Puke puke puking

I am sorry for the lapse, I was sleeping perhaps. And now I wish I was, the bile rising in my throat, and electricity running down my bones, and nothing until sunday maybe.... I had just been using Kratom but it's still an opiate antagonist, and if I can't find any seeds tomorrow it's going to get real.

The Warriors play in the background, and I wonder what my mother would think of this. This sickness that I'm consumed by and how hard she had to work to support me up through it, when all she wanted to do was raise me.

But I didn't slit my wrists yesterday so I guess I'm doing okay. R threatened suicide, but I couldn't leave our bunny rabbit all alone, no, that would be irresponsible because he deserves better. I maybe a piece of shit, but I wouldn't leave him without both of us. And now that there is no threat of suicide, and I'm starting to feel sick, all I want is a bag--even that thick erotic heat, as if to taunt my nausea more.

My tongue goes dry, almost numb as the last of my kratom kicks in and my head feels heavy and loose. Maybe I'm just sick from sugar.

Please just let me find some more seeds, amen.
-Lucy

Bye Bye Cocaine, Hello Poppies

The Tea is addicting... I had read that before I had started taking it because, let's face it, it's morphine and codeine which are obviously very addictive. The best part is for my arthritis (I mean, the really BEST part is the high), my whole body feels so much better, even the muscles in my ribcage and discs in my spine.

Tonight I'm seeing my friend from college, who is now moving back to D.C.. I already  miss her a lot. Supposedly, I'm going to meet them at 11pm after they go to a show, but I'm not sure if this is really going to occur. I don't know, my friends have all kind of dropped off from talking to me. It is probably because I had been too depressed/anxious to come out of the apartment a few months ago, and then became addicted to the cocoa, so I have been void this whole half a year. It feels like I don't have any real friends anymore, or at least not any that I can turn to an confide in. This has been known to drive me deeper into depression, as I've experienced this before a few times. Tonight will be good, even if it is sad to see her go. I hope that she comes back to visit soon, and that we can get enough cash together to go to D.C.. The other friend that I'm seeing is moving as well, but only to the Upper East Side--across the water from where I live, luckily. I think that one of my other friends may be reading this, who is also named Lucy. Her knowing my problems with drugs again maybe why she isn't hanging out with me, especially with the shit I've put her through in the past with my issues. I feel rather bad as she's my best friend from college.

I don't know, I just hate to think that I've lost myself  and all of my friends because of that damn powder. Feeling horrible about it and my actions isn't enough, it seems I have given everything away for it--what a shity trade.

Now I'm itching all over. Contentedly, overwhelmingly, high. Whatever to the rest of the world. At least I'll see my friends later, and that is a better high than any drug.

A Pleasant Surprise

Morphine pumps through my brain, rolls around my arms, slides down to my feet, like the mercury from a broken thermometer spreading across the bathroom floor (one of my first memories as a child). I feel higher than I've ever been in my life on opiates, or at least not a high I've gotten to in many years. What a horrible way to waste my young liver, when I could have been wasting it on Tea. And now I remember why I always loved opiates. Somewhere I had lost it during all he coke, but now it's all returned. The scar on my left arm is numb and tingly, as if it remembers too.

This could be dangerous. At least it's not as dangerous as coke monetarily... I feel so idiotic wasting all that money, when I could've been getting THIS high. R is asleep now; warn out from a manic episode this morning after a night without sleep, and then a day full of morphine induced euphoria. I was annoyed at myself because he was even higher than me, since he has no tolerance for opiates--not his deal. I drank the last cup to myself, and he

I could almost nod out right now, the room is a blur of color in front of me, and it feels as if I've lost my stomach in my throat. I want to live here and never ever leave.

I'm tripping somehow, almost. My face is becoming itchy, as it always used to. The parquet floors seem to be sinking in around the bookcase, as if the entire room was really a sink hole. My head is swimming in pleasure, opiate goodness. Thank god I already fed the bunny and gave him water. Now time to wrap myself up in bed, and let myself indulge in this bliss.

Jealous Twin

Highhhher than a motherfucker. I guess we're back on coke. We've been plugging it, which is kind of messy and burns, but it is a lovely feeling once the coke sets in (the actual process is kind of horrible, especially the fear of pooping on R). I do want to shoot some, but I hate trying to find a vein now. The bruises are way too obvious with my friends; I hate the look they give me that says "I know you're back on drugs."

One of our close friends has a new problem with xanies. This is bad because he's had a problem with alcohol for a long time, so he now mixes his whiskey with xanies. My friends dad OD'ed from that combo, as many others have. It's really troublesome, and it feels hypocritical to worry, but at least we don't mix drugs known to cause death. I'm all for getting high, but I don't want to die or my friends to. He is a great guiatrist and has a really great heart, but that doesn't mean he won't OD. That's a big fear for me now... 6 years, and never having had one, I feel like it's only a matter of time. As my dad always says, "it's not if you fall it's when"--and I think the same is true of drugs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ephedrine pumping through me and I feel good. I like it mostly for it's CNS effects, my body feels fucking good. The cocaine trail ended last night, with restless sleep for hours and hours. R called out of work, saying he was sick. We're worried he's going to get fired. The worst part is that his dad works with him, and is a total hardass. He has really driven into his head that he is a complete fuck up, and makes anything he does that is bad come off as if he murdered puppies or something. For someone who has bipolar, it is really fucked up treatment. He already beats himself up all the time for just being him, so the emotional slaughter that his parents creates only makes things worse. It's hard to watch because I love R more than I've ever loved anyone. We really understand each other and  are super interconnected emotionally, so any blow to him crushes me too. I would do anything to keep him happy and alive and with me, and he would do the same for me. He's actually the reason that I stopped cutting/burning/hitting myself and why I promised not to kill myself. Antidepressants made it really easy for me to try it before, so I'm being careful not to let myself get that way again. He gives me a reason to wake up in the morning because I finally have a future I can look forward to, knowing he'll be there with me.

I ordered some Kratom today.  I do love that stuff. It is great for keeping cravings away and getting you high as balls. It is an opiate antagonist, so it feels like some hydro or some oxy. Sometimes you have to take a lot though to get any effects, so even buying a substantial amount can result in very quick finish if you binge them (which is now the only way I seem to take drugs).

I would say the whole binging problem is really what's made my drug problem so bad the past 2 years. Even when I was just smoking weed and sniffing benzedrex inhalers, I'd smoke until I was gone--my head now full of warm, smokey, heaviness. The benzedrex made me talk like crazy in classes, which wasn't horrible besides sometimes making me a bit embarrassed about my domination of the discussions. Speed is great and horrible in binges... you love it when it's happening but by the end you're a tweaked out frazzled mess. Together we can go through about 600mg of addies in 5 days (tops, sometimes only 4). It's badddd, but great. We do get a lot of stuff done then. Cocaine is the worst because it is so expensive, so if you binge it gains horrible momentum. Thinking about it makes you want more and more to keep out the calculations of how much money you've thrown away on powder euphoria. Even with opiates, which I used to having super-human control with, I down 30 percs in a week now when I get my hands on them. Poor R, he left me with a few roxies last year and I did almost all of them without him because I couldn't stop myself. He isn't to into them, so he wasn't very upset.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My jealous twin is coming out... the sober half of me, who craves coke. It's all around my brain now, and all I want to do is shoot a little tiny bit. R doesn't want me to do it because our first time we both got super sick--we think it's because of the cut. We both had a horrible 8 hour time, vomiting and sweating and shitting. I remember crying sitting on the toilet, as I shit into the bowl and leaned over the shower to vomit. R appeared and began vomiting as well into the bathtub. It was like a nightmare. Then he vomited on the yoga mat, unable to make it back to the bathroom, after laying down for a bit. But I know it'll feel amazing. I just want it. NOWNOWNOWNOW. Put it in my veins and let me go.

Highyah!

cococococococococaineeeeee. Jesus Christ, how I love you. I love you when you're here, and hate myself when you're gone. But you are beautiful as you burn, and pulse back through my body. The complete pleasure flowing through my body makes me miss all of those damn percocets (opiates have the best body high (to me and I think almost everyone else)). I remember now, this is why I got so into it, I feel good, and right.

Focus. Breathe. Let the beat in the back of your neck radiate out. Breathe.

The night is serene and flows out behind my curtains, past the apartment buildings and subway tracks. The bones of the city rattling and rolling off in the background.

Instincts

Something has changed. Today, waiting, I felt no excitement about the drugs, just a nauseous, scared feeling in the pit of my stomach. I recognized it immediately: soon the game will be up with my parents. I know shit is about to go down in our lives. It's funny; being 22 and still fearing my parents will know what I'm doing (because they still help me with rent;/medical expenses since I've only been out of school a few months). The dude hasn't gotten back to me yet, so R and I might not get anything. I don't want to do anything with a feeling like this hanging over me--it'll only lead to........The Dude called, a wash of fear and excitement washed over me, and instinct took hold. I didn't even realize what I had done until the words were out of my mouth, and he was telling me that he'd be here in a few hours, if we were still waiting. WHAT ELSE WOULD WE BE DOING? I feel like vomiting--better to hold it in, let me burn the insides of my stomach. JESUS WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? Sometimes I think I wish my parents would just call me out, give me any extra reason to help me say no because I can't seem to get myself to. Its hard knowing they believe the best in me and that's why they're screwed.

Bunny Flops

There is a soft thud as he throws himself down on the cardboard. His hazelnut eyes close slightly, and his ears relax. Now he is comfortable, ready for an afternoon nap. The black fur on his back gives way  to gray on his belly, but this is the only time I can see it. In sleep, he is a peaceful ball of soft fur and curly whiskers. When he is awake, he is a terror--made obvious by the barrier of skateboards now surrounding our sofa. If he's not out and allowed to scamper around the living room and kitchen, he will run laps around his cage, slam dancing against the walls, and kicking his bedding around. Even if he is out, he will sometimes take to chewing on our ankles or digging at our feet. In the end though, there is nothing more that I want than for him to be a happy rabbit. That may sounds silly, but I genuinely want to give him the fullest, happiest possible life a pet rabbit could have. R even built him a castle out of cardboard, with tunnels and rooms for him to sleep, so that he have his own burrow (along with a myriad of other cardboard boxes and toys for him to play with).

The afternoon sunlight wains behind the curtains, as he sleeps in his castle beneath the window and I work on the other side of the room. I'm waiting now for the dude to show up, after an awkward conversation on the phone trying to explain who I was who he knew and why I was calling. He says 30 minutes, but it could be 30 hours knowing him--at least it's in the Post.

Tomorrow we're meant to meet with R's mom at the museum and see a new exhibit, then go to the movies and perhaps have dinner. His mom is a fascinating woman, a doctor, full of life, the kind of woman you'd want to interview, but not the kind you want judging you/asking you a lot of questions. Perhaps it's my own fears of making a good impression at each meeting that I assume she is judging me because I'M judging me (social anxiety and such). She's the kind of Jewish woman who learned Krav Maga with the Black Panthers in the '70s up in the Bronx--not the kind you want to fuck with.

I'm still waiting. It's been 30 minutes now, and I'm hoping against all odds that he is on time, so I can drop one ganker rail before R gets home.

He's 30 minutes late now............................................ just shit myself so I guess the timing is good. Never had that happen before, and then all I could do was hope, sitting on the toilet, he would not ring the doorbell. It literally looked like piss in the toilet, but somehow it had come out of my colon. That doesn't make me feel very good about my health, or anything really. YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO PEE OUT OF YOUR ASS, but I guess anything is possible.

An hour has now slipped by since he said he would be here, and I feel worse than ever. My body is riled up, my nose is running, work is boring, and waiting for him to arrive is like some kind of test of endurance. It's a test that I don't have a choice but to pass.

He came and went quietly; an hour and a half late. Finally, the tension slipped from my body as the dead bolt clicked in the door frame.

Dinner time at last.