THERE ISN'T A TITLE IN THE WORLD THAT COULD COME CLOSE TO GIVING THIS JUSTICE

I need to get honest with myself if I ever want to get back on my path to recovery. Since my last posting I've gotten high; well more like everyday since posting I've used dope, even today right before posting this. I hate myself and want to change what I'm doing. I'm scared to get clean. I'm scared to shoot dope. I told myself after shooting up today that this would be it for me, the last time, the last hoopla, go out with a blast, quit fucking my life up and start getting clean again. I meant it. I even looked myself straight on in the mirror and said out loud, "that is it give this shit up it ain't worth it". I sure hope I have the strength to do it.

Once again I ask anyone who happens to come upon my blog, send me some hope, strenght and positive energy because I will definitely need it.

I fucking hate being a junkie.

DAY 2

I made it through yesterday without too much difficulty, but I know day 1 isn't the worst of it. Today will probably be more of a challenge. Thank God for methadone and benzo's they'll take the edge off of my physical symptoms.  The thoughts that run through my head are a completely different story. Fighting myself is like fighting the devil - he has all the power and prestige and I have nothing but white knuckles and hope.

Hope is a funny thing...it's there deep inside me but it is so very hard to depend on. If anyone comes across this blog today....Please, please, please keep HOPE in your thoughts for me today.

I was going through some of my writings yesterday and came across this one, I had actually posted it once before but I'd like to share it again, for your benefit, to try and explain where I am in my head but also for my benefit so I remember just exactly what I will become again if I don't do this:

The flame dances underneath the dull, tarnished spoon creating a bubbling cauldron of poison. I drop the pillow of cotton into the hot liquid and as it absorbs the mixture my mouth waters and my body tingles. I draw my dose up into the needle, anticipating its numbing effects. The dull needle pierces my skin like a nail and I flinch in pain. I pull back on the plunger and watch the dark stream of red blood flow back into the syringe, and I push. The heroin slams into my vein like a roaring freight train, crossing over the synapses of my brain and washing my entire body in warmth, I am home, I am content. Smack is my lover, my friend, my medicine. I can no longer function without it. It is always there for me when I need it. It takes away the rawness of what my life has become; a constant search for nothingness.

My body melts into the dirty chair, my breath catches in my throat; this is premo dope. I can barely open my eyes they are so heavy. My arms feel like lead as I try to extract the needle from my swollen vein. Blood runs down my arm, I lick it up like a dog. I can feel the nod coming on strong and heavy and I hold my breath waiting for it to take me to that place; the dark place where no light can enter, no thoughts can roam, and no feelings can be felt. Being on the nod is like being semiconscious. I can hear the others around me talking, but it’s just murmurs, nothing really makes sense but I don’t care. I am where I need to be.

When I wake there is a long string of drool from the corner of my mouth and my body is no longer on the chair. I am lying face down on the filthy worn carpet and I am alone. They have all left to go score and left me here to die. This is happening more often, me falling out and not remembering what happened. It doesn’t frighten me like it should, it just is. I pull myself back onto the chair and rummage through my pockets for a cigarette. I pull out a little blue bag with the words Jaguar stamped on the front, and I remember that I had saved one bag just in case my body didn’t succumb to the shot I had just taken. I am playing Russian roulette with my life, waiting for the jolt that will end this misery. I light a cigarette and cook up my last bag of dope.

I am a junkie. I am an animal. I do not bathe, I do not eat, I do not live; I scavenge. I am a lost soul. I am looking for death to release me from the pain that I am in. I did not start out like this. I was a smart, funny, and shy little girl who was loved and cared for. My parents raised me with morals and values and did right by me. I was not abused or neglected. I had everything I needed and most of what I wanted, so I cannot blame my upbringing on the monster that I have become. No, I am responsible for the decisions I made and the actions that I took. This hell that I live in is all my own doing. This is all that I know to do; use drugs and cover up the feelings and emotions that are dying to be felt. If I were to allow myself to feel these things I would surely kill myself.

Dirty Little Secret....

I have not been onto my blogger account in like a year and I have no idea why this morning I decided to not only log on but post something as well.  Maybe it's because I've really been fucking up lately and there is no human in my life that I can actually tell what I've been doing.  I feel like I need to tell someone so why not the entire world wide web! Ok I don't want to try to be my normal funny self because what I've been doing is no laughing matter, but rather a matter of life and death. Alright enough beating around the bush; I have been using heroin again. There I said it.

Back in December I started interferon treatment for my Hepatitis C, which I contracted some 10 years ago by sharing needles with other i.v. drug users.  This treatment is something similar to chemo and it sucked. It made me feel like a piece of dog shit and I wanted anything to take it away; hence heroin.  I had been off of smack for almost 5 years and like so many addicts I thought after all that time I could just do it once in a while.  I mean come on I know where it takes me and I can control it this time so that it won't suck me back into a life I fought so hard to get out of.  Yea well addicts not only lie to everyone around them, we lie to ourselves too.

I had literally destroyed every vein in both of my arms and for this treatment lab work had to be drawn every week, so for convenience the doctor had a picc line inserted into me.  Yea talk about convenience, this time around I didn't have to poke myself over and over and spend hours trying to find a vein.  I just used the line that ran from my arm into my Superior Vena Cava, the largest vein in your heart. Did I think of the consequences? Nope I thought of the DOPE.

So now treatment is over but my habit is still here with me. This weekend is my detox weekend. I know in my heart, my head and my bank account that this can no longer go on.  I have got to stop before it gets any worse. Before I lose everything all over again. Before my loving, trusting parents find out what a loser junkie I truly am.

So if anyone happens to come across this post, keep me in your thoughts and if you have ESP could you send me some strength to get through this?  I know I can do it, I've done it before and I have the meds I need to keep withdrawal away, it's the mental part that is so fucking hard to beat.