shoulders into my arms. Alcohol has only strengthened this feeling. I slump into the couch's warm embrace.

R is pissed. Suddenly, he's hopped up and in the bathroom. I can hear him rattling the sharp's box around. He returns after the toilet flushes, but his arms show no blood or pricks. I don't know what he was doing, perhaps shaking it reminiscing when we had drugs that we could IV. He flops back onto the couch, and zips his fly.

His anger has been simmering most of today. No weed for a while or until we get a place--which he is pessimistic about anyway--is not acceptable to him. I don't really understand, weed has never been a  drug that I would be pissed if I couldn't get it. Cocaine, opiates, speed, now that shit gets me riled up, even while waiting for the late dealer. And the dealer is always late.

My high has peaked, and I want to ride it out all night.
I might as well get started now.

Love,
Lucy

Trying to Get Fucked

But it's never enough. Klonopin, and adderall, and kratom, and Cider: oh my...god I need to add more to this combo apparently.

....a day later....
My doctor prescribed me a transdermal buprenorphine patch for my pain. He has convinced my mother that "narcotic" medications will cause me to be in more pain because you create more opiate receptors (aka tolerance). It's hard to balance my desire to be high and pain free, I want less pain but goddamit if I'm not a junky at heart. I mean, if my option was to take like a fentanyl patch, it'd be on me in a heartbeat--but bupe is generally used for withdrawal. I have a very low opiate tolerance right now (but high enough not to feel 5mg hydrocodone), since I've been mostly using kratom, which means it should work.

It's beginning to kick in. My head feels heavy, and warm, with my plush blanket I feel completely peaceful. I think I could almost nod off if I let myself. A bit of the patch may have also fell into my mouth and has probably helped. Tingling pleasure rolls up and down my body, like tiny marbles... not as good as that immediate opiate pleasure but better than nothing.

The living room goes out of focus, the light above blurs into a halo, and my mind goes black.



Lucy

Needles and more Needles Dancing Through My Head

I imagine them, short points, long points, orange and blue caps, shoving them into any vein I can find on my left arm or maybe my thumb or maybe my forearm. There are so many possibilities, if only I could find something to IV that would work. Amphetamines and benzos that will never dissolve, better to shove it up my nose or run my head into the wall a few times and pass out. The hardest part of being in a new city is no connects for those hard to find treats. It's for the better when it comes to coke, and dope, but god I would die for some. I've heard that down here the drugs are much better with the close proximity to Mexico. My brain is drooling at the thought of this, longing for a time when the coke man could come any night at any time. All the needles around the apartment, the poppy seeds scattered on all surfaces, used alcohol swabs and q-tips--the place where we felt most comfortable. My mind seems to be waxing poetic, as I have only slept three hours since two nights ago... I fucking hate insomnia.

I didn't take any amphetamines today, so that I can sleep tonight. I long to take my clonazepam and fall deep in sleep, no chance  of awakening until tomorrow morning.

Why does the needle seem more important than what is going into it? I crave to use it, but couldn't care what for.

Rested minds may help me understand,

Lucy

On a roll with adderall!

I've been busy lately with a fucking trek to find a doctor who will help me with my hypersomnia. After multiple tests and visits, having to go to my psychiatrist because the original doctor didn't want to prescribe with the psych meds I'm on, the original prescription being 1600 a month for provigil, I am finally on adderall (40 mg a day of delicious amphetamine). This is not to say that I don't have hypersomnia--on the reg I sleep 16 hours a day. With the medication I am able to stay awake without much of a high, besides being present within my own life as opposed to asleep.

I was hoping for the joy of everyday adderall, as if it would be just like when we'd binge for days on end travelling across the city from borough to borough--dexy's 24 hour runners. I do love amphetamine and the initial rush of that pill. Before my morning dose I am lost in a thick fog, especially in the mornings, when I am unable to perform simple tasks without a great deal of confusion. It seems far less enjoyable than those far away days of reckless, drug-addled abandon. It as if the legality has somehow made the high inert.

The strange part on top of the lack of a high, is that my craving for opiates has sky-rocketed. I'm not seeing my pain doctor until the 22nd when I may be able to receive true opiates--not having to choke down capsule upon capsule of kratom. Every night, I feel compelled to swallow as many as I can, a compulsion that does result in a high and unpleasant herbal burps. My klonopin does help provide a more intense high, although I'd rather save that for panic attack (which feel as though they may be sneaking back). There are some highs and lows to this situation, but overall I feel happy to have such access at my fingertips. I do feel that the adderall kills most of the kratom high, where I cannot access the beautiful opiate euphoria that kratom brings at high doses.

I feel stupid constantly trying to reach back into my brain and pull out that sensation. I'll lay in bed and deeply focus on a point behind my frontal lobes. Maybe if I focus hard enough it'll come back to me. Regardless  I will keep trying because perseverance is a good quality, right?

-Lucy

Sleep and Amphetamine

I went to see my ENT recently who has tested me for sleep apnea, which I don't have. He now believes that I have either narcolepsy  without cataplexy or idiopathic hypersomnia. The second is a catch all for people who are constantly fatigued which has lasted for over 6 months. Now 2 years into this, I'm happy to be close to a diagnosis. It's hard to imagine, but I sleep a lot, like 12 to 16 hours without ever feeling rested or fully awake. I miss that feeling of waking up in the morning totally alert and ready to start the day after a "good night's sleep." The next test I have to do is the "Multiple Sleep Latency Test." I hate all the paste they put on my head, and the strange little room they stick me in to sleep. The ceiling wasn't flush with the walls, and light seeped in when I was trying to fall to sleep while uncomfortable, tethered to the wall, and covered in clumps of paste. Once I finish that study, I will be able to get treatment... which is amphetamines.

This is not to say that I am lying about my symptoms or lying to get this medication (I don't think anyone would choose to do this). I just really love amphetamines and need to lose weight. When the doctor said this, I was amazed as I looked at my mother nodding. I am so excited.

The future is looking bright!

-Lucy

Mundane Moments

Pain rips through my feet and ripples up my legs... this is what a 6 hour shift on your feet will get you, besides the minimum wage paycheck. Also having arthritis (what fun!!), one of my many medical problems.

Sitting here in our upstairs living room, my toes dig into the worn down carpet and my body slumps across the couch. My blood pulses full of kratom, it's powerful andd intoxicating. It doesn't help my pain, but it does feel good. The warm yellow light makes my eyes ache, yet I continue to write--I miss writing. Even the sound of clicking keys and the page slowly filling up with words, trickling down to the bottom. Maybe I'll take some more kratom, why not? I have off for two more days, it's glorious.

I can hear my parents TV from the downstairs room, it blares loudly so my father can make out the sounds.  Sometimes it gets so loud, the vibrating voices and music penetrate our bedroom and I have to tell him to turn it down--a strange role reversal. But I'd rather hear their TV, than it go silent.

More kratom, and my heart begins to race again. It's my only goal. I can't wait to get out of this house and get an apartment of our own again--just the rabbit, R, and myself. It's nice being home with the great home cooked meals, the company of my parents, and the comfort of a sturdy support system. It doesn't change what I am though. No matter what ties me to others, I know that the only label I tie to myself is junky. Shitty word, for a shitty person, but I know who I am. I have gotten to a place where I am functioning, but I have no desire to cut this out. Why stop doing one of my most beloved pass times?

Heat rises up my back and onto my face, as a soft sweat coats my  pink cheeks. Might have to throw some more on top of the buzz I already had. The room seems to get foggy beyond my laptop and coffee table, it hugs the room and myself in this warm bliss.

Life may be mundane right now, but it feels great.

Love,
Lucy

P.S. I'll write more again, I promise. I need it for my sanity.