There’s so much pressure to stay clean and I hate it. My life has suddenly transformed literally overnight to listening to my mother connect dots that just aren’t there. I hear her say how its so good I’ve finally stopped, how she is so proud I am back to normal and come to my senses after all this time, how I am back to being myself.
It has been 6 days since I stopped and I know I am going to use again. I cannot deal with the world. It is so FUCKING boring.
My day consists of eating a pint of ice cream while watching Keeping up with the Kardashians, going for a walk and listening to the same Mamma Mia soundtrack songs on repeat and going to buy a chocolate frappuccino from Starbucks, cleaning my already immaculate room and then sitting in it patiently waiting for time to pass. I also sleep to pass the time, and in the summer heat, it is alarmingly easy to drift off.
I long for that excitement in my life- the numbing of my mouth and tongue and gums and the rush of energy that’s like nothing else. The creativity that unlocks itself and the wave of euphoria that hits me like an overweight elephant running like it fucking stole something.
I cannot process how my mum thinks that after 6 days I can be ‘back to my old self’. It has been 6 days. 6 DAYS.
Let me live!
And I invited 14 Brazilian uber driver drivers from my local McDonald’s.
It was fucking LIT.
I don’t recognise my brother. I am scrolling through his facebook and I am looking at a stranger. I make errors in my spelling and the word still seems to be correct, and when I spell something right it looks wrong.
I lose my trail of thought and I’m snapping in and out of my imagination.
Even this blog post makes no sense.
It’s like my short term memory is wiped clear right now. It feels like someone else wrote the title of this blog post…I know I did it but it’s like I can’t remember or something.
Pray for me.
I am exhausted by my addiction. I am exhausted of the lies, the pain in my nose and my chest, I am exhausted by how not exhausted the addict in me is. It lies there dormant, waiting for me to relax and then curls around my ear whispering to me, moaning in my ear like a lover.
I listen to it, I moan back. Under the hand of addiction, I beg. I surrender my soul, my body, my everything to chase the high I was promised long ago. I still haven’t found it.
Pray for me.
It’ a funny thing, happiness.
For me, it’s always a past tense event. I can see that I have been happy, but never feel happiness in the present tense.
My doting boyfriend (we’ve made up) asks me frequently, “darling, are you happy right now?” and I always obligingly respond to him that I am most definitely happy. Except I’m not. I feel like I’m never happy, and I don’t know what to do.
I’m on a high dose of antidepressant, and I go for walks, eat alright, drink enough water, get good sleep and yet here I am miserable as ever.
There is one thing alone that makes me feel truly happy in the present tense. It’s like summer, and it’s conveniently condensed into a small, clear bag. It’s like late summer nights where the sky spills oranges into pinks into blues. It’s like summer mornings and waking up late to the dappled light of the sun coming in through the windows, giving the room a golden glow.
It’s beautiful, and it makes me happy. Present tense.
I had an argument with my dad about using his Pinsentry device, and I went for a walk and made up my mind.
Lights are out, headphones are in, drugs are GO.
I have taken coke, MDMA, ecstasy, crystal meth and speed.
And I regret NOTHING.
My hands are sweaty, my feet are blue, my skin is blotchy from the heat. My nose is dripping but feels dry.
Just want to get this out here as well: I know that my darling Godmother occasionally reads this blog, and one of her lovely sons follows me (hello A!) and I just want to take this little moment in my blog post to apologise for fucking up. A, I was so motivated when you commented on my post saying I could do it, and I fucked up and I’m sorry. I’d appreciate it if it stayed between my online semi-anonymous micro-community, you and me. BTW, I do love it when you comment, it makes me smile getting that little yellow dot of a notification.
Anyway, back to the car crash that I am. Lots of drugs, lots of music, and now (unfortunately) lots of regrets.
Oh, and I just bit through my tongue.
It’s base, so it’s kind of dampy-wet-sludgy speed that arrived in the post this fine morning, delivered by my postman, who, coincidentally happens to attend my drink/drug addiction clinic group on a Wednesday. And yes, I bought it off the dark web, I know, I know, it’s very illegal and dangerous, but while I’m not being good, I am being careful.
I am on the train, I feel the pull.
That oh, so familiar feeling. The warm excitement and feeling giddy with how very ok everything will be soon.
I covered the baggie of drugs with my wallet to move it into the larger, main part of my backpack. Opening it quietly with both hands inside my bag, I scraped up some speed with my long metallic nails that were bought from Claire’s accessories when I still had money to my name. Using another nail I scraped the speed off from the underside of my index fingernail to the surface of my thumbnail, and quickly and subtly put it in my mouth and licked it off. I could feel the cold, near-solid mush sitting on the tip of my tongue in a ball, and it was starting to dissipate so I quickly drank water as if I were swallowing a slushy pill.
On a different train later in my journey, about 10 minutes later, the speed hit me like a fucking rhino, and I had to hold onto the yellow handrail to prevent myself from falling over.
And that, my friends, is the story of the time I took speed on a moving, very public, train.