mentalprison5150-blog

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Saturday March 9, 2019

Another bland day. Another day in purgatory. Another day of addiction and feeling dead inside. Just another day. I worked a ten hour shift. I tried to keep a positive attitude in an attempt to make the day go by a little faster. When you’re constantly dreading being at work and are looking at the clock every ten minutes, time goes by a hell of a lot slower. I had an odd pizza delivery about halfway through my shift. My boss warned me that the lady who called to place the order sounded like a “goddamned redneck” so I shouldn’t expect a tip. I pulled up to some business building and around back was this old broken down travel trailer, rust stained and faded. Most of the windows were broken, replaced with cardboard and duct tape. The dude who came out was definitely of the “redneck” variety. I know it’s rude, but he came off as retarded. He wouldn’t stop talking about some guy named Spider that apparently used to work at the pizza place I’m employed at. He seemed so disappointed when I said I didn’t know the guy and he must have quit, so I just pretended to have an ah-ha moment and told him I remembered him. His face lit up with joy and he went on and on about how Spider delivered him a pizza one time and smoked him out with a vape pen and how he got so high he tripped and his head went through one of the windows of his trailer, shattering it and tearing his face up. He invited me in to smoke a joint. I really didn’t want to but he tipped me five bucks and he was so giddy with excitement that I agreed. He’s obviously a lonely guy who doesn’t get many visitors. His wife was inside and she was just as slow as him. Just a couple of hillbillies. The trailer was absolutely filthy inside. I felt sorry for them. They revealed that they were alcoholics, bluntly declaring “we’re drunks” and boasting about how they drink a gallon of whiskey between the two of them on the daily. He busted out this huge bottle of Crown Royal and Dr. Pepper and just started chugging his mixed beverage. I smoked with them, feeling very uncomfortable, just wanting to get the hell out of there. They wanted me to come back and hang out with them later. They gave me their phone number and told me they would love to be my friend. The whole thing was just fucking weird. Anyway nothing else noteworthy happened for the rest of the day,. I’m just looking forward to my day off on Monday. It can’t get here fast enough.

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Friday March 8, 2019

I just felt dead inside all day today. It took all of my will, everything I had, just to keep it together and get through the day. I had to work all day and I just felt like I was in some kind of hellish purgatory. No amount of heroin could make me feel better. I don’t know what the fuck to do, man. I hate being alive most days. I just want to feel numb. I wish I could go to sleep and never wake up sometimes. If I could just get off this dope I know life would eventually get better, but I just can’t handle the withdrawals. If you’ve never been physically addicted to opiates then you couldn’t possibly understand how fucking agonizing you feel when coming off this shit. And it takes days, in some cases weeks, to feel normal again. And that’s just physically normal. It takes months upon months to feel okay psychologically. I wish I could afford to take off work and go to detox/rehab. But that kind of shit costs thousands of dollars. I need help. I don’t even know where to start though. Maybe I should look into methadone maintenance. I don’t fucking know. I’m lost.

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Wednesday March 6, 2019

Something really crazy happened to me today. I feel like I won the lottery, and in a sense I did. It was almost time for me to clock out at work. I was satisfied and ready to go; I made over a hundred dollars in tips throughout the day so I could have just took off. But I noticed there was a ten pizza order. I was determined to take it since the bigger the order the better the tip in most cases. But it was second on the board and we’re supposed to take them in order (so it was really supposed to go to whichever driver came in next after me) unless there’s multiple deliveries that are close together, in that case we can take two or three orders at once.But these two orders weren’t close together at all. In no way should the ten pie order have been mine if we’re playing fair, but so many other delivery drivers do the same shit and get greedy and take doubles or triples that have no business going together (if you don’t work in pizza, you probably have no idea what I’m talking about). But I took it, along with the order that was first on the board, which was the only one I should have really taken. Something in my head just wouldn’t let it go. I don’t know why, I made plenty of money for the day, had enough to get me a gram of heroin and plenty of extra cash to save for the next time I would need to pick up again, and on top of that I was really only expecting a ten dollar tip, if that. The place I was going to with the ten pizza order was a church, and those are usually a hit or miss when it comes to tipping the driver. Most of the time churches, and pretty much any religious establishments, don’t tip for some reason. Right when I was leaving the next driver pulled in and what do you know, it’s one of the biggest douchebags who work up there. So I didn’t feel too bad about taking the big order because he does shit like that all the time: taking multiple orders that are nowhere close together; clocking back in an order if the pre-tip is like a dollar or two, leaving the order and shitty tip to anyone but himself; skipping over orders just so he can take a big order; etc. He’s just a greedy dude and he thinks he’s hilarious but no one else thinks he’s funny but him. Anyway there was a man waiting for me by the door of the church. He was a really nice guy. Religious people usually make me feel awkward because, especially Christians at churches, they are super friendly to the point where I’m not sure if the niceness is even genuine or not. He kept asking me questions about my life and shit. Sadly, being a heroin junkie, I couldn’t really divulge a lot of truth about the current state of my existence.

Well he led me up to this classroom on the second floor of the church. There was a meeting being held about being financially responsible, or something to that effect. He asked me if I had time to stick around for a little bit. “Oh no. Oh fuck no,” I thought. He wanted me to hear whatever it was they were pitching and watch their presentation, didn’t he? But then he introduced me to this classroom full of like thirty people, which was extremely awkward. He started telling the room my name, and all the things I had told him about my life on the way upstairs (where I’m from, where I graduated high school, where I attend community college [I haven’t been enrolled since I relapsed, white lie], why I moved from Corpus Christi to Arlington [I told him to be with family, not exactly true], [you can’t really be open and honest about your life when the past ten years you’ve been nothing but a fucked up drug addicted scumbag] etc. etc.). I thought this was extremely odd, why am I the focus of attention? Then he started asking me about my job, if the pizza place pays for my gas (HA! I wish), if I get paid a nice hourly wage (HA! I make like $4.25 an hour, plus tips), and all these other random questions about me and my job. I noticed that the man’s wife was filming me with her cellphone. This shit was getting creepy. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. I’m extremely nervous when it comes to public speaking, I have social anxiety, and I’m introverted; and here I am at the front of this room telling all of these strangers my life story while this lady was filming me. I had no idea what was going on. Anyway then the man said that the group of people in the room wanted to “give back, pay it forward” and I was the chosen one. They gave me an envelope with $380 in it! I was absolutely shocked. This had to be a joke. But it was legitimate. I thanked everyone from the bottom of my heart and gave the man a hug and I just had this huge smile on my face. I hope I came off on the outside as grateful as I felt on the inside. I can’t believe there are people like that who are that generous, to just give hundreds of dollars to a random stranger. It definitely restored some of my faith in humanity. I feel like I should attend their church on Sunday morning. I want them to know how much I appreciate such a kind gesture. I was super late getting to my last delivery across town but the people were cool about it and tipped me eight bucks. I had a lot of kind, generous people today. You don’t have to tip, but when you leave a delivery driver a nice tip, trust me, the driver remembers you and is extremely grateful. I hate the fact that the generosity of that church group’s donation to me will inevitably be spent on drugs, it makes me feel like such a shitty person. I need to get off this shit. I fucking hate heroin. I love it but I hate it even more.

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Tuesday March 6, 2019

I’m kind of upset right now. I’m pretty sure my coworker just sold me some fake Xanax bars. I popped four nearly an hour ago and I don’t really feel shit. I mean, I feel something, kind of mellow, but I should be barred the fuck out by now. Maybe they’re just weak, I don’t now. If I confront him it’s going to be so awkward having to work with this dude everyday. The tension would be unbearable. So I’ll probably just let it go and just avoid the dude. But I could be wrong because I think I’m starting to feel something….We’ll see. Anyway another typical day of b/eing a junkie. Nothing exciting to report on. I just got home and did a fat shot of heroin so I’m feeling pretty good. I’ve been looking forward to retreating to my bed all afternoon. There’s no place that I’d rather be most of the time than in my bed with my laptop and Netflix playing whatever sounds good. It’s where I feel most safe and most content and most comfortable. Not to sound like a snowflake, but my bed is my safe space. I hate using the term “safe space” since it’s usually used by what many may call “social justice warriors”, but there’s no better way to describe my bed. When I’m working a long shift, all I can think about is how much I look forward to getting home, hopping in my bed after doing a shot, and binge watching Netflix or YouTube conspiracy videos lol. Tonight I’m about to watch the new documentary that was just released called “Leaving Neverland” about the Michael Jackson child molestation allegations. This should be fascinating. I’ve always been so intrigued by the King of Pop. He had such an interesting life and I still don’t know what to believe regarding all the child abuse stigma that dominated the later half of his life. Maybe this documentary will clear some of that up. Too bad I have to wake up and be at work by 9 A.M. Fuuuuuuucking shit dude.

[mentalprison5150-blog]

March 3, 2019

I had an okay day, all things considering. It had its ups and downs, which I am actually appreciative of since most of my days usually consist of mostly downs. I woke up late, dreading going to work. I had less than twenty minutes to begin my morning routine of getting well. I cooked up a shot as fast as I could and poked around my arms and legs with my syringe in search of a vein. I was going to be late for work so I eventually just gave up and did a muscle shot, which is highly unsatisfying and provides zero rush. I made it to work on time. After a few deliveries, one of my shift managers asked me to go across town and pick up ten trays of dough from one of the other pizza shops. I really fucking hate it when they ask me to do shit like that, and they’re always making me waste my time and run their fucking errands because they don’t know how to order inventory correctly in the first place. It takes time out of my day, usually an hour, where I could be out delivering pizzas and making tips. I was so livid I ended up taking five Xanax bars to calm down. Once they kicked in I was chill and nothing could bother me. On the way back I pulled over and did a shot of heroin in some business parking lot. I have no idea what happened next. I remember getting a huge rush and thinking, “fuck am I overdosing?” Next thing I know some dude is knocking on my car window asking me if I’m alright. I just woke up so I was in a super confused state. I mumbled something and drove off. I was so fucked, I was passed out for at least an hour. I sped back to the pizza shop and lied and told my shift manager that some lady rear ended me so I was dealing with exchanging insurance information and that’s what took me so long. I’m hoping that little white lie doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass. I was supposed to get off at four but the main boss made me stay a few hours late since we were short staffed and had a shit ton of deliveries up on the board. I wanted to get the fuck out of there, but in a way it’s a good thing since I got to make up for all that time I wasted when I passed out after doing that shot. I may have had a minor overdose, if that’s even a thing, since I mixed five Xanax and a huge shot of heroin. I need to be careful. After work I drove to the projects and bought me a little bit of coke. I did a shot in the parking lot before I left and that amazing feeling rushed over my entire body. But then a little bit of paranoia creeped in. I was sure that there would be a cop around the corner waiting for me. But all was good. I made it home, did the rest of the coke, did a few more shots of heroin, and now I’m nodding off, watching Netflix and trying to type this bullshit out before I pass out. G’night.

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Saturday March 2, 2019

It’s almost 3:30 in the morning and I’m just now getting home from work. I would be extremely pissed off, on account of the fact I was supposed to get off at one, but my coworker hooked me up with some Xanax and I just injected a fat shot of heroin into my bloodstream, so I’m pretty much numb to the world. On top of getting off late, I have to open tomorrow morning and have to clock in at 10 A.M., which is a tough turn around when they schedule me to close one night and open the next morning. So I’m not going to get shit for sleep tonight and I have to work a ten hour shift tomorrow. Fuck me. No, scratch that. Fuck whoever made the schedule and fuck my incompetent coworkers that I closed with tonight. I’m all for smoking marijuana, but if you let it affect your work ethic then you shouldn’t be getting high on the job. The dudes I closed with were all stoned and slacking off while I was busting ass, cleaning up, trying to hurry up and get the fuck out of that hellhole pizza shop. But lets just look at the glass half full and focus on the positive. I made over a hundred bucks in tips! Anyway the other night I did some speedballs, which is heroin and cocaine mixed together, loaded up into a syringe. I don’t know why I even do coke. I love that initial rush. You feel absolutely amazing for about a minute, if that, then afterwards the paranoia kicks in and it’s no longer fun but just anxiety-inducing. At least that’s how it is for me. For some reason I’m always scared of snakes crawling into my clothing all stealth-like and I get all weird thinking shits crawling on me. I don’t know, that’s addiction for ya. You don’t want to do it but you will. You will because the addiction is a thousand times stronger than your rational judgement. Well, I really need to smoke a cigarette then try to get some sleep. I have to cock in less than eight hours from now. Fuuuuuuuck dude. 

[mentalprison5150-blog]

I’m turning 27 this year. I can’t fucking believe it. Twenty-goddamn-seven. Where has the time gone? My 20s just flew by. I’ll be 30 before I know it and have nothing to show for it. I always imaged by the time I turned the big three-oh I would have a college degree, a career, and at the beginning of starting a family...or in my more unrealistic teenage fantasies I would be playing bass for a world famous rock n’ roll band with millions of dollars in my bank account. But I’ve done nothing with my life. I’ve wasted my life on heroin. Heroin will steal one of the most valuable things, time. You’ll snort a line of heroin at age 18 then wake up ten years later sticking needles all over your body. Jesus. I need to get a grip. By the time I turn 30 I just want to be happy and off drugs. My goals in life has become much more simpler and modest. Or will I even make it to 30? Every time i inject heroin into my bloodstream I’m playing Russian roulette with my life. Perhaps I’ll join the 27 Club. Coincidentally a lot of famous people have died at age 27, most due to some form of drug or alcohol abuse. At this point I wouldn’t mind sinking into oblivion for good. I don’t picture my life getting much better. Even if I can get off dope, my days will still be filled with loneliness and misery. 

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Monday February 25, 2019

I had court this morning. Nothing serious, just a traffic violation from a couple months ago. I was out delivering pizzas, on my last run of the night just before closing and I apparently “ran a stop sign” and got pulled over. My heart fucking sank when I saw those red and blue lights flashing behind me. I knew I was so fucked. I had a bunch of heroin and Xanax on me, and syringes usually litter my car’s floorboard. One look in my backseat and the cop was sure to see an old syringe, which would give him probable cause to search my car and inevitably find the rest of my shit. I’m usually really laidback but that night one of my coworkers smoked me out and it was the first time I’d smoked weed in weeks. So I was super high and super paranoid. I tried to play it cool but I could just hear my voice breaking when the officer finally approached my car. I gave him my license and I knew when he ran it he’d see that I have an arrest record a mile long. The high-beams and headlights from the cop car were blinding me so I couldn’t tell if the dude was watching me or not, but I had to take a chance and get rid of my shit. I inconspicuously reached into my center console and grabbed the few Xanax bars I had and popped them real quick, then reached into the pizza box in the driver’s seat where I keep my heroin and heroin-related paraphernalia in and grabbed the little bundle of tar in my hand. If the cop came back and asked me to get out I was going to just drop it in between the seat. I assumed the chances of him finding it were pretty low. I just knew I was going to jail. I haven’t been to jail in over five years and the thought of going back and going through withdrawals in the county jail holding cells was pure hell. But I was determined that if I was going to get locked up, it wouldn’t be for any felonies. It would be for the syringes and other paraphernalia. To my surprise the cop came back and just told me to sign my citation and move on. I was so fucking relieved. I got so lucky. I should have learned from that horrifying moment not to drive around with dirty rigs and burnt spoons thrown around so carelessly around my car but to this day I still get lazy about that. Anyway I had to wake up at like seven, do my morning get-well-shot, and drive to the courthouse. I’m on probation for a few months. If I don’t get any new tickets they’ll drop the charges. I got lucky. I spent the rest of the day just dreading life and shooting up. I have to go to work tomorrow at nine in the morning, which I’m fucking dreading. I’ve had the last two days off and I’ve absolutely loved not having to go to that hellhole fucking pizza shop, but I need the cash and I gotta force myself to get up and do what I gotta do. Fucking life, man. 

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Monday February 25, 2019

A poem entitled “Miss Heroin” by an unknown author, who undoubtedly knows exactly what addiction to heroin is like. This gave me chills when I read it, it’s so real and describes this fucked up life so perfectly.

So now Little Man you’ve grown tired of grass, LSD, ACID, COCAINE, and HASH. And someone pretending to be a true friend Said, “I’ll introduce you to MISS HEROIN.”

Well Honey, before you start fooling with me, Just let me inform you of how it will be. For I will seduce you and make you my slave. I’ve sent men much stronger than you to their graves.

You think you could never become a disgrace And end up addicted to poppy seed waste. So you’ll start inhaling me one afternoon; You’ll take me into your arms very soon.

And once I have entered deep down in your veins, The craving will nearly drive you insane. You’ll need lots of money (as you have been told) For darling, I’m much more expensive than gold.

You’ll swindle your mother and, just for a buck, You’ll turn into something vile and corrupt. You’ll mug and you’ll steal for my narcotic charm, And feel contentment when I’m in your arms.

The day when you realize the monster you’ve grown, You’ll solemnly promise to leave me alone. If you think that you’ve got the mystical knack, Then, sweetie, just try getting me off your back.

The vomit, the cramps, you gut tied in a knot, The jangling nerves screaming for just one more shot. The hot chills, the cold sweats, the withdrawal pains Can only be saved by my little white grains.

There’s no other way, and there’s no need to look; For deep down inside, you will know you are hooked. You’ll desperately run to the pusher and then, You’ll welcome me back to your arms once again.

And when you return (just as I foretold!) I know that you’ll give me your body and soul. You’ll give up your morals, your conscience, your heart And you will be mine until DEATH TO US PART!

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Sunday February 24, 2019

Oh for the love of fuck. How is all this shit going to end? I never thought that this relapse would have gone on nearly an entire fucking year. Usually when I would use heroin it would go on a few months tops. Then I would run out of money, my family would intervene, I would gain a conscience and wouldn’t be able to steal, or something. Something would always put a stop to it. I would then have brief intervals of sobriety in between and go right back to using, but I have never gone on this long. I have never let myself spiral this far out of control. I’m scared everyday. I want to die everyday. Each day I pray to whoever might be listening to just please take me, end this life peacefully and without suffering. I’m ready. I would never, ever do it myself. I don’t believe death is my choice to make. But then again, people with terminal illnesses can choose suicide. I know my condition and situation is nowhere near the same, but I have these mental problems that I will never be able to beat. I will live with depression, anxiety, agony, and suffer in a constant state of existential crisis for the rest of my life. Ever since I was thirteen or fourteen I’ve suffered from these debilitating mental issues. The addiction to drugs, in particular heroin and other downers, is just a side effect of my psychological problems. The addiction is my way of self medicating; a way to silence the constant sadness I feel; a way to numb myself to the world. I am desperate for a normal life. I don’t know what “normal” is, but it sure as hell isn’t sticking a needle in my arm every fucking four to six hours just so I won’t go through violent withdrawals. I need help but I have no one that will help. No one gives a flying fuck about me anymore. My family gave up on me long ago. I have no real friends. It’s just me. Just me and my heroin. Fuck this life. 

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Wednesday February 20, 2019

Today was a goddamn clusterfuck. I was scheduled to clock in at work at ten this morning. I woke up around nine, feeling the symptoms of withdrawal creeping in. So I began my morning ritual of “getting normal”, which is the best way to describe my heroin use these days. I barely get high, and if I do the rush lasts for a mere few minutes. Then I just feel normal. I use to function these days. It’s no longer fun and exciting. It’s a fucking chore. I’m a goddamn slave to the needle. If I don’t shoot up every few hours then I start getting violently sick. Anyway it’s mom’s birthday so I was on the phone with her while I was sitting on the toilet poking around in search of a vein. After successfully injecting myself I was immediately relieved of my withdrawal symptoms, and on top of that I was on the phone distracted. I put my gear in my pizza box that I use to store my paraphernalia and such. I had a little less than a gram of tar let and i wrapped it in some toilet paper so it would stay in tact and not fall out. Stupidly I threw the toilet paper in the toilet, flushed that shit, and boom. There goes eighty bucks down the drain literally. I can’t believe the stupidity of me doing that. I was infuriated with myself after realizing what I had done. I could have slit my throat to punish such a dumb fucking move.  I knew I wouldn’t be able to complete a nine hour shit ahead of me without some dope. So I called my wok and made up some bullshit that I had a flat tire so I’d be running a bit late. I hauled ass going 90mph up the highway to the projects where my dealer resides and bought a couple of grams of black tar heroin and a few Xanax bars to alleviate some of the nagging anxiety I was plagued with after my whole ordeal this morning. I sped back to work in record timing and was only a little over a half hour late. No one questioned my claim of having a flat tire so that was a plus. The day went by in a blur thanks to the Xanax I had consumed. While out on deliveries I stopped my shady, abandoned parking lots (my favorite) to shoot up a few time here and there just so I could get through the day without completely losing my shit. I have the perfect job to be a heroin addict. I cruise around in my car all day, no boss breathing down my neck, and I’m pretty much free to do as I please when I’m out on a run. 

Anyway I’ve been posting all of my old Xanga entries and some old journal entries from back when I was in high school and the couple years following. A lot of the shit that I’ve posted gives me mixed emotions. I was a teenager with the whole world ahead of me, a stupid kid with big dreams and an active imagination. No matter how unrealistic those dreams I had were they were fun to imagine and the magic of being a naive kid who truly believed anything was possible was intoxicating. It’s depressing reading how naive yet hopeful I was about life and the future, believing anything was possible and just knowing I had a kickass life ahead of me. But as one gets older those dreams slowly die and the bitterness of reality takes over. Me in particular I let drugs completely ruin my goals and life plans. It’s sad reading these entries, slowly seeing the progression of the downward spiral I was sinking into. If only I had the hindsight to realize the dark path I was going down. But when you’re living in the moment, having the time of your life in your youth, it’s difficult to comprehend such outcomes. I still have a few more years left of entries to post. I’m just now starting to get into the part of my life where heroin took over. If only I could go back and give that clueless kid a good talking to, or better yet beating since I wouldn’t listen to any kind of logic back when I was younger. 

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Sunday February 11, 2019

My arms are so fucked up from constantly pricking myself with syringes loaded with heroin and/or cocaine. My upper arms in particular are so sore I can barely move them. It’s an agonizing pain. On top of that there are like these boil like things on certain spots of my arms that are filled with the nastiest puss and whatever else mystery liquid lays inside. When I drain them it hurts like hell and the amount of puss that comes out is shocking. And I must admit the shit doesn’t smell that great. I fucking hate what I’m doing to my body. Right now since it’s winter I have no problem hiding all my track-marks since I can wear long sleeves and jackets. But it’s not going to be cold for too much longer and it’s going to look mighty suspicious, or at least strange, if I’m wearing long sleeve shirts in the Texas heat. I need to get off this shit. I need to go to detox and rehab but poor folks with no health insurance like myself just can’t afford that kind of treatment. The only two options I have is to quit cold turkey (not going to happen), or suck it up and get on a Methadone maintenance program. The problem with Methadone is it’s actually worse than heroin in many ways. I heard it gets into your bones and if you stop that shit suddenly it takes months of withdrawing to get past the sickness. I hear it’s heroin DTs times a thousand. Anyway work was a blur. I took a bunch of Xanax just to numb myself from the constant anxiety and self-deprecating thoughts that run on replay in my mind. I went and scored some coke and heroin after I got off and it took me hours to find a vein. This is getting pathetic, not that it already hasn’t been for a very long time now. If there is a god and you’re listening, please take me, sir. I’m ready.

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Monday February 4, 2019

What the fuck am I going to do with my life? I’m almost 27 years old and I’ve accomplished nothing. I’ve done nothing with my life but fuck it up. I’ve done nothing but plunge myself deeper and deeper into addiction. When I was a kid I always pictured that I would have a family, a college education, and a well-paying job by the time I was in my late twenties. Those were my realistic dreams, I also had ambitions to make it big in a rock band by this time in life, but that dream is dead. None of my dreams will ever come true. But here I am, I’ve made rock bottom my permanent address and I can’t escape. What do I do? I’m so fucking lost. I wish more than anything that I had meaningful relationships with people who genuinely cared for me that would do anything to help me. I need help. I can’t fight this demon of heroin alone, it’s far too powerful. But I’m alone. I have no friends, I have no love interests. I have people I’m friendly with at work, but that’s about it. I’m all alone in this big, scary world, and that reality scares the living shit out of me. I always preferred being alone but that shit gets old after awhile. People need other people and that’s just human nature. It just doesn’t seem like life will ever get any better. Even if I got clean and stayed clean I just can’t picture life getting any more better or exciting than it’s already been over the years. I’ve peaked a long time ago. I welcome the sweet embrace of death, I don’t know if there is a God or not but I often pray to whoever is listening to please take me. I don’t think I could handle living another half dozen decades of mediocrity and disappointments. I’d much prefer to cease this existence, and who knows, maybe start the next adventure in another life. I don’t know what happens when one dies, but I like the idea of reincarnation. Maybe my next life will be better than this one. But I’m not suicidal which means I’m not going to give up until it’s truly my time to leave this earth and this plane of existence.

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Saturday February 3, 2019

I just got home from work. I went in dreading the seven hour shift I had ahead of me but my co-worker was able to hook me up with some Xanax so the rest of the shift went by smoothly. I used to be perscribed Xanax, it’s a medication that I genuinely need. I don’t take them to get fucked up, well I do, but that’s not the primary goal in consuming them. I have severe anxiety and taking any kind of benzodiazepines helps take the edge off of that crippling anxiety. I would try to go back and get another legal prescription but when you don’t have health insurance, monthly trips to the doctors and getting your script filled is extremely expensive to the point where it’s actually cheaper to just buy them off the street illegally. Anyway I’m feeling calm for once, I have a sense that everything is going to be okay. I’d rather feel content than anything. I wish feelings like this lasted, but they are just temporary bandaids masking your deeper issues. Artificial happiness induced by chemicals. Anyway tonight was the Super Bowl, which was supposed to be the busiest night of the year, but we weren’t that busy and I didn’t even make that much money. Perhaps I would have made more money if I didn’t pull off the side of the road and shoot up heroin numerous times throughout my shift, ultimately wasting time, which means wasting potential money I could have earned. But I was an emotional wreck and I was desperate to rid my mind of those negative emotions. In an hour or so I”m going to go score some cocaine and another gram of heroin. Another day in the life of a pathetic, lost soul.

[mentalprison5150-blog]

Saturday February 2, 2019

It’s been nine months since I’ve posted anything and almost an entire year since I relapsed on heroin. I wish I could write how the past nine months have been filled with happiness and sobriety but I can’t. I’ve used every single day since my last post. I don’t even get high anymore, I just use to feel normal. I use so I don’t get sick; so I don’t fall into withdrawals. Withdrawaling from heroin is pure fucking hell. It’s agony. It’s the worst feeling you could possibly imagine. I’m trapped, caught up in this vicious cycle. I’ve completely lost control. I guess on a positive note I’m not stealing to support my habit. I work my ass off. I got a job delivering pizzas for the sole purpose of maintaining my gram a day habit. I get cash money daily in tips, plus a weekly paycheck for all the hours I put in. Any job where you get tips is the perfect job for a junkie since you’re able to have access to cash on a daily basis. I hate my job. It wouldn’t be so bad if I was clean, but I feel like complete and utter shit everyday and I overwork myself, requesting overtime every week just so I can make money, money that is mine for a very brief period of time before it ends up in my dealer’s pockets. I’m lost and I truly don’t know what the fuck to do. Of course I know that I need to end this addiction once and for all, but the inevitable sickness that comes with quitting is the only thing holding me back. I’ve been considering signing up for a methadone maintenance program at one of the local clinics, but I’ve been telling myself I’d go down there and sign up for months now. I’m fucked. I honestly wish I was dead.  

[mentalprison5150-blog]

Thursday May 3, 2018

So much for that commitment I made to stop doing heroin once and for all. It’s really easy to make promises like that to yourself when you’re high. It’s when that high wears off and you’re left with that empty feeling again, with that nagging hole in your soul that cries out to be filled with dope, that everything changes. Previous promises and goals take the backseat and the addiction is back at the wheel. The last few days I’ve been treating myself like a goddamned voodoo doll; just slamming that syringe all over my body in a desperate frenzy to find a vein. I am so tore up. My arms and hands are sore from the amount of times I injected that dull needle into my skin. It took me over an hour to find a vein this morning. I was digging the needle into my feet, my neck, my arms, hands, and even in my stomach. There’s nothing like finally seeing that red plume of blood fill the syringe though; like a nuclear bomb exploding into a mushroom cloud. Heroin is such a bittersweet drug. The highs are bliss, pure heaven, but the lows feel like death. I’ve got to get a handle on this shit.

[mentalprison5150-blog]

Wednesday April 25, 2018

I feel like I’m trapped in a hole and I can’t get out. I’m such a piece of shit when I use heroin. I become a lying thief who will do anything, no matter who it hurts, just to score. I hate what I’ve become. I hate that I’ve crushed my family. I need to stop this vicious cycle, end the madness. I know life will get better if I just suffer through the initial depression that follows once you stop using, and stay sober at all costs. I’m making a commitment right here and now to stop this addiction. “Heroin gives you wings but takes away the sky.” - Unknown